still breathy and anxious. She wanted to kick herself for real.
Kale laughed. “Davia, it’s all right. We don’t have bags to check. No security gates to clear. I’m ready when you are. Call down to me when you’re done with your packing and I’ll come up and get your suitcase.”
“Oh, no, you...you don’t have to do that,” she told him, only to have him move into her personal space.
“I want to do that,” he said.
Her actual height of five-eleven was greatly dwarfed by him. She admitted to feeling appreciatively overwhelmed and knew it was time to go.
“The kitchen’s behind the bar around this side of the stairway...” she began in an airy, much lighter tone. As she motioned in the direction, she noted, “Just help yourself to anything you want.” Then, turning, she quickly sprinted back up the way she’d come.
Only when Davia had disappeared around the corner at the top of the stairs did Kale look away. Just help yourself to anything you want. Her words reverberated in his head. He muttered an obscenity to criticize himself and wondered if he should tell her to be careful what she said to him.
No...he shouldn’t tell her because it would confirm that solving the mystery of what she was like in bed had consumed the bulk of his thoughts since they’d met. Correction—since he’d seen that picture of her in Felton’s file. And wouldn’t that just take her right back to hating him?
Back to? Had the truth of what really happened between him and Martella Friedman changed or at least softened her perception of him? He wanted Davia to believe that hustling a woman into his bed was not the first thing he thought of when he conducted business. He wanted her to think that because it was actually true. He wanted her to think that even though all he could think of in that moment was having her amazing legs wrapped around his back and that smoky voice of hers moaning his name while he lost his mind inside her.
Muttering to himself, Kale charted a path for the bar and didn’t stop until he tossed back a swig of her fine, locally brewed beer. Why the hell should he care about any of that? Before two days ago, he never thought he’d meet Davia Sands. Providing the truth about Martella hadn’t even been a blip on his radar despite the fact that he didn’t appreciate dark marks being put on his business reputation unless he put them there.
Now he was...what? Trying to pass himself off as a better man when he was nowhere near that? It was as he’d told Davia earlier. He had no interest in being that type of guy.
You did right by Martella. The quiet voice wedged in from his subconscious.
With a grunt, he took another swig of the beer.
* * *
Davia completed her packing and shower in record time. She left her bedroom carrying the weight of her suitcase, garment bag and tote with apparent ease. Impressive, when one considered the stiletto-heeled, mocha-suede boots climbed just above her knees.
Though he approved of the vision she was, Kale didn’t hold much hope that the stairs, heels and luggage would play well together. He took the steps two at a time and relieved Davia of her things before she took the third step down.
“Nice boots,” he said.
Davia glanced down. “Thanks. I thought so, too.”
Kale hoisted the garment bag strap over a shoulder. “Not sure how well they’ll go with an Iowa cornfield.”
“I’m sure I won’t be finding out.” Davia’s reply was full of humor. “My plan is to be in a pair of sneakers or hiking boots by the time I’m in range of one.” She gave another look toward her stylish stems. “These are just for first impressions.” And to appease my unhealthy obsession, she added silently.
Kale carried down the luggage with a fluid grace. “So we’re trying to make a good impression? I should’ve kept my suit on, I guess.”
“I think they’ll take you seriously enough.” Davia admired the quarter-length chamois suede jacket he wore with dark green hiking boots and a shirt of the same color that hung outside a pair of indigo jeans.
“So tell me why we’re trying to make a good impression? I assume it’s for more than the obvious reason of being polite.”
Davia was making a quick check of her tote for anything she may have forgotten. “We don’t know what we’ll find when we get there,” she said. “We may actually want to hold on to our inheritance. If so, we’ll want our new neighbors to like us, right?”
“If so?” Kale set the bags down near the door and turned to face her. “Do you think you might sell it? I got the impression before that you wanted to keep it at all costs.”
“Well, well, Mr. Asante, it seems you’re the one who’s thoughtfully listening now,” she teased.
Kale shrugged, his smile indicating he might have been faintly embarrassed. “You’re having a good influence on me, I guess.”
Davia smiled approvingly and then sighed. “I’ve been thinking about our talk with Estelle Waverly. Ever since we hung up with her, I’ve been growing more suspicious of what we’re stepping into.”
Kale crossed to where Davia stood near an armchair in the expansive space that held a living room and a den on opposite sides.
“You’re thinking she’s not on the level?” Kale asked.
“It’s not that.” Davia quickly shook her head. “But I do get the sense that there’s some kind of...drama involved and that it might play heavily into why my aunt and your uncle never got more involved with the property.”
Kale moved past Davia to pace the living room. She noticed he was stroking his jaw and recalled that he’d done so in her office while they’d talked. The mannerism, teamed with the assessing look that took hold of his jarringly attractive face, made for a captivating mix.
“Do you remember what Estelle Waverly said when I asked if we were expected to attend that council meeting?” Kale said after a long, quiet moment.
Davia sighed again and nodded. “She said ‘it depends on who you ask.’”
* * *
Davia admitted—and wasn’t at all hesitant to do so—that there was a lot to be said for flying by private aircraft. The drive to and subsequent boarding of Kale’s jet had been leisurely and not at all marred by the frenzy and frustration generally associated with a commercial flight.
So much relaxation, however, played to the exhaustion that had mounted in preparation for the trip. Davia gave in to the need for a catnap some fifteen minutes after she and Kale settled in aboard the luxurious craft.
But while she had settled in, such was not the case for Kale. He’d been issuing silent commands to himself not to stare ever since he’d met her. He was determined not to play into any of the behaviors one might associate with the kind of man Davia had taken him for over the past several years.
After leaving her office he’d told himself it was, of course, her looks that had sparked his jaw-dropping reaction to her. Now he completely understood that that perception had merely been his way of avoiding the truth of it. Davia Sands’s looks were simply
