might have been different. But she hadn’t.
And that was a good thing, she’d told herself more than once. Because the last man who’d knocked her socks off was Zack—and he’d also knocked her into a wall when she gave directions to a lost tourist in Philly—a young man simply trying to find the Liberty Bell Museum.
Zack, who’d been looking out the window of their apartment, happened to see her talking to the man—smiling, standing close to him as she gave him directions.
And he’d flipped out.
When she’d come up to their loft, he’d thrown her against the foyer wall. Hard. Pinned her there, shouted in her face . . .
She swallowed now, closed her eyes a moment.
No more men. No more mistakes.
She hadn’t gone out on a second date with any man inLonesome Way. Her friends knew everything that had happened with Zack, but they simply didn’t believe she was serious about being done with men.
Oh, they were sympathetic. They were horrified by what she’d gone through. And protective.
But they hadn’t been there. Not in the loft where she and Zack had lived, or in the building’s elevator, when he’d accused her of flirting with the new tenant on the sixth floor. They hadn’t been in the hotel, either, the time she and Zack had gone to Atlantic City, when the doorman had complimented her new silk dress as she passed by.
They hadn’t felt the fear, the pain, the shock of Zack’s hands crushing her wrists, of his fist slamming into the bones of her face the moment they reached their room.
Men weren’t worth the trouble, the letdown, or the heartache.
Sounds like a country song,
she thought to herself, even as her glance skimmed past Dick Tyson, owner of a ranch on Mule Road, who’d taken her out to a fancy dinner in Livingston. He was nice enough, but he had beer breath, and talked endlessly about his ex-wife, who’d cheated on him with a stockman from Laramie.
She didn’t need a man. She had three young children to care for, and friends to celebrate good times with, and a cabin she might be able to rent out soon. . . .
And maybe, just maybe, a little chocolate business that she might get going one of these days . . .
I’ll make dark chocolate truffles for Charlotte’s bridal shower favors,
she decided, her heart lightening.
And maybe caramel chews and milk chocolate mint hearts—plus some mini chocolate wedding bells. Wrap them in delicate little gilt bags tied with silver ribbon and . . .
At that moment, the door of the Double Cross opened and Wes McPhee strode in, all six foot four inches of magnificent, hunky male.
Oh God, give me a break
. Her pulse pumped faster at the sight of him. Honestly, why did he have to look so . . . so . . .
Hot.
There was just no other word for it.
Those sharp green eyes swept the entire place in the space of an instant, sizing up the room like a boxer sizing up any opponent who could possibly step into the ring.
When he saw her, he gave a brief nod of acknowledgment, a slight quirk of his lips, then nonchalantly strode toward the rows of tables and booths on the opposite side of the dance floor. Annabelle didn’t want to do it, but she couldn’t help herself from craning her neck to see where he was headed.
A flicker of surprise rippled through her when she saw him shake hands with Jake Tanner, then slide into a chair opposite him at a small table.
Now, what’s that all about?
Not that it was any of her business. Nothing about her temporary new tenant was her business.
“Wow, can you feel it?” Charlotte murmured in awe.
“Feel what?” Annabelle asked.
“The electricity.”
Tess grinned, and waved her hand over her face as if she was fanning herself. “Oh, yeah. I think every single woman in the place is tingling right now. And a few married ones. Even me. But don’t tell John,” she added quickly, with a blush.
“Honestly, Annabelle, your life is going to be so interesting, what with Wes living so close by. Right
And that was a good thing, she’d told herself more than once. Because the last man who’d knocked her socks off was Zack—and he’d also knocked her into a wall when she gave directions to a lost tourist in Philly—a young man simply trying to find the Liberty Bell Museum.
Zack, who’d been looking out the window of their apartment, happened to see her talking to the man—smiling, standing close to him as she gave him directions.
And he’d flipped out.
When she’d come up to their loft, he’d thrown her against the foyer wall. Hard. Pinned her there, shouted in her face . . .
She swallowed now, closed her eyes a moment.
No more men. No more mistakes.
She hadn’t gone out on a second date with any man inLonesome Way. Her friends knew everything that had happened with Zack, but they simply didn’t believe she was serious about being done with men.
Oh, they were sympathetic. They were horrified by what she’d gone through. And protective.
But they hadn’t been there. Not in the loft where she and Zack had lived, or in the building’s elevator, when he’d accused her of flirting with the new tenant on the sixth floor. They hadn’t been in the hotel, either, the time she and Zack had gone to Atlantic City, when the doorman had complimented her new silk dress as she passed by.
They hadn’t felt the fear, the pain, the shock of Zack’s hands crushing her wrists, of his fist slamming into the bones of her face the moment they reached their room.
Men weren’t worth the trouble, the letdown, or the heartache.
Sounds like a country song,
she thought to herself, even as her glance skimmed past Dick Tyson, owner of a ranch on Mule Road, who’d taken her out to a fancy dinner in Livingston. He was nice enough, but he had beer breath, and talked endlessly about his ex-wife, who’d cheated on him with a stockman from Laramie.
She didn’t need a man. She had three young children to care for, and friends to celebrate good times with, and a cabin she might be able to rent out soon. . . .
And maybe, just maybe, a little chocolate business that she might get going one of these days . . .
I’ll make dark chocolate truffles for Charlotte’s bridal shower favors,
she decided, her heart lightening.
And maybe caramel chews and milk chocolate mint hearts—plus some mini chocolate wedding bells. Wrap them in delicate little gilt bags tied with silver ribbon and . . .
At that moment, the door of the Double Cross opened and Wes McPhee strode in, all six foot four inches of magnificent, hunky male.
Oh God, give me a break
. Her pulse pumped faster at the sight of him. Honestly, why did he have to look so . . . so . . .
Hot.
There was just no other word for it.
Those sharp green eyes swept the entire place in the space of an instant, sizing up the room like a boxer sizing up any opponent who could possibly step into the ring.
When he saw her, he gave a brief nod of acknowledgment, a slight quirk of his lips, then nonchalantly strode toward the rows of tables and booths on the opposite side of the dance floor. Annabelle didn’t want to do it, but she couldn’t help herself from craning her neck to see where he was headed.
A flicker of surprise rippled through her when she saw him shake hands with Jake Tanner, then slide into a chair opposite him at a small table.
Now, what’s that all about?
Not that it was any of her business. Nothing about her temporary new tenant was her business.
“Wow, can you feel it?” Charlotte murmured in awe.
“Feel what?” Annabelle asked.
“The electricity.”
Tess grinned, and waved her hand over her face as if she was fanning herself. “Oh, yeah. I think every single woman in the place is tingling right now. And a few married ones. Even me. But don’t tell John,” she added quickly, with a blush.
“Honestly, Annabelle, your life is going to be so interesting, what with Wes living so close by. Right
Similar Books
