Книга - All Grown Up

All Grown Up
Janice Maynard


Believing Sam Ely was the only one for her, young Annalise Wolff threw herself at him. But he claimed he was too old for her…and that she was too forward. Seven years later, she's still reeling from his words, vowing never to forgive. Then she's offered a job she can't refuse.Although it means working closely with Sam, Annalise is determined to ignore age-old feelings. But then a snowstorm strands them together…without power…without family interference…without inhibitions. And Annalise has to decide if falling for Sam again is worth the risk of a second broken heart.












She could climb trees, play football, talk cars and quote sports statistics with the best of them. And if the need arose, she knew how to fell a man with one quick move.


What she hadn’t quite mastered, though, was how a woman could resist when the man she’d wanted for years was so close she could lift her lips and touch her mouth to his.

With every fiber of her being, she yearned to move against him, rest her head on his shoulder and feel his big masculine arms enfold her. But that was exactly why she couldn’t.

Any notion she’d ever had of snagging Sam had disappeared when she’d embarrassed herself with a youthful, impassioned declaration that was ill-timed to say the least. Sam might pretend he’d only been letting her down easy, but she had a hunch that in their charged encounter way back then, he had been speaking the truth.

Sam’s perfect woman was not Annalise. Not by a long shot.


Dear Reader,

When I set out to write Annalise’s story, I knew she would be someone special. I also realized that her hero needed to be a man who could see past her outer shell of wealth and beauty to the sometimes emotionally fragile woman within.

Annalise fascinated me as she came to life on the page. She and I have very little in common. So I had to stretch my limits to understand this complex sister/daughter/cousin.

After growing up on Wolff Mountain amid an incredible sea of testosterone, Annalise had to learn (as an adult) what it meant to be a woman. Not a carbon copy of anyone else…but simply herself. A still-sore memory from her past puts the lone female Wolff’s unexpected chance to find a mate in jeopardy.

Sam and Annalise strike sparks off one another. Come along and see what happens when two strong-willed people go head-to-head and happen to fall in love when they least expect it.

Happy reading,

Janice Maynard

www.JaniceMaynard.com

www.WolffMountain.com




About the Author


JANICE MAYNARD came to writing early in life. When her short story The Princess and the Robbers won a red ribbon in her school arts fair, Janice was hooked. She holds a BA from Emory and Henry College and an MA from East Tennessee State University. In 2002 Janice left a fifteen-year career as an infant teacher to pursue writing full-time. Her first love is creating sexy, character-driven, contemporary romance. She has written for Kensington and NAL, and now is so very happy to also be part of the Mills & Boon


family—a lifelong dream, by the way!

Janice and her husband live in beautiful east Tennessee in the shadow of the Great Smoky Mountains. She loves to travel and enjoys using those experiences as settings for books.

Hearing from readers is one of the best perks of the job! Visit her website, www.janicemaynard.com, or email her at JESM13@aol.com. And of course, don’t forget Facebook and Twitter. Visit all the men of Wolff Mountain at www.wolffmountain.com.




All Grown Up

Janice Maynard

















www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


This book is dedicated to women everywhere

who pave their own way with grace and beauty

and originality. Never apologize for being who you are.

Life has shaped you with experiences both good and

bad. Embrace your unique self and let the world

know what you have to offer. Shine!




One


Annalise Wolff regarded Sam Ely much like she did the IRS. She was forced to deal with him occasionally, but the experience inevitably gave her a bad feeling in the pit of her stomach…thus making her voluntary presence in his office today all the more incomprehensible. She leaned back in her chair, crossed one slim leg over the other and admired the sheen on her soft ebony leather boots. They were Prada, as was her voluminous purse.

Suffering the indignity of face-to-face contact with the ridiculously handsome architect required full body armor. Her crimson cashmere sweater and narrow black wool skirt were designed to show him she was all grown up.

Unfortunately, Sam didn’t seem all that impressed.

He lounged against the window frame, his gaze absently focused on the wintry day outside. “Yes or no, Annalise,” he said, a faint but unmistakable bite in his voice despite his honeyed drawl. “I’m giving you the courtesy of first refusal, but there are dozens of interior designers who would jump at this opportunity.”

He was right, damn his scurvy, sexy, Southern hide. The Shenandoah Valley home and dairy farm that belonged to his grandparents dated back to the time of Thomas Jefferson. The house was listed on the national register. Experts in historic renovation were handling the extensive changes Sam had drawn in detail via the plans rolled out on a nearby table. The project was an interior designer’s dream. She stalled, telling herself she could walk away. “And the magazine spread afterward is a done deal?”

“My college roommate’s mom is the managing editor of Architectural Design. She’s salivating at the opportunity to put Sycamore Farm in the earliest possible issue. The only holdup at the moment is you.”

He returned to his desk and sat down on the edge of it, his long, muscular legs dangerously close to hers. The position put him above her, and she knew he did it deliberately. She’d known this man for most of her life. His father had done the architectural design for much of Wolff Castle, and Sam and his dad had been frequent visitors to the Wolff home over the years. For an adolescent girl locked away like Rapunzel in her tower, Annalise’s interactions with the much older Sam had been her first and only exposure to hormonal-driven, adolescent passion.

“When would I start?” she hedged. “If I agree.”

He glanced down at the calendar beside him. “I’m sure you have a few things to wrap up. How about a week from Friday? Gram and Pops want you to live onsite, given the remoteness of the farm. Too much time commuting would eat into the schedule.”

She felt her face heat. “Where will you be?”

He put his hands on his thighs, drawing her attention to their size and firmness and the shape of his masculinity nestled where they met. “Don’t worry,” he muttered, irritation etching a scowl between his eyebrows as he glared at her. “Gram wants me to spend a couple of days at the beginning to orient you to the project, but afterward, I’ll return here to my office, far, far, away. That should put your mind at rest.” He ran a hand through his hair. “For God’s sake, I’m not making you a prisoner. Go home whenever you need to, but I want you to give this job a hundred and ten percent. Or nothing.”

He sat up, back straight, arms folded, eyes glittering with challenge. “Do I make you nervous, Annalise?”

“Of course not.” Her reply was commendably quick, but lamentably false. “I’m just not sure if I have the time to fit you into my schedule.” Annalise didn’t need the money. But the cachet of having her name on this massive undertaking would take her business and reputation to a whole new level. She was ambitious, damn it. Sam might not think of her as anything more than a family friend, but professionally he had her pegged.

