The New Guy In Town. Teresa Southwick

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       Chapter One

      Just because she’d sworn off men didn’t mean she couldn’t appreciate a gorgeous one. That explained Faith Connelly’s little heart flutter as Sam Hart walked briskly across the elegant lobby of his financial building before stopping in front of her flower cart.

      “Don’t tell me,” she said to him. “You need to order a breakup bouquet. I can tell by the look on your face that date number two tanked.”

      “That’s harsh.” But Sam smiled a slow, sexy smile that said she was right and the date from hell was completely his fault. He wore his willingness to own the blame like a badge of honor. “And how can you know that? Maybe I’m here to tell you that it was love at first sight.”

      “Right.” She made a scoffing sound. “And I kissed a frog into a handsome prince. Seriously, Sam, do you want the usual sentiment on the card? ‘You’re fantastic, but this isn’t going to work.’ Or there’s the ever-popular ‘It’s not you, it’s me.’ I can get more creative with the message if you’d like.”

      He slid his fingers into the pockets of his jeans. He could wear jeans to work because he owned a multimillion-dollar financial company and set the dress code. Sometimes he wore a suit and that was a swoon-worthy look, too. “Give me a for instance.”

      She thought for a moment then met his skeptical gaze. “How about this? It’s short, sweet, to the point and kind of poetic really. ‘Roses are red. Violets are blue. This won’t work because you’re a shrew.’”

      His mouth twitched, then he shook his head and laughed. When he did that he was so handsome it should be illegal. His brown hair was cut short, but there were hints that it would be curly if allowed to grow. The straight nose and square jaw alone would have women throwing their panties at him, but it was his eyes that sealed the deal. They were dark blue and full of glitter and sin and danger—if a girl wasn’t careful.

      “Don’t give up your day job to write inspirational verses for greeting cards,” he said.

      “The thought never crossed my mind. I love working with the flowers. And another perk of my job is torturing you about your women.”

      “My women?” He put on an innocent act, pretending indignation. “You make me sound like the pharaoh with forty-seven wives.”

      “If the shoe fits...” She was teasing. Mostly.

      Since he’d moved to Blackwater Lake, Montana a few months ago, Sam Hart had quickly become a hot topic of gossip. Because he was definitely hot, and that made the gossip juicier. His looks weren’t all women noticed, though that lean, athletic body made more than one female heart skip a beat. When you factored in his impressive net worth as a member of the wealthy Hart family, attention from the opposite sex looking for love—or just a wealthy husband—was a fact of life. It was a dirty job, but someone had to be the town’s most eligible bachelor.

      His expression turned adorably self-effacing and wounded. “You have no faith in me, Faith.”

      “Really?” She tsked. “How long have you been trying to work that into a conversation with me?”

      “Probably since we met.” He shrugged his broad shoulders. “But here’s the thing—I like women and they seem to like me. You’re judging, Miss Connelly, and not in a good way. I’m picking up shades of assumption from you. Why is that? I’m a swell guy.”

      “If you’re trying to seduce me, Sam, I should probably tell you that it’s not working.” And never would.

      “Darn.” He snapped his fingers. “How can you be so sure?”

      Besides the fact that she believed love was a four-letter word, the bad kind, she knew he was a player. “Seriously? No one knows you better than the plant lady.”

      “You do have a way with flowers,” he said, looking all meek and faux innocent.

      “And you have a way with women. That makes you one of my best customers.” She held up her fingers to count the ways. “A single yellow rose on the first date to indicate sunny feelings, warmth and welcome. The color holds no overtones of romance and indicates purely platonic emotions.”

      “So you told me.” There was amusement in those blue eyes. “And you were right. It’s a crowd-pleaser.”

      “The second date you buy a mixed bouquet so there’s no hint of commitment. If things don’t go well, there will be a lovely and tasteful arrangement to let a lady know not to wait by the phone for a call that will never come.” She met his gaze. “FYI, I always use peonies in the arrangement to indicate their indignation and your shame.”

      “Do you put that on the card?”

      “It’s enough that I know the significance,” she said.

      “I’ll keep that in mind.” He frowned slightly. “And you see this flower fetish of mine as a flaw?”

      “On the contrary. It’s a public service. A woman always knows where she stands with you.”

      “Just out of curiosity, what’s the appropriate bloom to offer on a third date?” he asked.

      “Good question. I’d have to do some research. But never, under any circumstances, go with lavender. It conveys enchantment, as in love at first sight.” Faith studied him again. “Why are you asking about a third date? Do you want to give me breaking news? Is there something I should know? Maybe someone who has snagged a cherished and sought-after third-time’s-the-charm date with the elusive Sam Hart? Do I need an inventory change? Possibly to get ready for a wedding?”

      “God forbid. Why would you say that?”

      “Because a third date with you almost never happens, Sam.”

      “That can’t be true.” His expression turned thoughtful, obviously trying to come up with something to prove her wrong, and then he sighed. “Am I that predictable?”

      “Sadly, yes,” she said smugly.

      “Wow. Remind me to change things up.”

      “Not on my account. If you ever settle down, my bottom line will seriously suffer. A money guy like you should understand that.” She leveled her index finger in his direction to emphasize her point. “And I can’t afford to jeopardize my revenue stream while saving to put Phoebe through college.”

      “Your daughter is eight.” His voice was wry. “You’ve got ten years.”

      “A single mom has to plan carefully.” Because thanks to her bastard ex-husband, who walked out on her when she got pregnant, she was raising her daughter alone.

      “Well, never fear, plant lady. I’m not getting married.” His devil-may-care СКАЧАТЬ