so she lied. Sort of. She had dreams, of course, enhanced by the stack of romances on her nightstand. But no plans. She knew better than to believe a frog could turn into a princess.
“I had a feeling you felt the same way I do,” Sullivan said. “Don’t you hate it when people try to screw up our contentment?”
She nodded, even though she wasn’t all that contented. But at least she didn’t have to deal with embarrassment.
Sullivan slid her a crooked smile that made her knees go weak. What an interesting mouth he had.
A mouth that undoubtedly knew how to kiss a woman.
Milt Preston had kissed her once, after their date to the Christmas formal. Lissa had actually been looking forward to it, since Eileen had told her about making out with Jason Crowley in the back seat of his Mustang.
But her first kiss hadn’t been anything like her sister’s romantic experience. In fact, it had been just plain awful.
Instead of taking it slow and easy, Milt had opened his mouth and zeroed in on her, slapping a wet tongue across her lips, trying to poke and prod his way inside her mouth. She’d pushed him away, but the kiss had left her feeling dirty, sticky and wet.
Disgusted and disappointed, she’d left him standing on the porch and escaped inside the house, where she dashed upstairs to brush her teeth and rid herself of his taste.
Her efforts hadn’t worked, so she’d tried a shower. But not even hot, sudsy water could wash away the yucky memory.
As Sullivan squeezed a squirt of dish soap into the sink, his presence closed in on her. The side of his arm brushed against her shoulder, leaving a warm tingle after he moved away. “Would you like to wash or dry?”
“It doesn’t matter,” she said, trying to focus on the mundane household task. “Which would you rather do?”
“Since I don’t know where anything goes, I’ll wash.”
As the soap formed a frothy foam, Lissa’s thoughts drifted from the kitchen sink to a bubble bath in a candlelit bathroom. She’d read a book once where the hero and heroine had showered together, lathering each other until their passion blazed.
Oh, for Pete’s sake. She was letting her imagination and her hormones get the best of her.
Sullivan handed her a rinsed plate, and she quickly wiped it dry. They didn’t talk much, and before long, the kitchen was back in order.
“I’ll see you tomorrow morning,” he said, before leaving her alone with her thoughts.
Or rather with her adolescent hormones raging.
What would she have done if the guy had actually come on to her?
She would have skedaddled like a scaredy cat, no doubt.
But Lissa couldn’t help wondering what Sullivan’s kiss would be like. She had a feeling she might like to let his tongue inside her mouth, but she shrugged off the possibility. A woman like her knew better than to dwell on an impossible dream.
Or to dwell on a handsome bachelor with a playful smile and more than his fair share of pheromones.
Chapter Three
At nine the next morning, Sullivan met Lissa at the vineyard office, a small, wood-paneled room that held file cabinets, a computer and an expansive antique desk. It looked like the usual workplace, but a mauve, overstuffed sofa against the far wall and a kitchenette in the corner suggested Lissa spent a lot of time here.
And so did the little puppy that lay curled up on a doggie bed by the potbellied stove.
Sullivan watched as Lissa made a pot of coffee from beans she’d ground only a moment ago.
As she had yesterday, she wore a plain, loose-fitting blouse and the same style of baggy trousers—this time a drab brown.
Why did she choose such dull colors when green or blue would highlight those expressive eyes?
Her mother and sister dressed stylishly, so he had to assume that Lissa preferred to be nondescript. Was that so she would be taken more seriously in the business world? Maybe. It made sense.
As she worked, he watched her from behind. She’d woven her hair into a long, single braid that hung down her back. He figured the strands might reach her waist, if she let it free.
Lissa turned, facing him. “How do you like your coffee?”
“Sugar,” he said. “No cream.”
He’d expected her to turn around and return to her work, but she didn’t move. She just stood there like a deer in the meadow, head raised, eyes focused on a potential foe.
“What are you looking at?” she asked.
“Nothing.” He hadn’t meant to be gawking. But long hair on women had always fascinated him.
If he and Lissa were dating, and his opinion meant something to her, he’d suggest she wear it loose, over her shoulders and down her back. But they weren’t dating, so he kept his opinion to himself.
Still, he had half a notion to tease her a bit, to see if she would loosen up. He was flirtatious by nature, and the playful banter between a man and a woman came easily to him. But he’d better back off. His relationship with Lissa was strictly business. And he’d be wise to keep it that way.
The coffee began to gurgle and sputter as it dribbled into the pot, and soon, the aroma of a robust brew permeated the room.
Lissa withdrew a crystal sugar bowl and two mugs from the small overhead cupboard, and he watched the braid swish along the curve of her back. Yesterday she’d worn her hair twisted in a knot. Did she prefer it trussed up and out of the way?
Maybe she disliked it long, but was too busy to go to the salon for a cut and style. It didn’t matter, he supposed. But the woman intrigued him for some reason.
Her shyness maybe? Her focus on business and finances? Or maybe because he suspected there was a lot more going on behind those vibrant green eyes than most people knew.
As she handed him a cup of coffee, their fingers brushed, and something passed between them. A soft and gentle awareness, a lingering connection of some kind.
Had that initial little spark of attraction he’d felt for her grown?
If so, he wouldn’t act upon it. Lissa Cartwright was too complex, too real. Too rooted in family and responsibility. When he’d been younger and more naive, she would have been the kind of woman he could have cared for—before he’d learned not to believe in romantic dreams.
She snagged his gaze. “Did anyone ever tell you that you have the most interesting eyes?”
He had interesting eyes? Hell, she was the one with eyes that would stop a man dead in his tracks. But he didn’t want to go there.
“My eyes aren’t anything special,” he