He took her hand and drew her to her feet, cradling her loosely in the vee of his legs. “Make time, Annalise,” he said, his gaze locking onto hers like a charlatan preparing to hypnotize an unwary victim. “You know you want to.”

Sam was overplaying his hand. Sexual nuance was not his normal mode of doing business. But the God’s honest truth was, Annalise made him nervous. He’d hurt her badly seven years ago when she’d had a big crush on him, and though he’d like to believe that was water under the bridge, the wariness in her sooty-lashed, pale blue eyes was unmistakable. The adoration she’d showered him with so long ago had changed into fury the instant he’d rejected her, and she had never forgiven him.

The reluctant attraction he battled even now had simmered back then. He’d never been able to forget what happened, and though he’d tried on several occasions to apologize over the years, Annalise shut him down time and again until he finally gave up and avoided her as much as possible. She did likewise.

But like a stubborn splinter beneath the skin, he couldn’t seem to extract her from his life and his thoughts. So when his grandparents insisted he offer the job to Annalise, he’d relished the opportunity to get her alone, to invite her to his office, to see her face-to-face.

The color of her irises was unusual for a woman with hair so dark and glossy. But then again, most everything about Annalise Wolff was extraordinary. Tall and slim and infinitely confident, her striking looks could have made her a runway model or a film star. She carried herself with a boldness that did nothing to minimize her intense femininity.

For a split second, Sam allowed himself to imagine all that boundless energy and subtle sexual aggression in his bed. His sex hardened to the point of pain. This was why he normally kept a healthy distance. He didn’t want to think of her that way. Cursing his own stupidity, he set her aside and put the desk between them. “I can’t give you long to make up your mind. Gram wanted you because of the work you did on the president’s home at UVA. She and my grandfather attended the reception that showcased the renovations there and they were both very impressed with your work. But if you don’t have the time, just say so.”

Annalise folded her arms beneath her breasts. The soft red sweater she wore delineated her modest curves and her narrow waist. Sam had big hands, and it was not a far stretch to imagine himself lifting her and spreading her legs and—

Oh, hell.

She tilted her chin upward, nose in the air. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you? But sorry, Sam Ely, I guess you’re stuck with me. If your grandmother wants me to do this project, I’m in.”

The jolt of joy that stabbed through his chest was a surprise. Did he really want an excuse to spend time with the prickly, stubborn Annalise Wolff? Apparently, according to his unreasonable but insistent erection, he did.

Sam cleared his throat, making a show of turning the calendar around and jotting a note. “I’ll get my attorney to draw up a contract. Do you have any questions?”

Ten days later, Annalise steered her Miata along a narrow paved road that led up to the entrance of Sycamore Farm. In the dead of winter, the property was not all that impressive. Fallow fields crusted with frost flanked both sides of the road. Excessive freezing and thawing had played havoc with the asphalt, leaving the occasional pothole.

Sam’s grandparents had been gone for several weeks, searching out warmer climes. But Annalise had been assured that the fridge and pantry were stocked and at least one bedroom outfitted for a long-term guest.

Remembering her last encounter with Sam, she muttered an expletive. Growing up in an all-male household had done unfortunate damage to a ladylike vocabulary. On New Year’s Eve she’d made a resolution to give up cursing, but so far, her progress hadn’t been stellar.

Sam’s last words still rang in her ears. Do you have any questions?

Hell, yes, she had questions, one in particular. Was I so repulsive seven years ago that you couldn’t bring yourself to have sex with me when I threw myself at you and acted like a fool?

The remembered humiliation churned bile in her stomach. Steering with one hand, she rummaged in her purse for an antacid. The intervening days and months had done nothing to blunt the sharpness of the memory….

“Hi, Sam.” She was breathless from running downstairs to intercept him before he got in his car. She’d kept a vigil at her bedroom window for the last half hour. Sam and his father had driven separately, because the older man was lingering to play poker with her father and Uncle Victor.

Sam paused, one hand on the top of the car, the other holding a set of keys. “What’s up? I thought you weren’t feeling well.” His slow drawl and lazy hazel-eyed smile took her breath away.

She bit her lip, legs trembling. She’d feigned a headache to get out of dinner. Sitting across the table from Sam would have been torture, because she dared not let her daddy see how much in love she was. Vincent Wolff was very protective of his baby daughter. She lifted her chin, reaching for calm. “Actually, I had some work to do. I’m graduating from college in a few weeks. And I’ll start my master’s program. Interior design,” she added, hoping he would be impressed. She felt like an adult for the first time in her life, with a level playing field, and the resultant adrenaline gave her confidence.

Sam jingled his keys. “Oh.” The look on his face wasn’t encouraging. If anything he was eager to get on his way. At almost thirty, Sam Ely was in his prime, and just about the hottest thing Annalise had ever seen.

She moved three steps closer. “I thought you might like to take me out to dinner sometime,” she said.

The look on his face—as if he’d been poleaxed—was not flattering.

Desperation lent wings to her feet. She moved forward with determination, went up on tiptoe to wrap her arms around his neck and kissed him square on the mouth. His arms went around her reflexively, but his entire body stiffened. “Um, Annalise…”

She scattered kisses from his nose to his chin to his tanned neck revealed by an open-collared dress shirt. “I know you’ve been waiting for me to grow up,” she whispered. “Please tell me you want me. I know you do.”

His burgeoning erection gave truth to her words. But at twenty-one, more naive than most, she didn’t fully grasp the difference between male reflex and a more romantic motive.

After one heartfelt moment when it seemed as if Sam might return her kiss, he set her away firmly, holding out a hand when she would have embraced him again. “No, Annalise. I think of you as a sister.”

Confusion brought her up short. His body had responded…unmistakably. “I think I’m in love with you, Sam,” she cried.

He winced. He actually winced. And her heart turned to ashes.

The kindness in his gaze scorched her with humiliation. “You’re barely an adult, honey. And I’m years too old for you. I’m flattered. You’re an amazing young woman. But both of our dads would string me up if I tried anything with you…And besides…”

He had said enough. Annalise didn’t want to hear any more. She was mute with misery.

“Besides,” he said slowly, “most guys like to do the chasing. You might want to think about that. I know you’ve grown up without a mother to teach you these things, but men like gentle, feminine women. Soft, self-effacing. I guess it’s the whole caveman thing.” He brushed her cheek with the back of his hand. “You’re beautiful, Annalise. You don’t need to try so hard….”

