didn’t say that. She said you were a tad off-center.”
His brows arched. “She said I was off-center?”
“Didn’t you read the fax?”
“Certainly not. It wasn’t addressed to me.” He handed her a glass, then took his own and lifted it. “To a pleasant cohabitation,” he toasted.
She had no choice but to lift her glass and clink it with his and meet his eyes. Brown eyes with the devil dancing in them.
A pleasant cohabitation. Oh, please! What a nightmare!
And then it got worse. He invited her to dinner on Saturday night when she had no classes, and she said, no, she didn’t have time, she had to prepare for a test and do some grocery shopping. And, as she was saying this, a small voice somewhere inside her inquired if she were insane. Here was a handsome man with pure intentions inviting her to dinner and when was the last time she’d come across a man with pure intentions?
She took a sip of the champagne, felt the music stroke her senses, triggering images and feelings. She’d never known music could be so…intoxicating.
She took another close look at David’s handsome face, the gleam in his brown eyes. Pure intentions, my foot, she thought.
Sam’s heart made a crazy little leap when David appeared in the kitchen the next morning. She was standing up at the counter, eating a piece of toast, and she almost dropped the knife.
Dressed in a suit and tie, David looked like a different man. Formal, imposing, dynamic…intimidating. Sharp creases in his trousers, high gloss on his black leather shoes. His suit jacket fitted perfectly over his broad shoulders, and his white shirt practically blinded her. A modern god of business and high finance, dressed for battle.
She swallowed her food; she’d stopped chewing as she’d stared at him, practically awestruck.
“Nice tie,” she managed.
“Thank you.” He gave her a crooked smile and reached for the coffee pot.
“I take it you’re not playing construction worker today,” she commented, gathering composure.
He poured coffee in his cup and put the pot down. “No, not today. Have to take care of a little family business this afternoon.”
She wondered what kind of family business required a suit and tie, but thought it better not to ask. She glanced at the clock, put her plate and knife in the dishwasher and picked up her purse and book bag. “Well, I’d better go and help Grandpa.”
He moved toward her unexpectedly, put his hands on her shoulders and kissed her lightly on the mouth. “Don’t work too hard. Take care of yourself,” he said, moving away.
She stared at him, heart galloping. “Why did you do that?”
“Because I wanted to and it seemed like a nice thing to do.” He smiled. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Samantha.”
“Tomorrow? You’re not coming home tonight?”
He grinned. “Don’t look so delighted.”
She shrugged. “Just wondering.”
As she dashed out the door, a sleek, silver-gray limousine glided up the driveway. She caught a glimpse of a chauffeur in uniform.
She sucked in a deep breath. “Oh, boy,” she muttered. She climbed into her ugly green car and drove to work.
Before leaving the house, David glanced in the mirror and adjusted his tie, smiling as he remembered Samantha’s expression at seeing him dressed in a suit. Whenever he thought of her, he found himself smiling.
It had been a while since he’d last worn a suit. He grimaced. Well, he was on family business now and he’d better wear the appropriate costume. Meeting with one of the outside shareholders and convincing the man of the error of his ways was hardly a big job, and a small price to pay for family happiness. He knew how to talk to people, how to get them to do things, how to change their minds and, although he was not involved in the day-to-day running of the company, his talents in the verbal-persuasion department were sometimes called upon.
He found good old Lester waiting for him with the limousine and he smiled in greeting. The man must be a hundred years old by now, he thought with affection. Lester had been around when David had been a little boy roaming the woods of his father’s property, pretending to be an explorer in the jungles of Africa.
“Good morning, sir!” said Lester, his wrinkled face all smiles.
“Good morning, Lester. How are you?”
“Fine, sir, just fine.”
“And the arthritis?”
“Livin’ with it, sir. Just livin’ with it.”
Yes, thought David, some things you just learned to live with. For a fraction of a moment Celia’s face flashed through his mind, then it was gone. He settled himself in the back and opened his briefcase to look over his notes and get ready for his meeting.
Instead, he thought of Samantha, seeing her as she had left that morning to go to work in her grandfather’s store. She wore neat little skirts, ending just at the knee, and proper little blouses. She wore small gold hoops in her ears, and she fiddled with them when her hands were not doing something else. Her shoes were simple flats or low-heeled pumps and she gave a general impression of tidiness and neatness that drove him crazy. He wanted to ruffle her up a bit, loosen a button, hang some dangling earrings in her ears, take her hair down, run his hands through the curls and kiss her silly. She had the sexiest hair he’d seen in a long time, wild and untamable, doing its own thing, in total contrast to the rest of her prim and proper appearance. She obviously tried to tame it by gathering it in a band at the back of her neck, but curly strands were always escaping.
Yet all he had to do was look into those big blue eyes of hers and know that there was more to Sam than the neat package she presented to the world. There was a lot of not-so-tidy stuff churning inside her.
And for some unfathomable reason he felt the need to find out what. And the growing urge to put his arms around her and tell her to relax.
In the muted early-evening sunlight, the large, stone and wood plantation house looked as it always had—solid, immutable, yet with an elegant Southern charm. He had lived here all his childhood, as had his father and grandfather before him. His parents still occupied the house.
The place was surrounded by luxuriant, well-tended gardens beyond which stretched several hundred acres of un-spoiled woodland, all part of the property. His mother awaited him at the door and hugged him. “How did your meeting go?” she asked.
“Everything’s fine, Mother, don’t worry about a thing.”
He found his father in his study, a cigar in one hand and a whiskey in the other, both strictly against doctor’s orders. He was a handsome man with compelling dark eyes and a commanding presence.
“So tell me about your meeting with Sanchez,” his father said after David had poured himself a drink.
“Nothing
