Tempted By The Single Dad. Cara Colter

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СКАЧАТЬ And how dare you just walk into my home?”

      “Your home?” The frown deepened around the exquisite corners of a wide mouth.

      “I’ve rented this cottage from Mavis, in this time period, every year for the past ten years. My mom and dad rented it before that. That’s why I have my own key.”

      What? Allie thought, completely taken off guard. She noted his voice was a masculine and sexy rasp. She could still feel her upper arms tingling from where he had held her fast.

      Now that there was, obviously, no threat, her thoughts wandered. She despised herself for the wish that flitted through her mind: that her hair was not rumpled, towel-dried from her last swim, the tips still a shockingly different color than the rest of her blond hair. She wished she was not standing there, barefoot, in a too-large T-shirt that ended just past the shorts she had pulled on over a still-damp bathing suit.

      Allie actually wished she had makeup on, which was totally against the cottage rules.

      She snapped her mouth shut, since it had fallen open as she struggled to make the leap from home invader to well, home invader. Suddenly, it didn’t seem very funny at all, and the giggle, hysterical or otherwise, died within her. He didn’t know, and she hated being the one to break it to him.

      “Mavis is my grandmother.” Somehow, she couldn’t bring herself to say was as if that would erase something too completely from her world. “She’s gone.”

      “Your grandmother,” he said, cocking his head at her, as if trying to discern truth.

      “Yes, my grandmother.”

      Did he see some resemblance? People had always said she had her grandmother’s eyes. They certainly shared a diminutive size. His shoulders suddenly relaxed. “Mavis goes every year. To visit her sister. But when I saw you here, it just shocked me. I wondered if she had come to harm.”

      “Do I look like the type of person who would harm an old lady?”

      He looked at her carefully, as if he was weighing this. “You claimed you had a weapon in your pocket.”

      “When I thought I needed one for self-defense.”

      “You came at me with a lamp…or something.”

      “It’s a statue, and I didn’t exactly come at you.”

      “But you would have, if I hadn’t knocked you over with the door.”

      Well, she couldn’t deny that.

      “That was an accident, by the way,” he said, his voice both rough and soothing, “I thought the door was stuck so I threw my shoulder behind it. Are you okay? I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

      He must have decided she did not look like a mugger of old ladies, if he was interested, albeit reluctantly, in her well-being.

      “I’ll live.”

      He gazed at her steadily, as if trying to make up his mind, then rolled his shoulders, ran a hand through his hair.

      “I apologize for acting as though you were an intruder. It’s just that I was shocked to find you here. You’re Allie, then. Allie of the artwork on the hallway walls. I guess I pictured Mavis’s granddaughter as much younger. To match the artwork.”

      There was something vaguely unsettling about this stranger being familiar with the artwork of her younger self. Better to nip any familiarity in the bud.

      “I’m sorry. I have some other shocking news. Mavis hasn’t gone to visit my great-aunt Mildred. She—” But somehow, when she went to say the actual words, her lips quivered, and she could feel tears welling.

      Talk about an emotional roller coaster! But maybe that is what shocks did to people? Put them through their whole range of emotions?

      Understanding dawned in his face. “Mavis died?”

      “Yes.”

      “I’m terribly sorry to hear that.” He looked genuinely taken aback. He raked a hand through the dark silk of his hair again, and then glanced back outside.

      Sorry. What an inadequate word. She made herself swallow back the tears that were forming and assume a businesslike tone. “I inherited the cottage. I wasn’t aware of any rental arrangement.”

      “That explains being met at the door with—” he squinted over her shoulder “—a bludgeoning device.”

      “My grandmother called him Harold. The bludgeoning device.”

      “Is the fact that the bludgeoning device bears a name supposed to make it more or less threatening?” he asked.

      There was something about the faint smile that tickled the edges of that extraordinary mouth that made her feel just a little more off-kilter.

      “As you said, there have been break-ins. I saw it on the news, too. Defense by Harold seemed like a good idea at the time.”

      “Look, you are about the size of a garden gnome…”

      A garden gnome?

      “…I don’t think tackling an intruder head-on is the best idea. Harold or no Harold. The fake pistol in your pocket was really dumb.”

      Ouch. Not just a garden gnome, but a dumb garden gnome.

      Allie had to get rid of him. She made her tone deliberately unfriendly. “I hardly need lectures from strangers.”

      “Not even a stranger you tried to bean with a sculpture?”

      “Unsuccessfully,” she muttered.

      “I make my case.” More softly, he said, “I don’t feel as if we are exactly strangers.”

      The fact that he had seen her artwork did not make them friends.

      “I liked your grandmother a great deal,” he said softly. “I think she would have wanted me to warn you against tackling intruders.”

      Allie did not like how his expression had softened with concern, as if she was a silly child who was in need of his supervision. Still, no point being churlish about it, especially since he was right: her grandmother would have approved of his well-meaning words.

      “Well,” Allie said, “thanks for your sage advice.” Maybe the tiniest hint of sarcasm had gotten into her tone, because he was looking at her with his brows lowered in a most formidable way.

      She would not be intimidated. “So, our mutual caring for my grandmother notwithstanding, I think our business here is concluded. Let me show you the door, Mr….er…”

      “Walker. Sam Walker.”

      “Mr. Walker, then. My apologies for the mix-up. It will have left you in a bit of a pickle, but—”

      “The pickle may be yours, I’m afraid. I have a contract.”

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