The front of the car hit a larger-than-normal pothole, and Annalise was jerked back to the present, clutching the steering wheel as she slowed to a crawl. Please, God, let Sam Ely’s visit be short. She would listen politely, take notes and bid him a civil goodbye. Then she could get to work.

If she ignored the debacle from the past, surely he would have the decency to do so as well.

As she rounded one last bend in the road and came in sight of the cluster of buildings that comprised Sycamore Farm, she saw a lone, immediately recognizable figure standing on the front porch despite the frigid temperatures. Her heart beat a sluggish rhythm as she put the car in Park and got out.

She was a grown woman, well-traveled. Sophisticated. Sexually experienced to some degree. She had done everything in her power to forget her first love, to deny how much Sam’s rejection had wounded her tender heart. Sam Ely was just a man like any other. For thirty-six hours, forty-eight at the most, she would impress him with her calm competence and her utter lack of interest in his sexy smile and masculine charms. By the time he left, all he would remember about Annalise Wolff was that she was damned good at her job.

He lifted a hand in greeting, the habitual smile nowhere in evidence.

Annalise opened her mouth to say hello. But in an instant that felt like the most dreadful slow-motion replay, disaster struck. Her heel hit a patch of ice in the driveway, her feet flew out from under her and she fell flat on her back. Hard.

When she opened her eyes with a groan, Sam Ely’s big body crouched over hers as his hands ran lightly over her limbs checking for damage. Gently he lifted her head and felt for a knot.

Annalise shivered inside her warm down coat, but it had nothing to do with the snow flurries swirling around them. All he had to do was touch her and she was that young, desperate woman again.

He brushed her cheek with the back of his hand. “Are you hurt?”

Sam winnowed his fingers through silky black hair that clung to his fingers with static from the cold air. “Say something, damn it. Are you okay?”

Annalise’s glare could have melted a snowman at ten paces. She struggled to sit up. “I’m fine,” she said shortly. “Quit pawing me.”

Though her words were clipped and showed her annoyance, beneath his touch she was warm and soft and womanly. Resisting the urge to touch the curve of her breast, Sam scooped her into his arms and stood, mentally counting to ten. He’d promised himself he wouldn’t let her push his buttons. But she was so aggravating, his blood pressure went up immediately whenever they got within sight of each other. Not that such a reaction was anything new. As a friend of the Wolff family, he inevitably ran into her from time to time. Neither of them ever managed more than bare civility.

The animosity was his fault, no doubt. But it wouldn’t hurt her to let go of something that happened over half a dozen years ago. Thankfully, she didn’t squirm too much. She was a tall woman, and if he slipped on the ice, they’d both go down.

On the porch, he reached with one hand to open the door and stepped inside, ruefully aware that the house held a distinct chill. He sighed. “The heat and air guys will be here in a couple of days to overhaul the vents and put in new units. In the meantime, I hope you’ve got plenty of warm clothes. The old system is cantankerous.”

“Probably learned it from you,” Annalise muttered beneath her breath.

He knew she meant for him to hear.

In the kitchen, he lowered her into a chair. A cheery fire crackled in the fireplace, and his grandmother’s collection of Fiestaware in the china cabinet brightened the room.

He knelt in front of her. “Tell me the truth. Are you hurt?”

Big eyes stared back at him. And for an instant, he thought her bottom lip might have quivered. But if there had been even a moment of vulnerability, it was gone.

“No,” she said bluntly. “I’m fine.” She stripped out of her coat, revealing a thin silky blouse in a shade of blue that matched her eyes, and black linen trousers with a knife pleat. “But I’d kill for a cup of coffee.”

For a long second, Sam stayed at her feet. She could have stepped off the runway and come straight to him. Vincent Wolff had kept his baby girl locked up like a nun for much of her life, but probably out of guilt, he had indulged her passion for pretty clothes.

Sam sighed. “Don’t try to stand up yet. I’ll brew a pot.” In moments, the aroma of coffee permeated the air. Annalise hadn’t moved from the chair where he put her. But she was pointedly ignoring him, smart phone in hand as she scrolled through messages.

He found a china cup, filled it with hot, fragrant liquid and set it on a saucer at her elbow, along with a tiny pitcher of cream and the sugar bowl. He smothered a grin as she frowned at the add-ons and instead put the cup to her berry-colored lips and drained half of it, black and straight, the same way Sam liked it.

He turned a chair around and straddled it, facing her across the table. “How’s your dad?”

She paused, the cup halfway to her mouth. “Fine.” Her suspicious gaze scanned his face as if searching for a secret agenda.

“And your uncle Vic?”

Annalise set down the cup. “Also fine.”

“Lots of weddings in your family in the last year.”

Her face softened. “Yes. It’s been wonderful. Gracie, Olivia, Ariel, Gillian…I finally have sisters.”

“Your family deserves happiness more than any set of people I know. I’m glad the past is behind you.” When Annalise was a toddler, her mother and aunt had been kidnapped and murdered. It was a blow that had marked them all, and it had taken years for them to truly recover.

Annalise’s eyebrows lifted, a glint of defiance in her expression. “Thank God for that.” She laughed, but there was little humor in the sound. And the sideways glance she shot him said louder than any words that a certain moment in their past was definitely not forgotten.

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 have an arrogant attitude.”

The ruddy tinge that colored his cheekbones gave her more satisfaction than it should have. “What’s in all those bags?” he asked, his stance combative.

“Books, laptop, snacks, lingerie…” She gestured toward the pieces of her Louis Vuitton matched set. Uncle Victor had given it to her as a graduation present. She was spoiled, she freely admitted it. But that didn’t give the insufferable Sam Ely a right to criticize.

“Snacks?” He leaned against the opposite wall, adopting a pose that mirrored hers. Barely three feet separated them, and although the foyer was definitely chilly after Sam had been in and out the door several times, Annalise was not cold at all.

“I have a weakness for chocolate. So sue me. The stuff I picked up in Lucerne after Christmas is better than sex.”

“Then you’ve been having the wrong kind of sex.”

This time it was her jaw that dropped. Her thighs tightened, and she was pretty sure her nipples were playing peek-a-boo through the silk of her blouse…though she wasn’t about to check. Surreptitiously, she lifted her folded arms. “Is flirtation your default setting? Or do you really expect me to argue the point?”

“You’re right,” he said smoothly, his voice slow as syrup. “That was an inappropriate remark between colleagues.”

“I’m not your colleague,” she shot back. “I work for your grandparents.”

