The Texan's Contested Claim: The Texan's Contested Claim / The Greek Tycoon's Secret Heir. Katherine Garbera

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СКАЧАТЬ style="font-size:15px;">      “Which is all I expect,” he assured her. “I was merely curious why a woman who lives alone would prefer men as guests.”

      She narrowed her eyes. “I never said I lived alone.”

      “You didn’t have to. Your repeated use of ‘my’and ‘I’ made it obvious.”

      When she continued to eye him suspiciously, he dropped his hands to his hips, and the corners of his mouth into a frown.

      “Look,” he said, clearly irritated with her. “If you’re worried about your safety, don’t be. You’re perfectly safe with me. I’m not interested in you or your body. And just so you understand,” he said, tossing her own words back at her, “if and when I’m in the mood for female companionship, I sure as hell don’t need someone to arrange it for me.”

      She wasn’t sure whether to be relieved or insulted, but one thing was certain—she’d angered her guest…something a person in her business couldn’t afford to do.

      “I’m sorry,” she said, and meant it. “I’m usually not this defensive.”

      “And I’m not usually mistaken for a predator,” he snapped back at her.

      She squinched up her nose. “Can we hit Rewind?” she asked hopefully. “It seems we’ve gotten off to a bad start.”

      “If it makes you feel better thinking our relationship will improve by starting over—” he tossed up a hand “—then by all means consider the tape rewound.”

      To prove her willingness to play nice, she forced a smile. “Thanks. And to answer your question about my preference for business travelers, this is my home, as well as a bed-and-breakfast, and I discovered early on that businessmen are less disruptive to my daily life than tourists. Since they generally book only on weekdays, that’s an advantage, too, as it leaves my weekends free for my other job.”

      He lifted a brow. “Other job?”

      “Photography. I’m an aspiring photojournalist.”

      “A woman of many talents.”

      “You might want to withhold judgment until you see my work,” she warned, then smiled again and motioned him to follow her. “Come on, let’s finish the tour.”

      She started down the hall again toward the kitchen. “In the mornings, you’ll find juice and coffee on the buffet in the breakfast room. I normally serve breakfast at seven on weekdays and eight on weekends, but since you’re my only guest, you can choose a different time, if you like.”

      “Your current schedule is fine.”

      “The den is through here,” she said, and led the way through an arched doorway. She stopped, her shoulders sagging at the amount of work awaiting her. “Welcome to the after-Christmas nightmare,” she said wearily.

      “Damn,” he murmured, staring, then glanced her way. “Do you decorate every room in the house?”

      “Pretty much. My friends accuse me of trying to make up for my dismal childhood Christmases.”

      “Dismal?”

      “A tabletop Christmas tree and one present dispensed on Christmas Eve just before bedtime.”

      “Were your parents poor?”

      She choked a laugh. “Hardly. More like boring.” Doubting her guest was interested in hearing about her dysfunctional family, she pointed to the antique armoire, all but concealed by the wreaths stacked high in front. “Believe it or not, there’s a flat screen television hiding behind that pile of greenery. You’re welcome to watch TV here or in your room, whichever you prefer. I have a wireless network, so you can connect to the Internet anywhere inside the house, as well as the patios outside.

      “Both the front and back doors have a keyless entry,” she went on to explain. “I change the code every couple of weeks for security purposes. That’s about it downstairs,” she said and gestured toward a set of stairs on the far side of the room. “We’ll take the rear staircase to the second floor.”

      When she reached the top landing, she headed for the opposite end of the hall. “You can have your pick of the bedrooms,” she told him, “but since you’re staying a month, I think the suite will better suit your needs. It has a separate sitting room, with a minifridge and bar. Plus, the bathroom is larger than the others, and has a tub perfect for soaking—a bonus, if you enjoy taking long baths.”

      She pushed open the door to the suite then stepped back out of the way. “Unless you have any questions, I’ll leave you to settle in.”

      “Just one.”

      “What?”

      “When my secretary made my reservations, she asked that you keep my stay here confidential.”

      She held her hand up like a good Girl Scout. “I haven’t told a soul.”

      “Good. No one can know I’m here.”

      She teased him with a smile. “Why? Are the cops after you?”

      He seemed to hesitate a moment, then shook his head. “No. I’m here to check out locations for a future expansion for my company. It’s imperative that my presence, as well as my plans, remain secret until I’m ready to go public.”

      She drew an imaginary zipper across her mouth. “Your secret is safe with me. Anything else?”

      “Not at the moment.”

      “Well, if you think of something, I’ll be in the den dealing with the ghost of Christmas past.”

      Garrett shook his head as he crossed to the bathroom to put away his shaving kit, unable to believe how close he’d come to blowing his cover. When Ali had opened the door to greet him, her likeness to his stepmother had momentarily rendered him speechless. The same blond hair and blue eyes, the same delicate features. They even had similar mannerisms, which he found inconceivable, since the two had never met.

      He’d almost slipped and told her his reason for staring, and would have if he hadn’t been distracted by the jolt he’d received when he’d taken her hand. He’d seen the surprise that had flared in her eyes, sensed her unease in the quickness with which she had broken the contact, and knew she must have felt it, too.

      He thought he’d done a decent job of recovering, then she’d made that comment about everybody having a twin and thrown him for another loop. If she hadn’t appeared so genuinely guileless, he might have thought she was purposely trying to trip him up. As it was, he believed he’d successfully penetrated the enemy’s camp.

       Penetrated the enemy’s camp?

      Snorting a laugh, he tossed his shaving kit onto the vanity. Hell, he was even beginning to think in the vernacular of a spy.

      With a rueful shake of his head, he turned for the bedroom, but stopped when he caught a glimpse of the tub she’d mentioned. Placed on a raised platform of tumbled stone tiles, it resembled an old-fashioned claw-foot in design, but its size and modern fixtures placed СКАЧАТЬ