Protecting Peggy by Maggie Price Page B

Her brain had echoed his marital status only about a hundred times since he’d imparted that information last night.
    There is no Mrs. Sinclair. That made him single. Eligible. Available. And totally off-limits.
    â€œTotally,” Peggy murmured as she hefted the tray and started toward the foyer.
    Despite her growing attraction to the man, she knew she had to be practical. An affair with Rory was out of the question. After all, they were from separate worlds. Hers was a Victorian inn perched against a hillside that faced the rugged California coast. His, a sterile laboratory somewhere in Washington, D.C.
    Knowing he would return to that lab in the nearfuture should have been the equivalent of a blast of ice water in her face. Instead, a deep, dark ache pulled at her to make the most of the time they had.
    She could feel herself blushing as she started up the staircase, favoring her stiff hip. How, she wondered, had it come so far, so fast that just the thought of feeling Rory’s hands on her flesh could start her heart racing?
    She was certain the unsettling events of the previous day were the reason her emotions had veered out of kilter. Rory had swept her to safety, comforted her, tended to her guests. Then there was Samantha. The instant Rory handed her child a fuzzy pink rabbit, Peggy had felt a little crack around her heart.
    How could she possibly have a defense against a man like that?
    When she reached the door of Rory’s third-floor room, she knocked softly and waited. When no response came, a crease formed between her brows. Last night his plan had been to work in his room most of today. He had not come down for breakfast—a fact that’d had Samantha’s bottom lip poking out in a pout before she’d left for preschool.
    Peggy shook her head at the memory. Her daughter was friendly and outspoken and well-used to being around the inn’s guests who arrived and left like clockwork. Still, Peggy had never seen Samantha take to anyone the way she had Rory. That meant she would have to deal with the disappointment that would inevitably accompany his leaving. Making sure Samantha’s attachment to him didn’t intensify was anothergood reason for them both to have as little contact with Rory as possible.
    As it turned out, he might not even be on the premises, Peggy decided, her arms beginning to ache from the weight of the loaded tray.
    Whether Rory’s car was still parked in the lot, she didn’t know. She hadn’t ventured outside that morning—had not yet gotten up the nerve to go anywhere near her greenhouse. If his plans had changed and he had left for a while, she would use the passkey she carried in the pocket of her slacks and take advantage of his absence to change the towels and linens in his room.
    She knocked again, more loudly, and still got no response. Shifting the tray, she pulled her key from her pocket, slid it into the lock, then eased the door open.
    The bed was unmade, the star-patterned quilt trailing across the brass footboard onto the floor. A pair of khaki pants and a tan sweater lay on top of the tangled sheet and blanket; brown leather loafers sat on the braided rug at the side of the bed.
    She stepped over the threshold, then jolted when Rory strode out of the bathroom, wearing nothing but a white towel barely hitched at his hips. His black hair was wet, slicked back from his face in a way that enhanced the strong, smooth line of his jaw. Slowly, her gaze went to the broad chest tanned and darkened by sleek black hair. And those shoulders… Her fingers tightened on the tray.
    He met her gaze, his lips curving, slow and deliberate. “It’s always nice to find a beautiful woman in my bedroom.”
    â€œI’m sorry.” How could one man ooze so much charm and sex appeal with just one smile? “I…knocked. Twice. When you didn’t answer, I thought you might have left.”
    He cocked his head, his blue gaze