Sam straightened and closed the distance between them. “You have to forgive me for the past, Annalise. Otherwise we’re going to be at each other’s throats forever.”

She looked at the tanned skin of his jaw and below…saw the way warm, masculine flesh disappeared into the neckline of his henley shirt, revealing a faint dusting of hair where the top two buttons gaped open. Her heart thudded in her chest and her palms were damp.

Licking her lips, she looked past him to the antique grandfather clock that held a place of honor flanking the foot of a curved staircase. “I’m surprised you haven’t ever found that paragon of womanhood you described to me. You know, all meek and quiet and docile.” Saying the words aloud revived the awful memory of that evening. Her chest hurt.

She heard him curse and felt big, warm hands settle on her shoulders. “Look at me, Princess. I’m sorry. All that crap I said to you that day was just that. I was babbling. Trying to get myself out of a sticky situation. Yes, I was attracted to you. But you had a crush, that’s all. That guff I spouted about waiting for a man to make the first move…well, I guess I wanted to make sure you’d never try that stunt again. I didn’t want you to end up hurt because some jerk took you up on your offer and then dumped you.”

His breath was warm on her face. She dared not look into his eyes. She felt far too fragile, and that really pissed her off, because Annalise Wolff was not fragile. She’d grown up in a monster of a house with two brothers, three male cousins, an uncle and a father. Any girly ways had been hammered out of her at a young age.

She could climb trees, play football, talk cars and quote sports statistics with the best of them. And if the need arose, she knew how to fell a man with one quick move.

What she hadn’t quite mastered, though, was how a woman could resist when the man she’d wanted for years was so close you could lift your lips and touch your mouth to his.

With every fiber of her being, she yearned to move against him, rest her head on his shoulder and feel his big masculine arms enfold her. But that was exactly why she couldn’t.

She was weak when it came to Sam Ely. Weak and dreadfully predictable. So he was handsome, so what? The fact that he was sexy and Southern and so damned funny and smart shouldn’t be an issue.

Any notion she’d ever had of snagging Sam had disappeared when she’d embarrassed herself with a youthful, impassioned declaration that was ill-timed to say the least. Sam might pretend he’d only been letting her down easy, but she had a hunch that in their charged encounter way back then, he had been speaking the truth.

Sam’s perfect woman was not Annalise. Not by a long shot.

With a strangled mutter of protest, she eluded his embrace, picked up two small bags and headed toward the kitchen. Refusing to look at him, she raised her voice as she walked away. “I’d like another cup of coffee, and then I’d appreciate it if you would show me my room.”

Sam grabbed up most of the rest of the bags and followed her, grinding his teeth in frustration. He’d apologized, damn it. What more could he do? He wasn’t about to crawl. Especially since he hadn’t done anything wrong. In fact, he ought to get a medal for doing the right thing. Annalise was one of the most sensual, beautiful women he had ever known. If he’d been a different kind of man—or not suitably intimidated by his father and hers—he would have said to hell with it and taken her up on her offer.

He’d certainly thought about it often enough over the years. But he’d been raised to adhere to a gentlemanly code of conduct, and that code precluded a thirty-year-old man from having sex with one not-quite-mature college graduate who’d been sheltered more than most.

He wasn’t the bad guy in this scenario. So why did he get the distinct impression that Annalise Wolff would like to consign him to the devil?

Striding through the kitchen and into the hallway beyond, he tried to avoid looking at her. The scent of her perfume, something light and beguiling, mingled with the smell of coffee.

The bedroom that had been prepared for Annalise was as cold as ice. He rolled his eyes in disgust and opened all the vents. Evidently the housekeeping service his grandmother utilized had missed a few key points about dates.

Annalise startled him when she appeared at his side, her arms wrapped around her waist protectively. “It’s like a meat locker in here,” she said. “Are you sure the heat’s working at all?”

He hefted her large suitcase onto a large cedar-lined chest at the foot of the bed. “For now? Yes. But I’ll kick the thermostat up a few notches to be sure. It wouldn’t kill you to put on a sweater.”

“The cold doesn’t seem to be bothering you.”

“I have a fast metabolism. And quite a few more pounds of insulation than you do.” He paused, uncharacteristically uncertain. Of himself. Of her. “Last chance,” he said. “If we leave now, I think we can still make it back to town.”

Annalise stared at him, eyes wide. “I’ve cleared my calendar,” she said quietly. “This project deserves my full attention. Even with bad weather, there is a lot I can do to keep the ball rolling. Measuring and sketching alone will keep me occupied for several days. But I understand if you need to go back to Charlottesville.”

He couldn’t read her expression. Weak late-afternoon light, muted by the snow, filtered in through lace sheers, casting dappled shadows on the hardwood floor. “I can’t leave you here alone,” he said, not really wanting to. “Anything could happen.”

She shrugged, glimmers of something disturbing in her eyes. “I’m more resilient than you think. You’re not responsible for me.”

He allowed himself to touch her briefly, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear. “I promised Gram I’d get you started. There’s a lot of info I need to share. So I guess we’re staying.”

He was shocked that she allowed the fleeting touch without protest. A tiny smile kicked up one corner of her mouth. “I guess we are.”

At that moment, the lights flickered. Annalise looked at him with apprehension. “Already?”

“It’s probably just the wind at this point. Although, to be honest, the power isn’t all that reliable on a good week. And by the way, the plans include undergrounding all the utilities. Not only for occasions like today, but to restore the original look of the place.”

“Holy cow, Sam. That will cost a fortune.”

Coming from the daughter of one of the wealthiest families in America, her amazement was telling. “Yeah,” he said, grinning. “But I’m an architectural purist. What can I say?”

The lights flickered a second time, galvanizing him into action. “I need to go bring in as much firewood as I can. If the power goes out, we’ll camp out in the living room.”

“That’s behind the kitchen, right?”

“Yes. The two rooms share a chimney. Fortunately, that section of the house has already been finished. If you don’t mind, how about making us a couple of omelets while I get the wood. If we do lose power, it would be nice to have one last hot meal.”

Annalise blanched.

“What’s wrong?”

“I’m not handy in the kitchen,” she said with a wry, self-deprecating twist of her mouth.

“Nothing fancy,” he assured her. “There’s lunch meat in the fridge. Just chop up some ham.”

She grimaced, and for a split second he witnessed in Annalise a shocking vulnerability he had never seen before. “I’m serious, Sam. I don’t cook.”

