could think seriously of involvement.
So. He’d become an attorney as planned. She’d married, divorced, then returned to Lost Valley and started a very successful bed-and-breakfast inn after her grandparents had passed away within months of each other seven years ago. He’d handled the settling of the estate.
Amelia had changed quite a bit in the intervening years, becoming friendly and outgoing. She’d even played her guitar and sung in a community musical that summer. The appealing vulnerability of youth had disappeared, replaced by the confidence of a woman who knew exactly who she was and where she was going.
Seth wondered what other changes life had made in her, and fell asleep still wondering….
Chapter Two
Amelia opened the door as quietly as possible. It was six o’clock, her usual time to start the workday.
The sitting room was silent and dim in the predawn hour. Treading carefully, she made sure her loafers didn’t make a sound on the carpet as she crept by the sofa bed.
Seth lay with one bare arm across his face, the other to the side. The sheet and blanket were pushed halfway down his chest, which was also bare. His long-sleeved shirt lay over the back of the sofa. One leg was outside the covers, the sweatpants apparently providing enough warmth for him.
When he stirred restlessly and kicked the blanket aside, she noticed the definitive ridge on his lower body, clearly outlined by the gray sweats.
A thrill of…shock? surprise? excitement? raced through her entire body with the speed of light. She stood there staring as if she’d never seen a man’s aroused body in her life.
Certainly not this man’s, some cynical part of her observed, although once they’d kissed and caressed each other with the greatest intimacy she’d ever known. But that was long ago. She’d avoided him after that, just as he had her, his manner pleasant but remote the few times they’d met.
Pulling her gaze from his sleeping form, she hastily stepped forward before her thoughts went even further off track, as her dreams had done last night. Her foot landed on something unexpected, an object that flipped to the side, causing her ankle to turn with a sharp pain.
She flailed her arms, but it was too late; Amelia landed with a muffled grunt right on top of her guest.
With a muttered curse, he sprang instantly awake and into action. Before she could say a word, she was caught in bands of steel, tossed onto her back and held captive against the mattress by hands on her wrists and a long, powerful, masculine body pinning her in place.
She stared at him as if he were indeed a predator about to rip her to shreds. “I’m really sorry,” she said in a strangled voice. “I tripped.”
His chest moved against her as he inhaled deeply. The ridge she’d noticed was now pressed into her abdomen. It took only a split second for the fact to register; and her eyes flew to his.
He observed her with a harsh, unblinking stare, then slowly relaxed—though not in the lower extremities—and finally he smiled slightly. “You’re up early.”
“I always get up at five-thirty.” Her voice was stilted and defensive. “Please,” she added, and moved slightly.
He rolled off her and rose in one smooth motion. She scrambled to a sitting position, pulling her sweater into place over her slacks, then stood, careful to set her feet on the carpet rather than his classy wing-tipped shoes, which, she now realized, were what had tripped her up.
A fierce pain shot up her leg and she sat down abruptly in surprise at this additional indignity. This was not going to be her day.
“What is it?” he asked, kicking the shoes aside and settling on his haunches in front of her. “Did you hurt yourself?”
“My ankle, I think.” She thought of all the work that had to be done that morning.
“Let me see.”
She froze when he lifted her foot, removed her loafer and probed gently. His fingers were long and lean, the skin deeply tanned in contrast to her paleness. Heat swept up her leg to lodge in some turbulent place inside her.
“I’m fine—ouch!” she said.
“There’s swelling and bruising already starting along each side of the ankle bone,” he told her, examining the place again. “We need to ice it down before it gets worse.”
“Oh, no, that’s okay. I don’t have time. I have to help Marta in the kitchen, with breakfast and all.”
He shook his head. “You won’t be doing anything on this foot today, or for the week, probably. Maybe we should have Beau take an X ray. It could be fractured.”
“It isn’t,” she insisted. “I can walk it off.”
She pushed him away before she did something really stupid, like drag him back onto the bed and… Well, beyond that, she couldn’t think.
He glanced up at that instant. His hair was mussed, and one stubborn curl fell over his forehead. She swallowed hard as she recalled a time when she’d caught those shiny strands in her fists and pulled his lips to hers.
Her eyes locked with his. His bare chest moved against her knee as he inhaled sharply.
She realized he must have seen the blatant hunger that had swept through her at his touch, and she quickly looked away. She wasn’t sure which pained her the most—the sprained ankle or the need that twisted her insides into knots.
A door slammed in another part of the house.
“Marta’s here,” Amelia said, relieved. “I have to go.”
“Give me ten minutes,” he requested.
When he grabbed his duffel and headed for the bathroom, she hobbled out of the suite and down the hall to the kitchen. Her ankle wasn’t so bad, she decided. She could handle standing on it.
“What happened to you?” her helper asked, already mixing muffins to go in the oven.
“Tripped,” Amelia reported wryly.
“Huh, maybe you’d better take it easy today,” Marta suggested. “I can get the stuff on the buffet.”
Amelia shook her head. Wonderful smells were coming from the oven, where cinnamon apples had baked to perfection. She’d put them in the night before and set the timer so they’d be ready that morning. She loved the way they scented the whole house and brought her guests hurrying to the great room to sample the simple but delicious fare.
After making a cup of tea, she slipped on mitts and did fine getting the baking dish out of the oven. But when she turned and stepped forward, pain shot up her leg, so harsh she gasped aloud. Her ankle gave way.
Hands closed over the mitts and steadied her until she could set the dish on the counter. “I told you to stay put,” Seth snapped, his dark eyes shooting sparks at her.
“Seth Dalton?” Marta said, looking from him to the hallway behind him. There was only one bedroom in that wing of the
