Taking Home The Tycoon. Catherine Mann

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       Three

      Determined to put a hint of space between them even if she couldn’t will herself to just walk away, Natalie flattened a hand to his chest.

      The hard, muscled wall of his chest.

      Gulp.

      “I’m complimented you want to kiss me, but that’s not included in the bed-and-breakfast package.”

      He chuckled, the rumble of his laugh vibrating against her hand. “That’s the nicest put-down I’ve ever received.”

      Gaining strength, she let out her own low laugh, arching her eyebrows, taking him in, trying to focus on the crisp September air instead of his musky scent. Or the way the shadows played up his bad-boy mystique. “I imagine you don’t often get told no.”

      “Another compliment. For someone who is rejecting me, you’re doing it very nicely.” Voice still throaty, he swallowed, eyes fixed on hers.

      “So you hear me saying no to your advance?”

      He shook his head, the line of his lips growing taut. Sincere. “I hear you. No is no. I just want you to remember I still feel the same way. I want to kiss you. Very much. And if you decide you want to act on this attraction, I’m not going anywhere anytime soon.”

      The courtyard dimmed ever so slightly. The moody stars seemed brighter as the lights from the B and B went out one by one. People were making their way to bed. She ought to be moving in that direction, too. Away from Max. Away from the way his aqua stare sent her reeling.

      “You assume the attraction is mutual.” A lame defense. She knew it as soon as the words flicked from her tongue into the night air.

      He stayed quiet and held her gaze.

      She sighed and rolled her eyes. “Fine. Attraction exists. But I think it’s fair to say people don’t act every time they’re attracted to someone.” She looked past him, toward the street. A neighbor walking a border collie shuffled by in a half daze. The sound of gravel shifting beneath paws and feet gave her something else to focus on besides the tempting muscled man in front of her.

      “Touché.”

      “You’re conceding?” Narrowing her eyes, she tucked a few strands of hair behind ear, unconvinced.

      Max passed the now-empty beer bottle from hand to hand, the green glass glinting. “Not giving in. Just noting your point, since you noted mine. We are attracted to each other. I consider that a huge win. I’m a patient man, especially when the stakes are important.” He leaned forward, a devilish twinkle in his eyes. “Very important.”

      “A kiss? Really?” She’d never met a man patient for a kiss.

      He leaned close, so close his breath caressed her face. “Yes, really. What I believe is going to be a really amazing kiss.”

      He smiled at her, collecting his empty bottle and her glass as he stood. His absence allowed for the light breeze to brush her exposed skin, leaving her aware of just how close they’d been sitting. How easy it would have been to act on any of her feelings and temptations. How she simply could not allow herself to do that.

      As if she needed another reminder. Watching him walk back to the B and B, Natalie swallowed hard.

      Just a boarder. Maybe if she repeated that enough times, it’d be true. Glancing up at the muted stars, Natalie realized it would be quite some time before she would find sleep.

      * * *

      Next to the kitchen, the craft room was Natalie’s favorite place to spend time creating—everything from her dresses to accessories she sold in The Courtyard. The little artisanal mall was a big hit in town, and a nice source of extra income for her stretched budget.

      She knew she was lucky to have a creative outlet that blended with her life as a single mom. In a house drenched in color riffs of reds and yellows—remnants, in some ways, of a Texas sunset—the craft room boasted a lighter, airy setting. The light sea-foam-green wall stood in contrast to the other cream walls. Tufts of tulle, lace and silky fabrics huddled in the corner, sparking whimsy into Natalie’s life.

      She ruffled through the half-finished sketches of bridal dresses on the glass desk rimmed with gold, nearly knocking over the arrangement of blue hydrangeas—her favorite.

      The room itself, such a stark contrast to the rest of her house, made her feel like she’d stepped into a fairy-tale land. A place outside the reality of her existence. A place where she channeled the grief of losing her husband into more productive, selfless endeavors.

      Like running a small, custom-wedding-gown business. Sewing was threaded throughout her entire life for as far back as Natalie could remember. Great-grandmother Elisa had taught her to crochet, and after that Natalie found the act of creation comforting. She’d soon transitioned into sewing, sketching and eventually designing her own clothes.

      Natalie СКАЧАТЬ