The expression on her face seemed to indicate she was awaiting his derision. And although he was certainly incredulous, he tried to hide his surprise. “I guess that makes sense. Growing up without a mother must have been tough.”

“I wanted the chef to teach me. When I was thirteen. But Daddy said it was inappropriate for me to spend time in the kitchen when I could be learning Latin and Greek. He has odd ideas about things like that.”

“And in college?”

“I lived in the dorm. Ate in the cafeteria. When I got out on my own, it wasn’t an issue. I order a lot of take-out, and when I entertain, I hire a caterer.”

He was momentarily speechless.

Annalise lifted her chin. “I know your grandmother is a fabulous cook. And I’m sure your mother is, as well. But if that’s what you were expecting, you’re out of luck. I planned on eating a lot of cereal and canned tuna while I’m here.”

Sam inhaled, feeling as though he was stepping through a minefield. “It’s not important, Annalise. You caught me off guard, that’s all. I have this impression of you as being Superwoman, and I suppose I thought there was nothing you couldn’t do.”

Her tense shoulders relaxed. “That’s a nice thing to say.”

He tugged her hair. “I can be nice on occasion. When I’m not continually provoked.”

“Is that a jab at me?”

He lifted an eyebrow innocently. “Would I do that?”

They laughed softly in unison, and he felt an imperceptible shift in the parameters that had governed the recent cold war between them.

Annalise waved her hands. “Go get the wood. I’ll make some sandwiches. And I do know how to heat soup.”

“Well, there you go,” he said. “What more do we need?”

He found himself whistling as he carried armload after armload of wood into the house from the pile beside the barn. Something inside him felt charged with anticipation, though if he’d been called on to identify the odd feeling, he wouldn’t have been able to pin it down. For the moment, he was content to enjoy the prospect of an evening with a beautiful woman.

If they had to rely on the fireplace for everything, the supply of logs would dwindle rapidly. So he labored until his arms ached and his back protested. When he finally was satisfied that they had enough fuel for the immediate future, he replaced the tarp covering the woodpile and prayed they wouldn’t need to revisit it anytime soon.

As he returned to the house, a rush of warm air greeted him along with the sound of Adele’s voice filling the hallways at high volume. He found Annalise singing along, oblivious to his entrance as she bent over the kitchen table, arranging two place mats at perfect angles and aligning silverware.

It shouldn’t have surprised him to see a high-end iPod dock. Those suitcases had been heavy enough to contain a whole range of electronics.

He waved an arm, hoping to catch her peripheral vision, but she jumped anyway, clutching her chest. “You scared me.” She turned the volume down several notches. “Are you ready to eat?”

He was still wearing his jacket, which was now really wet, so he hung it over a chair and put the chair near a vent. Annalise set an opened beer and a bowl of tomato soup in front of him and added a small plate laden with a sad-looking grilled cheese. It wasn’t exactly burnt, but she had used too much cheese, and the excess had leaked out the side and turned crispy brown.

She hovered until he took a bite of each offering. Then in silence, she brought her own dishes to the table and sat down. With the heat from the stove, the room was finally warm. Out of the corner of his eye, Sam watched her eat. She had tied her hair back in a thick ponytail, revealing a neck begging to be nibbled by some lucky man.

Sam took a swig of beer, swallowed and set the bottle on the table with a muffled thunk. Leaning back in his chair, he stared at her. “So tell me, Annalise. Is there some guy back in Charlottesville who’s going to be missing you while you’re away?”

She gave him a wary, sideways glance. “I’m not seeing anyone at the moment. I’ve been slammed at work, and frankly, the last man I went out with was a little too needy. I don’t have time for all that romantic crap.”

He lifted an eyebrow. “Crap?”

“You know. Texting twenty times a day. Long dinners and hand-holding in the park. Seriously, the man was a walking Hallmark card.”

Sam grinned. “A lot of women like that kind of thing.”

Annalise frowned at him. “I don’t cook and I’m not into romance. Anything else you want to find fault with?”

“Calm down, Princess. I’m not criticizing. I happen to think you’re a fantastically talented person. I was impressed with the way you organized that carnival for the new school in Burton.” The Wolff family was in the process of funding and building a brand-new school at the foot of Wolff Mountain so the K-8 students wouldn’t have to be bussed so far away.

She narrowed her gaze as if trying to discern sarcasm in his words. “I thought I saw you there.”

“I didn’t speak to you because you were so busy. Like a general in charge of an army. Everything went smoothly as far as I could see.”

She nodded, pleasure lighting her face. “The community wanted to be able to invest in the school project financially. And they did…in a big way. The carnival raised a ton of grassroots money.”

“You juggle a lot of balls simultaneously. I’ve noticed that about you.” His office and Annalise’s were in the same building in downtown Charlottesville. They rarely crossed paths during the day, but they ran in the same social circles and often attended the same charitable events.

“I like to stay busy,” she said. She stood and began taking dirty dishes to the sink. Sam had insisted on installing a dishwasher for his grandmother a long time ago, and had even rigged it so that it was virtually unnoticeable in the period kitchen. Annalise loaded the plates and utensils with brisk, efficient movements.

When she was done, she wiped her hands on a gingham dish towel and leaned back against the counter. “Can we do the tour now? I’m eager to get started.”

Sam swallowed hard and wished he hadn’t finished his beer. Was she doing it on purpose, or was he simply reading into her words his own sexual agenda. “Fine,” he croaked.

Annalise grabbed a pen and notebook from the sideboard—she’d obviously been jotting ideas while he’d labored in the snow. “Where do we begin?”

He sighed inwardly, only now beginning to realize what he’d signed on for. Cabin fever, most definitely. And an unfortunately unrequited dose of healthy lust and attraction.

They walked room to room as Sam talked and Annalise scribbled frantically. Once, peeking over her shoulder, he grinned to see that her handwriting resembled a doctor’s…sharp and dark and illegible. Every now and then she’d stop and stare, seeming to be visualizing what might be. She talked to herself beneath her breath as she studied angles and walls and lighting.

After an hour, Sam ushered her back to the living room. Holding a match to the already prepared firewood and tinder, he waved Annalise to one of the two leather armchairs that flanked the fireplace. “We might as well be warm and comfortable while we go over the rest of what Gram wanted me to tell you.”

Annalise curled up in the comfy seat and tucked her legs beneath her. “You don’t know how exciting it is to have carte blanche with a project like this.”

