All Grown Up. Janice Maynard

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      He reached across the table and took her hand in his, stroking the back of it, feeling the smooth skin, the delicate bones. “Give me a break, Annalise. We can’t work together if we don’t hash this out. I’ll admit I could have handled things better back then. But I’d known you since you were in kindergarten. And you were still a kid as far as I was concerned.”

      She jerked her hand away. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

      Her scowl would have deterred most men. But Sam was tired of being treated like the Ebenezer Scrooge of the romance world. “Your father would have neutered me.”

      “You said I was like a sister to you.”

      “Damn it.” His clumsy lie was going to haunt him. “Clearly, I didn’t mean that. I was trying to escape with some grace.”

      “So you were a lily-livered coward. Is that what you’re telling me?”

      This time he had to count to fifty. Standing abruptly, he tried not to notice the plump curve of her bottom lip or the way dark lashes made feathered crescents on her cheeks when she looked down at her cup.

      “Yes,” he said, conceding defeat. If she wanted to hold a grudge, there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it. “I was a coward.”

      His admission seemed to take the wind out of her sails. “Whatever.” She sniffed and crossed her legs, picking at a spot of lint on the cuff of one pant leg.

      As a comeback, it lacked a certain vocabularic grace, but he was willing to let it slide. “Why don’t I show you your room?” he said, trying to live up to Gram’s notion of hospitality. “I’ll get your bags. Relax and make sure you didn’t do any permanent damage.”

      Her small, wry grin disarmed him. “My butt bone is probably bruised, but I’ll live.”

      Seeing her smile in his presence was such a novelty, he was momentarily stunned. He swallowed. “I’m glad.”

      Unable to come up with any response more scintillating than that, he turned and executed what might be considered a hasty retreat, striding down the hallway toward the front of the house in order to give himself time to regain his footing. If Annalise Wolff was going to start smiling at him, all bets were off.

      He flung open the front door and stopped dead. A string of heartfelt curses brought his lovely guest running. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

      They stood shoulder-to-shoulder gazing out into a world of swirling snow. Already Annalise’s tire tracks were being erased. And her car was coated in white.

      She punched his arm. “Did you know this was going to happen? Why didn’t you tell me not to come?”

      His eyebrows reached his hairline. “I’ve been a little busy, damn it. Did you even bother to look at a forecast?”

      “This is your fault!” They shouted in unison, with two identical expressions of dismay and disbelief.

      Sam closed the door and leaned back, his arms folded across his chest. “I can’t tell for sure without checking The Weather Channel, but having spent a lot of years in Virginia, I’d say we’re in for a big one.”

      “I’m sure it’s not going to be more than a few inches.” The unflappable Annalise Wolff was definitely rattled. A pulse beat visibly in the side of her swanlike neck.

      The urge to make an inappropriate sexual comment was strong, but he squelched it. “You seem upset,” he said mildly.

      It was her turn to do the eyebrow thing. “Seriously? Aren’t you the man who doesn’t leave the office until nine most nights? You could be stuck here. For hours…maybe days.” Her voice ended on a high squeak.

      Oddly, the more she freaked, the greater his sense of amusement. “Don’t worry, Annalise. At least we have each other.”

      Two

      Glaring, she thrust out her chin and fisted her hands. “I absolutely will not be locked up in this house with you. No way, no how.”

      He shrugged. “I promised Gram I’d stay the weekend and get you oriented. But if you’re worried about being stuck and alone with me, we can leave right now. She’ll be really disappointed….”

      He was goading her, and not even trying to hide it. Frustration knotted her belly, even as her recalcitrant imagination conjured up images of the two of them entwined beneath one of Gram’s handmade quilts. “I’m not worried about myself. You’re the one who needs to get back to work.”

      “What do you propose we do? I drove the Porsche. You’re in a Miata. If we stay here any length of time, neither of us has a prayer of making it back out to the interstate.”

      His expression was veiled, unreadable. Was this some kind of game where Sam waited to see if she would cry uncle? She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.

      “Fine,” she said abruptly. “The weather doesn’t bother me. But I’d like my bags now, if you don’t mind. So I can get settled in.” She handed him her keys.

      She was pretty sure his jaw dropped a millimeter. Clearly he thought she’d go running back to the city. But Annalise Wolff never backed down from a challenge.

      He scowled. “Are you sure about this, Princess? If the power goes out, we’ll be roughing it.”

      Annalise gulped inwardly. Her idea of rustic was not staying on the concierge floor at the Four Seasons. “I’m sure there’s a generator…right?”

      “Of course. But it won’t run forever. Did you even bring any warm clothes besides your coat?” His gaze felt like a caress as he did a visual inventory of her silk blouse and thin slacks.

      “I have everything I need. Do you want me to help you retrieve the suitcases?”

      Her snarky question deepened his frown. “I think I can manage.”

      She watched through the window and grinned as Sam opened the trunk and did a double take. Hiding her smile, she stayed out of the way while he made three trips in a row, grousing audibly at the mounting pile of luggage.

      When he was finally finished, he closed the door behind him and locked it, looking for all the world like a sexy abominable snowman. He shrugged out of his thick jacket and ran a hand through his hair, sending droplets of water flying as melting snowflakes dampened the floor.

      Annalise leaned against the wall, trying not to go weak in the knees when his muscles flexed beneath the fabric of a thermal weave shirt in a deep rust color that complemented his eyes. “Thank you.”

      He tossed the wet jacket over the back of a chair. “Does the term high maintenance mean anything to you?”

      She shrugged. “I plan to be here for several weeks. Am I supposed to write you a check for excess baggage?”

      He stared at her, a long, intense clashing of gazes that was unmistakably sexual. “You have a smart mouth.”

      “You СКАЧАТЬ