Nash groaned as heat and pressure poured into him.
It was bad enough he’d had a restless night filled with erotic dreams of his hostess. But there, wearing jeans and a T-shirt, Stephanie stood in the doorway, a piece of sandpaper in each hand. Nash watched as she reached up and rubbed at a spot well above her head. Her T-shirt rode up, exposing a bit of stomach. What was it about this woman and her belly?
“You need a ladder,” he said, surprising her.
Stephanie jumped and squeaked, then glared at him. “I swear I’m going to buy you a collar with a bell and make you wear it.”
“You’ll have to wrestle me into submission first.”
He’d meant the comment as a joke, but at his words, her eyes darkened and awareness sharpened her features. Tension crackled in the empty room.
So his attraction wasn’t all one-sided, he thought with satisfaction.
One in a Million
Susan Mallery
SUSAN MALLERY
is the bestselling and award-winning author of over fifty books for Harlequin and Silhouette Books. She makes her home in the Pacific Northwest with her handsome prince of a husband and her two adorable-but-not-bright cats.
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter One
Good-looking men should not be allowed to show up on one’s doorstep without at least twenty-four hours’ notice, Stephanie Wynne thought wearily as she leaned against her front door and tried not to think about the fact that she hadn’t slept in nearly forty-eight hours, couldn’t remember her last shower and knew that her short, blond hair looked as if it had been cut with a rice thresher.
Three kids down with stomach flu had a way of taking the sparkle and glamour out of a woman’s day. Not that the man in front of her was going to care about her personal problems.
Despite the fact that it was nearly two in the morning, the handsome, well-dressed stranger standing on her porch looked rested, tidy and really tall. She glanced from his elegant suit to the stained and torn football jersey she’d pulled out of the rag bag when she’d run out of clean clothes about two days ago because…
Her tired brain struggled for the reason.
Oh, yeah. The washer was broken.
Again, not something he was going to sweat about. Paying guests only wanted excellent service, quiet rooms and calorie-laden breakfasts.
She did her best to forget her pathetic appearance and forced her mouth into what she hoped was a friendly smile.
“You must be Nash Harmon. Thanks for calling earlier and letting me know you’d be arriving late.”
“My flight out of Chicago was delayed.” He drew his dark eyebrows together as he looked her up and down. “I hope I didn’t wake you, Mrs….”
“Wynne. Stephanie Wynne.” She stepped back into the foyer of the old Victorian house. “Welcome to Serenity House.”
The awful name for the bed and breakfast had been her late husband’s idea. After three years she could speak it without wincing, but only just. If not for the very expensive custom-made stained-glass sign that had replaced a front window and the fact that her kids would object, Stephanie would have changed the name of the B&B in a heartbeat.
Her guest carried a leather duffle and a garment bag into the house. Her gaze moved between his expensive leather boots and her own mouse slippers with their tattered ears. When she finally headed upstairs to her own bed, she must remember not to look at herself in the mirror. Confirming her worst fears would cause her to shriek and wake the boys.
The man signed the registration card she’d left on the front desk and she took an imprint of his credit card. Once she’d received approval, she handed him an old-fashioned brass key.
“Your room is this way,” she said, heading up the stairs.
She’d put him in the front bedroom. Not only was it large and comfortable, with a view of Glenwood, but it was one of only two guest rooms that weren’t under her third-floor apartment. When she wasn’t completely booked, she found it much easier to have guests stay there than to constantly keep at her kids to stay quiet. Being loud and being a boy seemed to go hand-in-hand.
Five minutes later she’d explained the amenities of the room, said she would be serving breakfast from seven-thirty to nine and asked him if he would like her to leave a newspaper outside his door in the morning.
He refused the paper.
She nodded and headed for the hallway.
“Mrs. Wynne?”
She turned back to look at him. “Stephanie, please.”
He nodded. “Do you have a map of the area? I’m here to visit some people and I don’t know my way around.”
“Sure. Downstairs. I’ll put one out for you at breakfast.”
“Thank you.”
He offered her a slight smile, one that didn’t touch his eyes. It was late and she was so tired that her eyelashes hurt. But instead of leaving that second, she hesitated. Oh, not more than a heartbeat, but just long enough to notice that the overhead light brought out brownish highlights in his close-cropped black hair and that the hint of dark stubble on his square jaw made him look just a little bit dangerous.
Yeah, right, Stephanie thought as she turned away. Apparently she’d moved into the hallucination stage of sleep deprivation. Dangerous men didn’t come to places like Glenwood. No doubt Nash Harmon was something completely harmless like a shoe salesman or a professor. Besides, what he did for