He joined her, yawning as the warmth from the fire caught him unawares. He’d headed to bed after one the night before, and the alarm had been set for six. Even though having to stay at Sycamore Farm longer than he had planned would play havoc with his schedule, at this particular moment, he couldn’t find it in his heart to care.

Contentment rolled over him in a wave, and his eyes drifted shut.

Annalise was taken aback to hear her host emit a soft snore. She turned to face him and felt a sharp jab in the vicinity of her heart. His legs were propped on an ottoman, and his hands were tucked behind his head. With his big body outstretched, the shirt he was wearing rode up at his belt line, exposing a tantalizing inch of flat, male abdomen.

Annalise was a tall woman, but Sam was taller still, giving her an odd and incomprehensible sensation of delicate femininity. Which was bizarre to say the least, because although she loved fashion and accessories as much or more than the next woman, she wouldn’t characterize herself as feminine in the traditional sense.

She was blunt and bold and often spoke her mind when she’d be better served holding her tongue. Arguing came naturally to her, and even as adults, she and her brothers and cousins could go at it at a moment’s notice. Not everyone regarded bickering and merciless teasing as an acceptable pastime, though, and with the advent of new family members, the squabbling had been reduced to more socially acceptable standards.

The testosterone-fueled environment Annalise had grown up in had forced her to develop a thick skin. Regrettably, the only person who had ever really had the ability to pierce it at will was presently sitting a few feet away from her.

She wasn’t very good at being still, though the house was certainly peaceful. Inactivity provided too much time for introspection, and Annalise was seldom comfortable with that much self-awareness. She preferred to forge ahead and make up the answers along the way.

Gnawing her lip in indecision, she set her notebook on a side table and quietly stood. Already the fire needed another log. Stealthily, she removed the fire screen, lifted a two-foot piece of oak, kneeled and dropped it carefully onto the flaming embers.

Though she’d never had the opportunity to be a Girl Scout, her brothers had taught her all sorts of skills in the forest. As young children they’d tramped around Wolff Mountain and even invented a club, six members strong. The Wolff Mountain gang.

She paused, fire poker in hand, and felt the sting of tears. Where had this sense of melancholy come from? Was it because, one at a time, each member of the old “gang” seemed to be finding happiness? Healing? Peace?

She was thrilled for her cousins and for her big brother, Devlyn. But where did that leave her and Larkin? Would they always be odd men out?

“Do you see something I don’t see?” Sam spoke from behind her, startling her so badly she dropped the poker.

She picked it up, rearranged the logs and replaced the screen. At last, she turned to face Sam. Her feelings were too close to the surface, and she feared saying something stupid. “Just enjoying the blaze,” she said lightly.

He sat up, yawning. “Sorry to crash on you like that. It’s been a long week.”

“Since you quizzed me, I suppose it’s okay for me to ask if you have a lady friend who will expect you home tomorrow?”

He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, and ran his hands through his hair. “I’m between relationships at the moment,” he said, his voice muffled.

Annalise was well aware that Sam Ely was considered a “catch.” Over the years she had noted the stream of females flowing through his life. Noted and been silently wounded by it. “What happened to the last one?”

His head lifted and he resumed his earlier position. But although his body language signaled relaxation, his gaze was guarded. “We differed on some important issues. Politics. Religion.”

“And that was enough to forego sex with Diana Salyers?”

He grinned. “You know a lot about me for someone who hates my guts.”

Annalise sniffed. “You paraded her around all over Charlottesville. Kind of hard to miss. But I’ll admit that I didn’t know it was over. You strike me as being the kind of guy who could overlook things like that.”

He grinned. “Touché. All right. If you must know, I found out she doesn’t want to have kids.”




Three


Sam took it as a good sign that Annalise was interested in his love life. Not that he had decided to coax his irascible house guest into bed. But it was nice to know there was some level of emotional involvement, despite her determined antipathy.

He crossed one ankle over the other and rubbed his chest with one hand. Annalise’s gaze tracked his every move.

She worried her bottom lip. “You want kids?”

Her incredulity nicked him. “I’m on the wrong side of thirty-five. Is that so strange?”

Instead of sitting down, she paced, her nervous energy palpable. “I didn’t peg you for the family type. Didn’t your parents divorce?”

He nodded. “When I was nine. Dad worked long hours, so Mother got full custody and took me to Alabama, where she was from.”

“Hence the accent.”

“Yeah. Alabama was great, but I’d visit Dad several times a year, and then every summer, I came here. To Sycamore Farm. Gram and Pops were security. Roots.”

“And this farm will all be yours one day.”

“I’m in no hurry. It’s so far from town I don’t know if I’d ever live here full-time. But weekends and vacations certainly. I’d like my sons and daughters to have the same great experiences I remember.”

“Kids…plural? I thought children of divorce ended up cynical loners.”

“Do I seem like that kind of guy to you?”

She turned to face him, their gazes locking across the room. For long moments the only sound was the pop and crackle of the fire. “No,” she said finally. “But I did assume you were a confirmed bachelor.”

“Not at all. In fact, when the right woman comes along, I’ll snap her up and hopefully give Gram and Pops some great-grandchildren while they’re still young enough to enjoy them.”

“Interesting.” Annalise walked to the window and tugged aside thick brocade draperies. Darkness had fallen and the glass was too frosted to see anything anyway.

He couldn’t read her at the moment. “What about you?” he asked. “Are you going to ride the wave of happily-ever-afters that has overtaken the Wolff family?”

She turned, clearly shocked. “Me? Oh, no. And definitely not kids. It wouldn’t be fair.”

There was no palatable explanation for the leaden block of disappointment in his stomach. “How so?”

Now she paced behind him, meaning that unless he wanted to stand up and join her, he had no way of studying her expression. He stayed seated and gave her the space she seemed to need.

Her voice was almost wistful. “I’ve never been around children. At all. You know that none of us were allowed to go to school until we were college-aged.”

“You had private tutors, right?”

“Yes. And let me tell you, I had a really hard time making friends when I was an eighteen-year-old college freshman. All I knew was how to relate to guys. Girls were a mystery to me, and sororities, giggling confidences, sexual bragging…All of it baffled me.”

“What does any of this have to do with having kids?”

“Let’s just say I’m not the nurturing type and leave it at that.”

Her answer unsettled him. He felt sure there was more to the story. But they didn’t have the kind of relationship where he could drag it out of her. After all, he was lucky to be sharing a house without armed hostilities.

