shuddered at the memories. Sinking down on her bed, she wrapped her arms around herself. She didn’t want to turn on the light. She didn’t want to see herself in the mirror. She needed to let the guilt and shame pass.
It would have been comforting to have a man hold her during that painful moment. An image of Daniel Pendleton with the strong, gentle hands and broad shoulders seeped through her mind like mist.
Sara impatiently shook it off and rose from the bed to turn on the light. She was lifting the hem of her slip to strip it off when her doorbell rang. She glanced at her brass alarm clock and frowned. Twelve-thirty. Who in the world could it be at this hour?
Snatching the ankle-length kimono from the hook on the back of her closet door, she wrapped it around herself, marched to her front door and looked through the peephole.
Daniel Pendleton. Her heart gave a tiny, involuntary flutter.
She opened the door, saying the first thing that came to mind. “Is something wrong with Carly?”
“No.” Daniel looked into Sara’s wary eyes and immediately knew he’d have to temper the Romeo bit. She looked small and vulnerable and mussed in a thoroughly inviting way, but she also looked distrustful. He shoved the rosebud into his pocket and stepped through the doorway. “Mind if I come in?”
“Well—”
“I wanted to make sure you got home okay.” He paused, sweeping the living room with a curious glance. His first impressions were of femininity, comfort and privacy. Puffy curtains and pastel miniblinds covered the windows. On the mantel he noticed a lot of candles and a stuffed teddy bear wearing a floppy hat and lace dress. One end table held a bestselling novel, a few women’s magazines and a bottle of nail polish. An image flashed through his mind of Sara wearing the red silk slip as she painted her nails and blew them dry. He could almost feel the warmth of her breath, and just the thought of it made him tug at his starched collar.
Her coat and purse had been thrown carelessly on the floral sofa, which, in Daniel’s opinion, held too many little pillows and was too small for sleeping. But he could imagine ditching those little pillows, easing Sara into his lap and kissing her until they were both ready for bed.
He’d trade the lower forty for a peek at her bedroom.
“I’m fine,” Sara said.
His gaze automatically went to her. “And we never finished our conversation.”
Sara looked at him blankly.
Daniel’s mouth lifted in a slow grin. “Dinner.”
Uneasy, Sara picked up her coat and hung it in the closet, feeling Daniel’s gaze track her every movement. He seemed to take up an enormous amount of space in her house. “I think it would be best if we didn’t.”
“Why?”
She wished he hadn’t asked that. “Because you’re Carly’s brother and she’s my boss.”
Propping himself against the sofa, he crossed his arms over his chest. “So?”
“So it could get awkward.” She tried, surreptitiously, to kick her shoes under an end table. When Daniel’s gaze slid to her feet and seemed to settle on her red toenails, Sara felt terribly self-conscious. It was one of her little eccentricities. She painted her toenails bright, flashy colors while she kept her fingernails trimmed and painted them neutral colors. She cleared her throat, wishing for steel-toed boots.
He stood and walked closer to her, setting off all her warning bells and whistles.
“Does that mean you don’t want to?” he asked.
Sara swallowed. “I—” She searched for an honest but polite response and came up empty.
His eyes narrowed thoughtfully as if he truly wanted to understand. “You don’t like the way I look?”
She shook her head, wishing desperately that she wasn’t having this conversation. “No. That’s not—”
His gaze swept her from head to toe. “You’re not attracted to me?”
She felt her cheeks heat. “I didn’t say that.”
“You’re still missing your husband?” His voice held sympathy, but no pity.
He gave her the perfect excuse, and Sara almost took the easy way out. “I miss him.” She felt dishonest letting the statement sit between them. Sighing, she lifted her hand and briefly touched his arm. “But that’s not why I don’t go out.”
Daniel’s hand slid out and captured hers. “Then I don’t understand.”
Sara’s pulse jumped. A strong, solid male hand held hers, and the simple act short-circuited her brain. How could she explain that she had a unique ability to ruin good men? His thumb caressed her knuckles, and the gesture seemed more intimate than it should have. Was it the late hour or the man?
She took a deep breath. “I’m not very good at male-female relationships,” she admitted.
“Maybe you’re just out of practice,” he said, twining their fingers together one by one. His gaze hovered on her mouth, and Sara had the oddest sensation of being thoroughly kissed. She could almost feel his mouth, soft and mobile, on hers. He would slowly slide his tongue past her teeth and explore her vulnerable softness, then tease her into giving him what he wanted. Oh, yes, she’d bet Daniel Pendleton would know how to tease a woman.
She shook her head at the sudden heat rising in her body. She licked her burning lips and heard his quick intake of breath.
He squeezed her fingers, a silent reprimand for her involuntarily provocative gesture. His gaze rose to meet hers. “Practice makes perfect, Sara, and I think,” he said in a low, rough voice, looking at her through hooded violet eyes, “you should practice on me.”
Chapter Two
A flicker of awareness darkened Sara’s eyes, then her eyelashes lowered as if they were a silk curtain. Daniel felt her withdrawal before she moved away.
She whispered something under her breath. He couldn’t make out the words, but her tone was that of a chiding reminder. Clutching the front of her robe, she shook her head. “It’s so late. I appreciate—” she hesitated, leading him to believe she did not appreciate it “—your checking on me. It was kind of you. I’m getting up early tomorrow morning.” She moved toward the door. “I bet you are too.”
She put her hand on the doorknob, and Daniel experienced the urge to goad her into dropping the polite shield. She exhibited the dignity of a queen, and her will was far stronger than he’d anticipated.
He reluctantly admired her at the same time that he was stymied by her.
Shoving his hand into his pocket in frustration, he felt something sharp jab his finger. He jerked, grimacing. A thorn from that damn rose, he realized belatedly.
Most of his calculations about Sara had been off tonight. Cranky enough to use Sara’s politeness against her, he walked toward her.
“I
