“Keira Sanders,” she said, holding out one hand and leaving it there until rudimentary good manners forced him to take it in his.
Again, there was the nice little buzz of connection when his skin met hers. Did he feel it? If so, he wasn't real pleased about it. Keira, on the other hand, was enjoying the sensation. It had been a really long time since she'd felt the slightest attraction for anyone. Purposely. “Been there, done that” sort of summed up her feelings about romance.
But she had to admit, it was really nice to feel that sizzle.
Still shaking his hand, she smiled up into his scowl. Gorgeous, but crabby. Well, she'd dealt with irritable people before, and there was just no way she was going to let his bad attitude affect Hunter's Landing's chances at getting money that would be a godsend to the small town. “I'm the mayor of Hunter's Landing and I'm here to welcome you.”
“That's not necessary,” he said and dropped her hand.
“It's our pleasure,” she said, hanging on to her good cheer by her fingernails as she turned to pluck the basket out of the snow. “And,” she continued as she walked past him, headed toward the front door, “I've brought you a welcome basket, courtesy of the Hunter's Landing Chamber of Commerce.”
“If you don't mind,” he countered, following after her quickly.
“Not at all,” Keira said, walking into the house and stopping just inside the foyer. “I confess, I've been dying to see the inside of this place ever since they started building it last year.”
It took a moment or two, but she heard him come in behind her and close the door with an exasperated sigh. He was not just crabby, but very crabby, apparently.
But that was okay. She'd win him over. She had to. She had to make sure that he and the five others who would come after him here would complete the terms of the will that would so benefit her hometown.
“Ms. Sanders …”
“Call me Keira,” she said and turned to give him a quick glance and smile.
“Fine. Keira.” He shoved both hands into the pockets of his slacks and rocked back on his heels.
He really didn't want her there.
“Don't worry,” she said, stepping through the arched doorway into the great room, “I won't stay long. I only wanted to welcome you, let you know that you're not alone here.”
“I prefer alone,” he said flatly and she stopped halfway across the room and turned to look at him, still standing in the foyer.
“Now, why is that?” she wondered aloud.
His features tightened even further, until he looked as though he'd been carved from stone. Not really a people person, Keira decided, then shrugged.
“Anyway,” she said loudly, setting the basket down atop a hand-carved coffee table that probably cost more than her monthly house payment. “I've got a few goodies here to make your stay more comfortable.”
“I'm sure I'll be fine.”
She ignored him and started rooting through the basket, pulling items out, one after the other, with a brief description of each. “Here's a certificate good for free coffee and freshly made doughnuts every morning at the diner. And a jar of homemade jam—Margie Fontenot, the late mayor's widow, makes the best jam in the state. A bottle of wine from Stan's Liquor Stop, fresh bread from the bakery, a bag of ground Jamaican coffee beans—” she stopped to sniff the bag and sighed at the aroma, then continued “—there's a jar filled with the best marinara you've ever tasted, from Clearwater's restaurant—you really should get over there for dinner while you're here. The outside dining area overlooks the lake and there's no better place to catch a gorgeous sunset—”
“Ms. Sanders …”
“Keira,” she reminded him.
“Keira, then. If you don't mind—”
“And,” she went on as if he hadn't spoken, “there are a few more goodies in here, but I'll let you discover them on your own.”
“Thank you.”
“Now,” she said, turning to face him from across the room, “is there anything else I can do to help make your stay more interesting?”
“Leave?” he asked.
Keira shook her head at him, as if she were sorely disappointed. Wandering the great room, she ran her fingers along the deeply carved mantel over the fireplace and, just for a second or two, enjoyed the heat pouring from the hearth. Her gaze swept the rest of the room and lingered on the view of the lake out of the floor-to-ceiling windows. The moon was just beginning its climb across the sky, and the water shimmered with a breath of light as if waiting for the show to start.
She gave herself a moment or two to calm the flash of irritation inside her. Wouldn't do to insult the man whose very presence could mean so much to her town. But at the same time, she wondered why he was being so nasty. By the time she'd centered herself and turned her gaze back to him, still standing in the foyer as if he could force her to leave by simply not welcoming her in, she was wondering something else.
Why did he intrigue her so much when his rudeness should have put her off immediately?
And how was she going to make this man connect with Hunter's Landing and make a commitment to see this through when he so obviously wanted nothing to do with her or the town?
Two
Nathan had had enough.
He'd been at the lakeside mansion for a little over an hour and already he had an uninvited guest.
Plus, Keira Sanders seemed to be oblivious to insults and clearly didn't care that she was very obviously not wanted.
His gaze swept her up and down more thoroughly than he had when he'd first found her sitting in the snow. Her jeans were faded and hugged her long legs like a second skin. Her long-sleeved black sweater came down to her thighs and, ridiculously enough, made her figure look more exposed than hidden. Maybe it was the way the soft-looking fabric clung to her curves, but whatever the reason, Nathan could appreciate the view even while wishing she were anywhere but there.
Her shoulder-length, reddish-blond hair hung loose in waves that seemed to dance around her animated face whenever she moved—which was often. He'd never seen a more mobile woman. It was as if she couldn't bear standing still. She was wandering the great room, her fingers touching, stroking, everything as she passed and he couldn't help wondering what those fingers would feel like touching him.
Yet as soon as that thought hit his clearly fevered brain, he knew he had to get her the hell out of the house. He wasn't interested in a monthlong fling. That was more commitment than he'd given to any woman he'd known in the last ten years.
Best to just get her out of the house now. And if that meant being even ruder than he had been already, fine.
“Thank you for coming,” he said, waiting until she gave up examining the bookshelves to look at him again, “but if you don't mind, I'd like you to
