without embarrassing herself even more than she already had.
Though how that would be possible, she couldn’t be sure. “Idiot,” she muttered under her breath. She drew in a long breath and started down the street in the direction of her house. It wouldn’t take but a few minutes to walk. No longer than it would have taken her to walk to Colbys in the first place if Tristan hadn’t been sitting on her little porch when she came out, ready to drive them despite her assertion that she’d meet him there.
“I guess you weren’t hungry, after all.”
She whirled, her braid flying. Her lips parted, but no words came. And that frustrated her even more. She shook her head and turned again, but Tristan caught her arm. His fingers circled her elbow; not tightly, but with enough insistence that she stopped again. Or maybe it was the tingling heat spreading out from her elbow along the rest of her arm. Her voice broke free. “Tristan, don’t.”
He stepped in front of her, oblivious to the two cars that slowly drove down the main street. His shoulders blocked the red glow of the setting sun. “Am I so objectionable that you couldn’t stand one more minute of my company?”
Her fingers curled around her purse strap. “I don’t like being laughed at.”
“Nobody does, sweet pea.” He let go of her elbow and brushed his thumb over her white knuckles. “The only one I was laughing at was myself,” he said quietly. “Please. Come back in and have dinner with me. I won’t ask you to dance if you don’t want me to, but I can’t promise not to try talking you into a game of pool.”
She didn’t want to be charmed by him, knowing how easily he could accomplish it. Was accomplishing it. “What about Drew Taggart?” she asked, faintly desperate.
“What about him?”
“You wanted to look him up.”
“I’ll catch up to him later. There’s plenty of time.”
“But you told Jaimie—”
“You’d have been racing down the road with her at the wheel if I’d just told you, flat out, what my reasons were for offering you that ride.”
He didn’t wear boots like most of the men in Weaver did. Not cowboy boots nor heavy work boots. He wore scuffed athletic shoes. She stared at them so fiercely that she spotted the tiny place at the toe of one shoe where the leather had begun to wear through. “And what were they? These reasons that would terrify me so?”
“I’ll tell you, but you have to look at me first.”
Her cheeks heated. She darted a look into his face.
He tsked, and she jumped when he tucked his knuckles under her chin and lifted it. Nervousness knotted in her chest. “I’m looking at you.”
“At my chin,” he murmured. He touched the nose piece of her glasses, inching them back up her nose, and surprise lifted her gaze to his for the briefest of moments.
But it was long enough for her to be caught, unable to pull her gaze from his. They were so blue, his eyes. As if a midnight sky had been trapped in his irises. She suddenly felt warm, her senses trapped in some odd time warp where everything moved slowly. She didn’t even blink when he took a step closer, wrapping his other hand around her free elbow. Her hands brushed his hips and she pulled them back, clasping them together against her chest.
“That’s why,” he murmured.
His thumb was doing that maddening swirl-thing on her elbow. “I d-don’t know.”
“Yes, you do, Hope.”
“No—”
“Don’t be afraid of me.”
“I’m…not.” She swallowed. “I’m not.”
“You’re trembling.”
“I—”
“So am I.”
“Stop this. You’re making fun. You told your brother you weren’t interested in me. I overheard you.”
“I’m interested all right,” he murmured.
She shook her head abruptly. Her protest was as ineffectual as her mushy resistance when he drew his fingertips along her forearms, capturing her hands. He pressed her palms to his chest. And, oh God, she felt his heart. Thundering through the fine cotton of his Hawaiian print shirt as fiercely as her own heart pounded.
“You’re doing that to me, sweet pea.” His soft words stirred the loose tendrils of hair at her temples. “You have been since the coffee in the café. Maybe I didn’t see that it was any of my brother’s business, but that doesn’t mean it’s not so.”
“No.”
“Yes. That’s why I was laughing at myself. I come home expecting nothing but enduring my old man’s long-awaited wedding, and find myself meeting a teacher whose violet eyes could make me forget my own name.”
She felt his breath on her forehead, then closed her eyes and held back a gasp when his warm lips touched her temple. Her fingers curled against his chest, grabbing loose fabric. “We’re standing on Main Street.”
His jaw grazed hers, then he lifted his head, untangling her fingers from his shirt front. “If it bothers you, come back inside with me and have dinner.”
“You said you were harmless. I knew you were lying.” She frowned as another car pulled along the street and turned into the parking lot behind her. “What do you want with me?”
He laughed abruptly. “Are you kidding?”
“You used to date Serena Stevenson.” She pushed out the words.
His eyes narrowed. “So? It was a long time ago.”
“She’s a famous model!”
“Who is now happily married with two kids, neither of whom are mine, thank the good Lord. What’s your point?”
“My face has never stopped traffic.”
“That’s because you’ve probably always been in Weaver where there is no traffic.” He let go of her hands and took a step back. The cool fingers of the evening air slipped between them and Hope shivered.
She hadn’t always been in Weaver and she knew good and well that guys who looked this good didn’t seek out Hope Leoni because of her physical attributes. Only she couldn’t for the life of her think what Tristan hoped to gain by pursuing this.
Which brought her squarely back to the assumption that he was merely amusing himself. His heart may have seemed to thunder in tempo with hers. But in all likelihood it had just been her muddled senses. Which were quickly clearing again, thank goodness.
“I think you should go see Drew,” Hope suggested. “He and Jolie are building a place a few minutes outside of town. I watch their little boy on—”
“Good evening, Hope. Tristan. I’d heard you were
