of it, but aware that despite his words last night—If you’re here, great, and if you’re not, I’ll assume you didn’t want to come—he hadn’t meant the no problem follow-up. For some reason, he wanted her to come with him.
And not necessarily because of the Finkles, either. Last night, after he had left Samantha Hall and walked back down the beach alone, he had thought of her comment about duping those old people out of their property, and not liked that very much.
Usually Ethan regarded business as a large chess game. He liked winning. He had turned his competitive nature to that and found it far more fulfilling and less full of pitfalls than relationships. But when had he become so focused on the win that he was willing to dupe people?
Maybe it would be just as well if Samantha didn’t show up this morning. He’d drive up the coast, present the Finkles with a very good offer, take it or leave it, no games, no duping.
So, if it would be just as well if she didn’t show up, and if he was a man who avoided the pitfalls of relationships and had made business, pragmatic and predictable, a safe harbor from emotion, then it was probably not a good thing that he felt dismayed that Samantha was not waiting for him.
A little boy in a ball cap and a scruffy dog sat on the curb. Ethan slowed, looked past them, to see if Samantha was coming down her staircase. She wasn’t, and aware of a sharp pang of disappointment, he debated going and knocking on her door.
But that hadn’t been the agreement, and if the yellow convertible was any indication, his cousin, Amanda, was still there. His brow furrowed as he thought of his young, lovely cousin starting the day yesterday so full of hope, and now being so distressed. Should he go say something to her? Or would his own discomfort with all things emotional just make everything worse?
While he mulled over his options, the little boy stood up, and the dog yapped its dislike. Ethan glanced at the pair again.
And slammed on the brakes. His eyes widened.
That was Samantha Hall? Oh, it was her all right, those wide-set gray-green eyes in the shadow of the ball cap, the delicate features, the sensuous curve of her mouth. But all those delectable curves that dress had shown off last night were disguised this morning.
Ethan leaned over and opened the door for her, surprised by how he felt. Intrigued. And he had the same feeling he’d had last night after talking to her brother. That what Samantha needed more than anything else was for someone to see right past the ball cap, and the men’s T-shirt, to the woman in her.
The woman he had tasted when his lips had brushed hers so briefly.
The woman he had touched when she had stumbled putting on her shoe, felt the pure and feminine sensuous energy of her.
“Good morning,” he said as she slid into the seat beside him. “I nearly drove by. I didn’t recognize you.”
“This is the real me,” she said defensively, settling the dog on her lap.
Is it? he wondered. Her dog glared at him and growled. She appeared to have taken more time dressing the dog than herself.
“I thought maybe that was how you felt Mrs. Ethan Ballard would look,” he said mildly, and glancing up at the apartment window asked, “Do you think I should go say something to Amanda?”
“She’s finally sleeping.”
He heard the concern in Samantha’s voice, and felt, ridiculously, as if he was the white knight riding in, not to rescue his cousin, but Samantha.
“You look a little the worse for wear this morning,” he said, checking over his shoulder as he pulled away from the curb.
“I don’t have the wardrobe to look like Mrs. Ethan Ballard,” she said proudly. “Unless I wore the dress from last night and it didn’t seem appropriate for daywear.”
“I wasn’t referring to your clothes,” he said dryly. “You just look tired.”
“Oh.”
“What do you think Mrs. Ethan Ballard’s wardrobe would look like?”
She slid him a sideways look. “I guess that depends what kind of woman you go for. I wonder. Trashy? Or classy. I’m going to guess classy.”
“Thanks,” he said dryly. “I think.”
Classy. He thought of Bethany, with her pedigree and her designer wardrobe, her tasteful jewelry, her exotic, expensive scents. Classy, but when he’d scraped the surface, challenged her, she’d been superficial as hell.
The woman beside him in her baseball cap and khakis, with her innate honesty and decency, seemed a lot more classy than Bethany. If classy meant genuine. Real. And somehow at this moment that is what it meant to him.
“Classy it is,” he said. The next town, Stone Harbor, was past the turnoff to the Finkles, but since it was just a few minutes away on the winding coast road, and it was bigger than St. John’s Cove, a few of its Main Street stores would be open on Sunday. He pulled over in front of a boutique, Sunsational, that looked upscale and classy.
Luckily the fog was persisting so it wasn’t yet hot enough to worry about leaving the dog in the car, though he rolled all the windows partly down.
He opened the door for Samantha, aware he was enjoying this, aware that his rendezvous with the Finkles was shimmering like an oasis he might never arrive at but he didn’t mind because the journey there was proving just as interesting. Make that more interesting.
“What are we doing?” Samantha asked, eyeing the boutique.
“Making you into Mrs. Ballard. The classy version.” He grinned. “Though trashy would be more fun.”
He saw she looked wounded, and that he had insulted her by insinuating she wouldn’t make a great Mrs. Ballard just the way she was.
But he felt he saw a truth about her that she might have been missing herself: that what she was wearing now was a disguise of sorts intended to hide who she really was.
“Look,” he said, hastily, “you look fine the way you are. But if I don’t end up buying your building, you’ve given me your time for nothing. Let me do something for you. Consider it a thank-you in advance.”
Pride played across her face, but he saw the faintest wistfulness in the quick glance she cast at the door. He knew it! She had every woman’s delight in shopping!
Still, when he held open the door of the store for her and she marched by him, she was scowling.
He touched the place where her brow was knit. “Have fun!” he instructed her.
She looked at him, glanced around the store. He could clearly see she was struggling with a decision, and he was relieved when something in her relaxed.
“Okay,” she said, and gave him a small, careful smile. It occurred to him that that smile changed everything, changed far more than a dress ever could. He saw the radiance in her, and realized the sighting was precious, the part of herself, along with her femininity, that she kept hidden.
It