He waved a hand over the back of his chair. “Come sit down. Let me tell you what Gram wants.” With the cozy fire and the sense of isolation bred by the storm, the room had become far too intimate.

By the time he retrieved his briefcase from the kitchen and extracted a folder, Annalise was sitting with suspect docility in her chair by the hearth. He’d half expected her to change into jeans and a sweatshirt, but then again, he wasn’t sure she owned anything that plebian.

Merely looking at her threatened his peace of mind. She was the kind of beautiful that made a man’s heart ache. And other parts of him…well, hell. His body reacted predictably.

Trying to ignore the picture she made, he sat back down, clearing his throat. “How much do you know about the house?”

“Not too much, really. I’m all ears.”

She had taken her hair down, and now it floated around her shoulders, black as sin and just as appealing. As he watched, mouth dry, she curled one strand around her finger and played with it absently. The innocently sensuous motion of her hand mesmerized him.

He dragged his gaze away and stared blindly at the papers in his hand.

“Tell me,” she said impatiently. “The more I know, the better I’ll be able to recreate the past. Every house has a living memory. My job is to find it here at Sycamore Farm.”

“Right.” He gathered his thoughts and tried to pretend he was talking to a stranger. “Sycamore Farm dates back to the time of Jefferson and Monticello. Some journals even suggest that one of my long ago ancestors was a friend of the Jeffersons, but that hasn’t been proven.”

“Still, it’s fun to think about. And the two properties are not all that far apart as the crow flies.”

“True. At any rate, we lost the land for about twenty-five years late in the nineteenth century, after the Civil War. The house suffered some damage and the family experienced financial reversals. But fortunately an enterprising Ely farmer bought it back about 1900, and it’s been in the fold ever since.”

“I love to think about that lineage. You’re very lucky, Sam.”

“Your dad and uncle have begun something similar at Wolff Mountain. I know the Wolff legacy was born in darkness, but think about the years ahead. Especially with all the weddings and babies on the way.”

“Only one baby so far, and that’s a few months away. Little Cammie was already five when we met her, so having a newborn on the mountain really will be different.”

“Don’t you think you’ll want a house up there at some point?”

His question seemed to take her by surprise. “I haven’t thought about it.”

“Liar.”

Her head snapped around so fast it was a wonder she didn’t have whiplash. “What does that mean?” Indignant and offended, she glared at him. Ah, that was the Annalise he was accustomed to seeing. “It means that I know you, Princess. You’re a decorator. You live for color and lighting and creating beautiful spaces. You can’t tell me you haven’t daydreamed about your own place on the mountain.”

Her eyes darkened. “I have such mixed emotions about Wolff Mountain,” she said softly. “Whenever I go there, it brings it all back. Tragedy and family and sadness and home. I’m not sure I want to perpetuate that.”

“I could help you design it.” He wasn’t sure where the words came from. They tumbled from his lips uncensored.

She stared, her eyes huge. “You would?”

“Of course. It would be an honor. I feel like my dad’s involvement in creating the castle makes me an honorary Wolff, anyway. And even if you build your own place, you could still live in Charlottesville.”

A small smile teased her lips. “I may hold you to that.”

“I’m a man of my word.”

They looked at each other, Sam itchy and aroused and unused to being locked up in a cozy room with a woman who pushed his buttons so successfully. And God knew what the unpredictable Annalise Wolff was thinking. Probably diabolical ways to smother him in his sleep.

He would consider seducing her if he wasn’t fairly certain she’d go after his private parts with a butcher knife. Beware a woman scorned. The old adage rang in his ears, though he hadn’t scorned her in the traditional sense. But any softer feelings she felt for him so long ago were clearly dead and buried.

Annalise wrinkled her nose. “We keep getting sidetracked. Tell me what your grandmother is thinking about colors and fabrics.”

He leaned forward, handing her several sheets of paper clipped together. When his fingers brushed hers, he felt an unmistakable burst of heat. “She wrote a lot of stuff out for you to go by. I think she trusts you a great deal. She mostly included things she wants kept the same. Other than that, you can do that magic that you do and make Sycamore Farm a showplace.”

As Annalise read through what he had given her, Sam added more logs to the fire and went back out onto the front porch to assess the situation. It wasn’t good. They were closing in on twelve inches, with no end in sight. He stood there in his shirt sleeves for a moment, feeling the bitter sting of wind and ice crystals on his face.

The frigid air was almost a relief. His reaction to Annalise Wolff had taken him entirely off guard. The attraction was nothing new. He’d watched her grow from a child into a beautiful, vibrant woman over the years. And even when she had thrown herself at him, he’d been tempted. Really tempted.

But at no time since then had he ever really entertained the idea of pursuing her. First and foremost because she had such a damned big chip on her shoulder about him rejecting her. And then there was the almost inevitable awkwardness if they tried something and it didn’t work.

Sam and his dad were welcome visitors at Wolff Castle at least on a monthly basis. What would happen if Sam dated Annalise, slept with her and ended things? The fallout had the potential to disrupt relationships that were years in the making.

For a brief moment he allowed himself to consider the possibility that he and Annalise might be good together. Really good. Wedding bells and white dress good. He was ready to settle down, more than ready. His own childhood had been decent, but he had always envied the Wolff kids and their invisible but unmistakable bond.

Sam wanted his own children, whenever they came along, to have siblings, to experience the fun and security of knowing that someone always had your back. The Wolffs had been good to him when he visited with his father over the years. But Sam was older even than Gareth, so he hadn’t really been able to assimilate into the pack.

As an adult man, he’d forged lasting friendships with all of them. He was particularly close to Jacob and Devlyn. Annalise was the only real holdout, and apparently in her eyes, Sam would always be to blame for their standoff. He was willing to expend the required energy to win her over, but what then? If a romantic liaison went awry, it would be World War III all over again, only this time with no hope of détente.

Shivering hard, he turned his back on the blizzard and went inside.

By the time Annalise finished reading through all the notes Sam’s grandmother had made, Sam still had not returned. She added one more log to the blaze and then went to her room to unpack. The antiques spread throughout the house had been lovingly cared for, and it was heartening to know that many of them would be preserved in the newly renovated house.

After filling the narrow closet and most of the drawers in the dresser and armoire, she folded back the covers and tossed her gown and robe on the bed. The beautiful pieces were silk and not very warm. Perhaps she should have thought through the ramifications of sleeping in a drafty farmhouse in the dead of winter.

