her breathing seemed to escalate, but her feet remained rooted to the spot.
“Nice room,” he said.
Unable to help herself, she turned and caught him merely inches away.
Watching her.
And he wasn’t smiling—at least, not in a teasing sort of way.
Something passed between them, although she wasn’t sure what it was. Could it be sexual awareness?
Nah. Impossible. Not on his part, anyway.
She cleared her throat, which seemed to be another habit she’d mysteriously acquired today. “The bathroom is down the hall, next to the linen closet. The cupboards and shelves are stocked, so you should find everything you need.”
“Thank you.” His voice wrapped around her like a tartan plaid on a winter night.
Oh, brother. Those books were going right into a moving trash truck the first chance she got.
“Well,” she said, trying to ignore the rush of sexual awareness she didn’t know how to deal with. “I guess I’ll leave and let you get unpacked.”
“Don’t,” he said.
Huh? “Don’t what?”
“Don’t leave yet.” He tossed her a boyish grin. “I spotted a bottle of wine on the kitchen counter.”
“It’s our sauvignon blanc. I thought you might like to have a glass now and then.”
“That sounds good now. Will you join me? On the front porch?”
The offer took her aback. But it also excited her.
She tried desperately to tell herself it was a continuation of business. A way of relaxing over drinks. The kind of things businessmen did all the time.
Yet she couldn’t help making just a wee bit more out of the invitation than was probably wise for someone with a virgin heart—just ripe for the picking.
And ready to bruise.
Chapter Two
The wooden deck in front of the cottage overlooked the main house, as well as the fertile vineyard.
Sitting at a glass-topped, wrought-iron table, Sullivan and Lissa enjoyed a stunning view as they shared a glass of wine and watched the sun sink low into the western sky.
“Your sister doesn’t look anything like you,” Sullivan said by way of small talk. He’d noticed how much Eileen and her mother had resembled each other when they’d brought lunch down to the office.
In fact, Lissa didn’t look much like her father, either. Ken Cartwright was short and stocky, with a receding blond hairline and a ruddy complexion. He wasn’t much to look at, but he was a hell of a nice guy.
Lissa fingered the stem of her wineglass, as though his comment might have bothered her. And he was sorry he’d brought it up. If he could, he’d reel in the thoughtless words.
She looked up and caught his eye. “I don’t look like my family because I’m adopted.”
Whoops. He hadn’t meant to get so personal. And he wasn’t sure how to make up for the klutzy attempt at conversation, so he merely nodded and said, “You’ve got a nice family.”
“Yes, I do.” She took a sip of wine. “Do you have any brothers or sisters?”
“Nope. I’m an only child.”
“That sounds like it might have been sad growing up.”
He shrugged. His childhood had been pretty crappy, but not because he didn’t have siblings. “I had a lot of cousins to play with.”
“Tell me about your family,” she said, settling into the chitchat.
Sullivan rarely talked about himself. Nor about personal matters. But maybe because he’d accidentally prodded the adoption revelation out of her, he felt as though turnaround was fair play.
“My folks both loved me, I guess. But their relationship was stormy, and their marriage ended in divorce before I hit middle school.”
“That’s too bad.”
It was. From an early age, Sullivan had dreamed of belonging to a stable family. Maybe that’s why he’d married so early. He’d been ready for kids, picket fences and family vacations. But his wife had refused to consider having his baby, then had left him for another man.
Her leaving had not only dashed his unrealistic dreams and damaged his heart, but it had been a real eye-opening experience. She’d taught him a simple lesson. Sullivan wasn’t, and maybe never had been, destined for family life.
“It was no big deal,” he lied. “Some people shouldn’t ever get married.”
“What kind of people?”
Her eyes held a naïveté that surprised him, but he smiled and filled in the blanks as generically as he could. “The kind of people who make promises they don’t keep.”
His parents’ marital nightmare had been brutal for a kid to endure. And his own divorce—six years ago—had been pretty tough.
But hey. He’d bounced back quickly.
His first effort to rebound was by having a few relationships, mostly with shallow socialites who would never tempt him to put his heart on the line again. And it had helped. A lot.
“Funny thing about my folks,” he said, wanting to focus his thoughts on his parents’ divorce and not his own. “My father’s family had money and status. And they could trace their lineage back to the Mayflower. But that never seemed to be good enough for my mom.”
“Why not?”
He would have shrugged off her question, tried to avoid getting into a conversation that was too deep, one that reminded him of his own failed marriage and was too damn revealing. But for some reason, he cut to the chase. “Some women want more than some men can provide.”
She furrowed her brow, but didn’t respond. And he wondered whether she had any idea what he was talking about.
Probably not. But that was as far as it would go.
It was bad enough that Sullivan had to relive history in his mind. He didn’t need to open himself up to memories best left forgotten.
Lissa wasn’t sure what Sullivan meant. And maybe she should ask. But the fact was, they had nothing in common. Nothing on which to build any kind of relationship.
She was adopted and didn’t know her biological parents, and he had a lineage tracing back to the Mayflower.
He was outgoing and worldly—or so it seemed. And she was as plain and boring as a dust mop.
Still,
