earrings. The pad of his thumb touched the sensitive spot beneath her ear and a shiver raced through her.
“You’re wrong,” he assured her, frowning with intense concentration as his thumb continued making soft strokes to her skin. “I just like to get everyone out of my hair. Nothing seems to do that quite like money.”
He was making light of what he’d done, which touched her unbearably. She had to leave before she made a bigger fool of herself. “See you later, Hunter.”
He didn’t smile, but something passed between them, something unspoken, something hot enough to steal what little breath she’d managed to regain.
“See you later, Trisha.”
Just as she turned to start the car his hand slid down softly over her hair, so lightly, she couldn’t decide if he’d really done it, or if it was a case of her overactive imagination.
When she looked at him again, he’d straightened, his gaze impenetrable. “Try to stay out of trouble.”
It coaxed a smile from her, and seeing this, he looked satisfied. Turning, he walked away, his long legs covering the ground with ease, his shoulders straight, his stride impossibly confident.
He’d never looked more distant, more unattainable. Didn’t matter much, Trisha thought. No matter how many times she’d been forcibly reminded of their differences, she still wanted that man. Helplessly.
Trisha had no idea why her world suddenly didn’t seem enough. She had the freedom that she’d yearned for all those years while she’d been browbeaten and restrained by her aunt and uncle.
No longer did anyone tell her what to do, how to dress, whom to associate with. It was wonderful, and exhilarating. She had her own shop, which she ran as she wanted. As her own boss, she came and went as she pleased.
And she hadn’t had to move once.
She’d had all this while scorning the things she saw as tethers; things like marriage, having children, a man to love. None of those were for her.
So what was wrong? Why wasn’t this happy, carefree life enough anymore? Why did she suddenly crave the very things she’d always sworn to avoid?
It horrified her, these yearnings and needs she couldn’t control. Even worse, she had a terrible suspicion that they were due to Hunter Adams.
He drew her, and it wasn’t simply because he was gorgeous. Despite her jokes about his profession, his intelligence drew her. So did his quiet decisiveness, his intuitiveness, his sensitivity. And then there was his surprisingly wicked sense of humor.
Too bad every little thing about her wrecked the poor guy’s peace of mind. Because of that, there was no future for her with him except heartbreak and disappointment.
Celia, sensing her friend’s melancholy, had splurged and brought Trisha a present meant to cheer her up—a basket filled with dozens of scented candles of all sizes, bath oil, and a bottle of wine. For distraction, Celia had insisted.
Trisha never drank, never , but Celia had wanted her to consider this an experiment in relaxation.
Alone in her apartment that night, Trisha stared at the pretty basket and its contents. With a fatalistic shrug, she set about preparing the bathroom. Finally, she stripped and sank into her tub. Glorious, scented bubbles rose, tickling her nose, and on every available surface candles flickered and glowed, casting a warm light about the room.
Nose twitching, Duff moved cautiously into the bathroom, slowly inspecting each candle.
“Watch that,” she warned, when the sleek but none too graceful cat moved toward the bottle of wine. She’d opened it and set it on the edge of the tub next to an empty glass.
The cat moved closer, sniffing curiously.
“Duff,” she said, watching him over the bubbles. “I’m not interested in a wine bath, or mopping the floor tonight. Go to bed.”
The one thing that interested her tonight was peace and quiet. She wondered if she’d achieve it, or if her thoughts of Hunter Adams would hound her. Only if she let them,
“You’re wrong,” he assured her, frowning with intense concentration as his thumb continued making soft strokes to her skin. “I just like to get everyone out of my hair. Nothing seems to do that quite like money.”
He was making light of what he’d done, which touched her unbearably. She had to leave before she made a bigger fool of herself. “See you later, Hunter.”
He didn’t smile, but something passed between them, something unspoken, something hot enough to steal what little breath she’d managed to regain.
“See you later, Trisha.”
Just as she turned to start the car his hand slid down softly over her hair, so lightly, she couldn’t decide if he’d really done it, or if it was a case of her overactive imagination.
When she looked at him again, he’d straightened, his gaze impenetrable. “Try to stay out of trouble.”
It coaxed a smile from her, and seeing this, he looked satisfied. Turning, he walked away, his long legs covering the ground with ease, his shoulders straight, his stride impossibly confident.
He’d never looked more distant, more unattainable. Didn’t matter much, Trisha thought. No matter how many times she’d been forcibly reminded of their differences, she still wanted that man. Helplessly.
Trisha had no idea why her world suddenly didn’t seem enough. She had the freedom that she’d yearned for all those years while she’d been browbeaten and restrained by her aunt and uncle.
No longer did anyone tell her what to do, how to dress, whom to associate with. It was wonderful, and exhilarating. She had her own shop, which she ran as she wanted. As her own boss, she came and went as she pleased.
And she hadn’t had to move once.
She’d had all this while scorning the things she saw as tethers; things like marriage, having children, a man to love. None of those were for her.
So what was wrong? Why wasn’t this happy, carefree life enough anymore? Why did she suddenly crave the very things she’d always sworn to avoid?
It horrified her, these yearnings and needs she couldn’t control. Even worse, she had a terrible suspicion that they were due to Hunter Adams.
He drew her, and it wasn’t simply because he was gorgeous. Despite her jokes about his profession, his intelligence drew her. So did his quiet decisiveness, his intuitiveness, his sensitivity. And then there was his surprisingly wicked sense of humor.
Too bad every little thing about her wrecked the poor guy’s peace of mind. Because of that, there was no future for her with him except heartbreak and disappointment.
Celia, sensing her friend’s melancholy, had splurged and brought Trisha a present meant to cheer her up—a basket filled with dozens of scented candles of all sizes, bath oil, and a bottle of wine. For distraction, Celia had insisted.
Trisha never drank, never , but Celia had wanted her to consider this an experiment in relaxation.
Alone in her apartment that night, Trisha stared at the pretty basket and its contents. With a fatalistic shrug, she set about preparing the bathroom. Finally, she stripped and sank into her tub. Glorious, scented bubbles rose, tickling her nose, and on every available surface candles flickered and glowed, casting a warm light about the room.
Nose twitching, Duff moved cautiously into the bathroom, slowly inspecting each candle.
“Watch that,” she warned, when the sleek but none too graceful cat moved toward the bottle of wine. She’d opened it and set it on the edge of the tub next to an empty glass.
The cat moved closer, sniffing curiously.
“Duff,” she said, watching him over the bubbles. “I’m not interested in a wine bath, or mopping the floor tonight. Go to bed.”
The one thing that interested her tonight was peace and quiet. She wondered if she’d achieve it, or if her thoughts of Hunter Adams would hound her. Only if she let them,
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