As she passed by the mirror with its wavy, slightly mottled glass, she stopped and stared at her reflection. What did Sam see when he looked at her? Was she still the socially awkward, love-stricken young woman to him?

Thinking about that dreadful moment in the past was physically painful. It was more than embarrassment. That she could have moved beyond. But the hurt that ran deeper was his criticism. Even as he’d said the words aloud, she had recognized the truth of them. She was too pushy, too oblivious to other people’s feelings at times.

A more experienced woman would have gauged Sam’s disinterest and backed off. But all Annalise had been able to recognize was her own desperate longing for the young teenage boy she had adored as a child. The adolescent boy who had gone on to become a breathtakingly handsome man.

“Are you all settled in? Do you need anything?”

Sam lounged in the doorway, effortlessly charming and charismatic. His head nearly brushed the lintel. All of a sudden, the small, delightful bedroom felt claustrophobic.

Annalise felt panic creep into her throat. What if he could see how much he still affected her? Even worse, what if he thought she was pathetic? Lusting after a man who was no more than a family friend.

She cleared her throat. “I think I’ll hit the sack. Good night.”

He glanced at his watch. “It’s eight-thirty, Annalise.”

“Oh.” Busted. Had she even brought a book to read? “I don’t suppose there’s internet?”

He chuckled. “Are you kidding? Gram and Pops are pretty much up with the times, but they flatly refused to get a computer. Even though I begged. It might be a different story now that they’re in Florida. We’ll see. But you’ve got your phone…you should be able to check email as long as the storm isn’t disrupting tower signals.”

He paused, shifted from one foot to another, then gave her a lopsided grin. “There’s something I could show you…if you’re not too tired. But you’ll definitely need a coat or sweater, because it’s on the third floor.”

She nodded slowly. “Okay.” Grabbing up a soft suede jacket, she slipped her arms into the sleeves and scooped her hair out of the collar. “I’m ready.”

Sam didn’t bother with another layer. Apparently he was made of tougher stuff. She followed him up one set of stairs and then another, pausing at a landing as Sam found a key on his key ring and unlocked a rather short door. Ducking to follow him in, she inhaled the scent of history…dust, old paper and the passage of time.

Sam reached up and pulled the chain to illuminate a single lightbulb suspended from the rafters. The space in which they stood ran half the length of the house. It was bone-chillingly cold, and the storm winds shrieked around the gables of the roof with magnified ferocity.

Annalise shuffled from one foot to the other, arms wrapped around her waist. “This better be good.”

The grin Sam cast over his shoulder made her weak in the knees. “Follow me.” He led her down one side of the room to a section of the attic that had obviously once been walled in. “I imagine this might have been used as servant quarters years ago.” Although segments of the wall were nothing more than exposed two-by-fours or whatever the historical equivalent was, part of a single section was still covered in wallpaper. Really old wallpaper.

Annalise bent forward, trying to get close enough to see in the dim light. “Jiminy Christmas, Sam. Is this original?”

She felt his presence, big and warm, at her shoulder. “Jiminy Christmas?”

Heat washed up her throat. “I made a New Year’s resolution to give up cussing.”

“Ah.” He was so close she could inhale his clean, male scent, so close she could hear him breathe.

Doggedly, she focused her attention on the wall. “Has anyone on the historical renovation team seen this?”

Sam pulled a small flashlight out of his hip pocket and handed it to her. “No. But the plan doesn’t call for any changes up here. You’re one of the only people I know who would get excited about this.”

She shone the small beam of light on the edge of the faded paper. Once upon a time it had probably been a cheery yellow. Now, the scattering of small flowers was barely visible on a field of cream. “There’s more under here, isn’t there?”

She sensed rather than saw him nod. “I’ve picked at the frayed part enough to tell that there are at least three more layers beneath this. I think that with an X-Acto knife we might be able to extract the various pieces so that you could look at them.”

“This is so damn cool!” She clapped her hand over her mouth and heard Sam laugh. “Is there or was there anything like this downstairs?” she asked, hoping to distract him from her failings.

“If so, it’s long gone. You’ll find Sheetrock and more modern building supplies. But I know Gram would be thrilled if you were able to find a paper similar to one of these and use it in at least one room…just to tie the past to the future.”

“I’d love to try. But why do you think they would have gone to the trouble to use wallpaper up here if it was for servants?”

“My guess is that the paper was a way to keep wind out. Back then, before roofing was really well done, I’m sure this area of the house was almost like living outside.”

“Hmmm.” Her brain raced even as she absorbed the fact that she and Sam stood shoulder-to-shoulder. He seemed to be almost deliberately crowding her personal space.

Her jacket was warm, and with Sam in touchable distance her blood was pumping. The cold didn’t even register at the moment. Nevertheless, she feigned a shiver. “I’ll come back up here one day when I can see better.”

“I could show you more treasures. Disintegrating silk dresses with bustles and button-up shoes. Old army uniforms. Collections of sabers and muskets. Even Gram’s wedding dress.”

She faced him, wondering what he would do if she went up on tiptoe and kissed him. “It will keep, won’t it? I think I’m ready for bed. It’s been a long day.” She handed over the flashlight, and he tucked it in his pocket. But neither of them moved.

“Annalise, I…”

She’d never heard Sam Ely sound unsure of himself. And the scowl that etched tight planes on his face wasn’t encouraging.

Sexual tension arced and crackled between them. If it had been any other man, any other situation, Annalise would have initiated a kiss. But the specter of Sam from the past held her back. Guys like to do the chasing.

Confused, embarrassed and angry with herself for acting like a 1950s debutante, she turned abruptly. “I’m done here.”

She had taken three steps in the direction of the door when the lights went out. Her momentum carried her forward, and she tripped over something on the floor and stumbled to her knees. “Ouch, damn it.” Pain shot up her leg to her hip, and her big toe throbbed.

“Hold still. Don’t move.” Sam rustled behind her, and muttered beneath his breath when something fell to the floor with a loud thunk.

“What was that?”

“I dropped the stupid flashlight.” He crouched beside her, reaching out in the darkness. “Are you still in one piece?”

“Bruised but functional.”

“Let me help you up.” His arms went around her and they both froze.

“Sam,” she said, her voice unsteady. “That’s my boob you’re holding.”

He released her like a man backing away from a poisonous snake. “Sorry.”

She found his hand with hers. “Pull.” Gradually, wincing as her knee protested, she made it upright. “Okay then. I can walk.”

“Not without me, you can’t. Hold on to the back of my belt and I’ll get us to the door.”





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