Someone she had met at an after-hours event? She went over his features in her memory, trying to imagine him with a drink in his hand, or sitting in a lecture hall, or at a family dining table while she served dinner.
No luck. But she knew him, no question.
On impulse, she yanked down the shades, turned the lights out in her room and crept back to the window, folding back the edge of the shade just the tiniest bit so she could peek without being silhouetted by the light in her room.
He was gone.
She blinked and searched the area around his car. Nothing. Nowhere. Vanished.
Okay, the night was getting even weirder now.
Forget it. Back to bed, to Gourmet and Food & Wine. He probably gave up on the tire and went into his car to dial roadside assistance.
She’d settled back into her bed and picked up her magazine when her front doorbell rang, followed by the sharp metallic rapping of the knocker.
2
ANNABEL FROZE. Who the hell was ringing her doorbell at—she glanced at the clock—ten-seventeen on a week-night? She got out of bed and went to the window, strained to see if any sign of the caller was visible. No. He or she must be standing too close to the door; the roof obstructed Annabel’s view.
Okay. So how stupid was it for a woman living alone to answer the door at night?
Pretty stupid.
She grabbed a robe from her closet, jammed her feet into her ratty black slippers and started downstairs, unable to resist her curiosity. Was it the man fixing his tire? Maybe he needed to use her phone? Except what kind of person didn’t own a cell nowadays?
The bell rang once more, followed again by the rapping knocker. Impatient type. She hurried through her dining room, living room, then opened the door into the always chilly front entranceway. “Who is it?”
“Annabel. It’s Quinn Garrett.”
Annabel’s eyes shot wide; her mouth dropped open to emit incredulous laughter. Quinn. She should have recognized him immediately. Even if she couldn’t place him from the year he spent with her family on a high-school exchange program, she should have recognized him from the media fuss over the years. Newspaper, magazines, TV, the guy had become a household name—just not one she expected to show up on her street.
“Quinn!” She eagerly opened the door, then had to steel herself not to take a step back.
Yes, she’d seen that he grew up even more gorgeous than he’d been in high school. Lost the boyish roundness to his face, and the teenage awkwardness. But she was totally unprepared for the impact of seeing him in the flesh, totally unprepared for the intense buzz of chemistry—on her end anyway. Holy cheezits. She’d had a crush on him all those years ago, but the physical reaction was extremely different now that she knew what all those fluttery feelings meant.
“Annabel.” His voice was even more resonant coming to her live and in person, his eyes dark and intense; she could barely keep her gaze on his.
“Hi,” she said oh-so-brilliantly, sounding breathless and starstruck—not at all a coincidence, since she was both. “Quinn,” she added even more brilliantly.
His lips curved in a smile. “You grew up.”
“Oh. Yes.” She winced. Maybe try saying something intelligent? “So did you.”
Good job.
“I guess that makes two of us.” He grinned suddenly, a full white-toothed grin, which made him so sexy she feared hyperventilation. “I was planning to show up at a more reasonable hour, but when I saw you at your window, I thought I might as well say hello now.”
“Can I help?” She gestured out at his car, probably a rental—Lexus?
“Just a flat. All fixed.”
“Very good.” She moved aside in the doorway. “Come in.”
“Are you sure? You were on your way to bed.” He glanced at her robe, making her so not happy she’d grabbed the thick flowery one that had pills all over it. She’d much rather be wearing silk. Or even better, clothes. She felt vulnerable and strange like this, even though he’d seen her in her pajamas dozens of times. But then that was years ago; she’d been thirteen and hardly the stuff of male fantasy. More like an annoying little sister.
She did not want him to see her as an annoying little sister now.
He took off his coat and the white, probably cashmere, scarf, and, oh, my God, he was wearing a tux. Even homely looked good in a tux; gorgeous should be outlawed.
“I was at a party in Brookfield—I’m a little over-dressed.”
“I’m a little underdressed.”
“So we even out.” He stood, hands on his hips pushing back his jacket, clearly at ease in her living room, while she had to remind herself not to fidget.
“Have a seat.” She indicated the couch behind him. “Can I get you something to drink?”
“Water would be nice.”
“That’s all? I have cider, wine, beer, cognac…”
He held up a hand to stop her list. “Water is really what I want.”
“Water coming up.” She padded into the kitchen, feeling round and unappealing, wondering if it would be weird to go upstairs and throw on some clothes. Maybe a thong and a push-up bra? Or, okay, jeans and a nice tight sweater, too. But if she did that, he’d know she was uncomfortable around him this way, which would make things even more uncomfortable.
She ran the water until it was good and cold, filled a glass, poured Dove dark chocolate pieces, dried apricots and plain-roasted almonds into small brass bowls and put them on a wooden tray. Water might be what he wanted, but the professional hostess in her had to offer more.
“Here you go.” She smiled too brightly and headed toward him, feeling even rounder and less appealing when she saw how amazing he looked sitting on her couch, bow tie untied, collar button undone, arm up along the back of the sofa. GQ much? Of course, he’d probably been on their cover, probably more than once. It was so hard to reconcile the kid she’d known with this…well, look up male in the dictionary and find his picture.
He reached for the glass and lifted a dark brow at the tray of food. “With trimmings?”
“I am unable to serve only water to my guests. It’s become genetically impossible.” She perched on a chair across the narrow room. If she were dressed to match his trappings, she’d have no problem sitting next to him on the couch. Leaning close. Closer. Closest. Straddling him and…okay, enough.
“I remember being extremely well fed at your house. Your mom was a great cook. I’m sorry to hear she and your dad died.”
“Thanks.” Annabel’s voice dropped low in her throat. “I miss them.”
“They were great people. Your whole family. That year was really
