All-American Girl by Justine Dell

she remembered her head wasn’t the only thing that was throbbing because of Lance.
    With warmth flowing through her, she cradled the decanter in one hand, the glass in the other, and headed for the living room. Her laptop and book notes were sprawled on the coffee table. She frowned when she saw the mess she’d made. She hadn’t made a dent in her manuscript since she arrived in Burlington, and that didn’t help her mood. Her therapist had once told her to take it easy and everything will come naturally. Yeah, right.
    Wallowing in her own self-pity, which she knew would only lead to trouble, she shuffled through the paperwork, surfed the Internet, and briefly contemplated calling Jenny. Jenny always found a way to make Samantha feel better. Her head started to fuzz from a few more shots, and Samantha considered the fact she’d never told Jenny how much she appreciated her. She wondered how much of a mistake that was.
    She’d also never told her grandmother, although the words were always on the tip of her tongue. She’d destroyed so many of her relationships in the past year. Well, not just the past year. In her lifetime. Could she not get anything right?
    She pushed the laptop away and rose from the chair. The room swirled before her eyes. Bed. That was what she needed: to rest her aching head and relax her mind.
    A loud knock at the door had her squinting. Her body felt good, like liquid, as she glided across the floor to answer the door. But her head throbbed and swam. She peered through the peephole and had to blink several times to make sure her eyes weren’t playing tricks on her.
    Flinging open the door, she placed one hand on it, the other propped lazily on the doorframe. She stared curiously at the uninvited guest, trying her best to find her suddenly missing balance.
    “Stalking is illegal in all fifty-two states, Lance.”
    He smiled at her, his dark eyes combing over the features of her face. “As you once said, don’t flatter yourself.”
    Samantha huffed and moved away from the door with the full intention of slamming it in his face, but she fumbled. Before she could get it shut, he strode into the foyer.
    “What do you think you’re doing?”
    He stood and stared at her with his legs slightly parted, one hand tucked into the pocket of his dark-wash jeans. All he must have in his closet were shirts a bit on the small side; this time he wore a blue one. She had to force her eyes back up to his face, where she found him looking intently at her. Chills raced down her spine.
    She wondered if she could mend her relationship with him. She’d been trying with everyone else—really she was—so maybe, just maybe, she should try with him. Forgetting their past was not an option…but maybe forgiveness was? After all, he’d been cordial—mostly. Maybe he had been taking the high road, showing how much their past hadn’t affected him. Well, the past hadn’t affected her, either.
    Liar.
    In any case, maybe she should get on that high road, too.
    “Candice said you were in need of a carpenter.” He thrust his longs arms out to his sides. “Here I am.”
    Samantha narrowed her eyes. Sneaky Candice had left out an important part of her construction friend’s identity. “Am I supposed to bow at your feet?”
    He took one step toward her, and a lump lodged in her throat. His lips were firmly set. It made Samantha’s mind flicker back the time they’d been pressed to hers. The heat intensified.
    “Seeing as how you’re in need of help and I’m here to give it…yes,” he replied.
    Oh, he could help her all right, but Samantha doubted he intended that kind of help. She wasn’t old enough to have hot flashes, was she? With her minded all fogged up and her body feeling as though it could fly, she actually thought about kissing him.
    “Hello…” Lance waved a hand in front of her face. “Anyone home?”
    Her eyelids fluttered as she focused on him. He looked sexy…touchable. The cocky,