Share the Moon. Sharon Struth

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СКАЧАТЬ punctuality police made her belly squirm with butterflies. Why hadn’t she left the mall sooner? Besides the added calories, she’d pay for the last stop at Aunt Annie’s Pretzels in more ways than one.

      Duncan motioned with his chin to a seating area then lifted a second sheet of paper from a military-neat pile. “Wow. Great price. Including labor?” He chuckled. “No. I’m not asking to pay more.”

      Sure, she needed to apologize. In no way did she have to jump to his rude chin tip command to sit, though. She roamed to the wall not far from where he sat and studied a collage of ten or so photographs. All showed a blue and white hulled sailboat, tipped on an angle with a wind-filled jib and mainsail steering the vessel through choppy waters. When they’d first married, she and Mike had a small sixteen foot sailboat, a midget compared to these. Similar large boats sailed in the background, perhaps a race. A close-up from behind revealed one boat’s name read “True Love.” Another photo showed Duncan standing in a group of men dressed in shorts and matching T-shirts, which read “You Can’t Beat True Love.” His curls ruffled from a breeze and his pale skin glowed pink from a day in the sun.

      She glanced toward his desk, where he remained wrapped up in his phone call. The top button of his crisp white shirt was undone, visible beneath a loosened red power tie. Cuffed sleeves, folded neatly to below his elbow, revealed strong forearms. He lifted his gaze over the rims of his glasses. She froze.

      “Hold on, Kevin.” He covered the mouthpiece. “Please. Have a seat.”

      “Sorry.” Duncan returned to his call. “We’ll have to wrap this up. My appointment arrived. Anything else we need to discuss?”

      He’d requested her for this interview but didn’t seem happy she actually showed up. Did he have another reason, like to retaliate for the parking lot outburst?

      She approached an expensive-looking leather sofa and removed a tape recorder, pad, and pen to a teak coffee table but, on principle, refused to sit. Jay often remarked how he hated her passive-aggressive behavior. The reality of his observation came to full light with this situation.

      An end table held a picture of Duncan with a pretty, dark-haired woman huddled close to two children, the backdrop some European city. Meg had said his wife passed away. Had she suffered a long illness like Sophie’s mother or was her death sudden?

      “Not again?” Duncan sounded annoyed. “You’re right. Okay. I’ll send Carl this time.”

      She lifted the photograph. The teenage girl appeared in her early teens and had the cute nose of the woman and her dark hair. The young boy had Duncan’s features, with brighter cinnamon hair and freckles around his nose.

      The room’s silence suddenly screamed. Sophie glanced over, afraid Duncan’s angry scowl would have returned. Instead, he studied her with a softened stare. His thoughtful gaze appraised her legs, paused midway then inched the remainder of her torso with a smooth caress. He stopped at her face and those damn crystal eyes pinned hers in place. Sophie’s breath hitched.

      Pink rushed his cheeks and he twirled his chair to the back credenza and acted as if he were searching for something. “I’m sorry, Kevin. How much did you say?”

      Sophie strolled to the large windows overlooking Hartford. Heavy traffic on the street below seemed oblivious to the lovely crisp autumn day or the fall foliage beyond the city limits.

      He cleared his throat, but she didn’t turn. Ignoring his request still gave her the upper hand, something she clung to with strange desperation at this moment.

      “Good. Fax me the price quote. We’ll take it from there. Anything else?”

      She sensed his stare through his pause in conversation.

      “Thanks, Kevin. Then we’ll talk in the morning.” He hung up. “Hello, Ms. Shaw. Give me another second to refill my coffee. Would you like some?”

      Ms. Shaw? She turned around. “No thank you.”

      He nodded and lifted a mug printed with a simple blue and white image of a sailboat, confirming her guess sailing was one of his hobbies.

      Even during her rant in the parking lot, he’d called her Sophie. She blew out a breath and leaned closer to the window, noting how high up they were. Did this higher altitude change his attitude toward her?

      A traffic jam blocked the intersection below. A driver attempted to make a left-hand turn from the far right lane. Right now, her emotions were in the dead center of an internal jam, confused by the unexpected turns of Duncan Jamieson. She wished Gabby were here instead of her.

      Awareness of his presence from behind fell over her, followed by the waft of his familiar cologne.

      “Gorgeous view, huh?” His softer, less businesslike voice landed near her ear.

      “Lovely.” Her peripheral vision caught him close enough to touch yet far enough away to be appropriate.

      “Especially over there.” He pointed at the horizon and his arm brushed her shoulder.

      She followed his finger and noted a space in the distance, where dots of evergreen added color to leafless treetops. His arm returned to his side, but an invisible impression where he’d grazed her shoulder remained.

      His tone dipped, quiet enough to be a thought he didn’t intend to say out loud. “Reminds me that my new home in Northbridge isn’t far away.”

      The motives for his closeness left her suspicious. “Well, Connecticut’s the third smallest state in the nation.” She took a step to the side and faced him. “You can pretty much see everything if you stand dead center.”

      He provided a pity grin to her stupid remark.

      She vowed not to say one more sarcastic thing for the rest of this meeting.

      He offered his hand. “Good to see you again.”

      His handshake meant business, but was appropriately tempered for a female grip. The warmth reminded her of the moment he’d taken her cold hand right after she slipped.

      “Sorry I’m late.” She gently pulled away and dropped her gaze to the floor for a second, where she concentrated on his shiny black wingtips. A path of distrust with this interviewee was prudent.

      “No problem. Let’s sit.” He motioned to the seating area. “You know what they say, though?”

      She settled on the sofa. “About what?”

      “Punctuality.” He lowered himself into a chair across from her. In the bright daylight, slivers of gray threaded in the sandy-colored curls near his temple stood out. “It’s the soul of business.” The handsome company president tilted his head, as if his little quote taught her a valuable lesson.

      “Oh? I’ve heard punctuality is the virtue of the bored.” Her close-lipped smile felt starched, not normal. “And please, call me Sophie.”

      His mouth crumpled and he nodded. “Thanks for meeting with me on such short notice.”

      “When the paper’s owner sends a direct request, we oblige.”

      His cheek muscle twitched. Cliff would give her a “tsk-tsk” over СКАЧАТЬ