Sean was on his knees next to the French doors leading out to the balcony. Wielding a mallet and chisel, he worked at the rust coating one of the hinges. He wore a tool belt, and Maggie had to admit that added to his Romeo potential. Or maybe she’d been influenced by all the talk in the Bob and Weave this morning.
No matter. This kind of seductive behavior on his part just wouldn’t do.
He glanced up from his work. ‘‘You cut your hair.’’
‘‘Uh, yes. It was driving me nuts.’’ She ran her fingers through her shorn locks and wished she didn’t feel self-conscious. She shouldn’t care if he liked her hair or not, but he’d made a comment about it this morning. Ridiculously, she seemed to want his approval of the change, and that was not a good sign.
He studied her for a moment and nodded. ‘‘Nice.’’
‘‘Thank you.’’ She took a deep breath. ‘‘Sean, this is all very inviting.’’ She swept her hand to encompass the carefully prepared setting. ‘‘But I’m sure it’s calculated for maximum effect, so I can’t stay, knowing what you have in mind.’’
He put down the mallet and shoved his glasses up against the bridge of his nose. ‘‘What do you think I have in mind?’’
She had a sudden vision of rolling naked with him on the quilt. ‘‘Convincing me to give up on this purchase.’’
‘‘You just said it wouldn’t make any difference what I did. That you won’t change your mind under any circumstances.’’
‘‘That’s right. I won’t.’’ Even if she had sex with him, which she had no intention of doing, her decision would be the same. But she was hungry and she couldn’t remember the last time a man had set up such a romantic meal for her. Maybe this was how he’d charmed all the women in Big Knob into thinking he was some sort of love god.
‘‘If nothing will change your mind, why not sit down and eat? Unless you don’t like chicken salad.’’
Naturally, she adored chicken salad. He couldn’t have chosen a sandwich filling she would have craved more. After eating eggs and two cinnamon rolls today, she shouldn’t be hungry, but something about this town made her famished for food and . . . other things that she’d best not think about right now. Until today she hadn’t realized how much her sex life sucked green bananas.
Sean gazed at her a moment longer. ‘‘Go ahead and think about it. I’ve almost loosened this hinge.’’ He went back to his pounding.
He did look manly doing that. In the MBA world she inhabited, the guys wore conservative suits and had their nails manicured every two weeks. Maybe that was another reason her libido had gone into hiding. The men she came in contact with didn’t inspire damp undies.
To be fair, they might all look as sexy as Sean if they dressed in jeans and picked up a couple of tools. Using them with Sean’s level of finesse would be even better. That kind of expertise wasn’t usually called for in the corporate headquarters of SaveALot, Inc., though. She’d been free to concentrate on her career.
She would still do that. Eating a chicken salad sandwich wasn’t likely to derail a tough cookie like her. And she was very hungry.
‘‘Got it!’’ With a smile of triumph, Sean laid down his tools. Then he stood, reached for the handle of the door he’d been working on and opened it with only a faint creak. ‘‘Still needs WD-40, but at least the hinge isn’t stuck anymore.’’
There was no mistaking the pleasure in his expression. Maggie knew that feeling of getting something right, and it was a feeling she had yet to experience on the job at SaveALot.
Cold, damp air made the candles flicker, and Sean closed the door again. ‘‘If it stops raining, we can go out there. I want you to see the view.’’
‘‘Why?’’
‘‘Because you’re right about my plan. I want you to rethink buying the property and leveling the house.’’
‘‘I won’t rethink it.’’ She glanced at the chicken salad sandwiches with regret. ‘‘And because I won’t, I would feel guilty eating your sandwiches. I’d better go.’’
‘‘Please don’t.’’
‘‘I have to. I’m afraid you went to all this trouble for nothing.’’
He shook his head. ‘‘Not for nothing. I haven’t had a meal in this house since I was seven years old. That makes eating here special, but I’d rather not mark the occasion by myself. You’d be doing me a favor if you’d take off your coat and stay.’’
She didn’t believe that for a minute. ‘‘From the conversation I heard in the Bob and Weave today, you could pick up your phone and have any number of women here within three minutes, all of them eager to share your lunch.’’ And your quilt later on.
‘‘But then it would be all over town that I have a key to this place. Technically, I’m trespassing by being here. I’ve been trespassing for years. I’m counting on the fact that you won’t want to advertise that.’’
Her glance strayed to the chicken salad sandwiches. Even covered in wax paper, they looked plump with filling. Ruffles of fresh lettuce peeked out from under the bread. Her mouth watered.
‘‘It’s only a sandwich,’’ Sean said. ‘‘That’s not much of a bribe.’’
Hunger overcame her better judgment. She’d always heard that the way to a man’s heart was through his stomach. The same thing seemed to be true for her. ‘‘Okay.’’ She took off her trench coat, folded it, and placed it on a corner of the quilt. ‘‘But no wine.’’
‘‘It’s amazing wine. I got it from the Lowells, the couple you met at the Hob Knob. I’m not a wine drinker, but I love this stuff. You should at least taste it.’’
She gazed at him. ‘‘You don’t take no for an answer, do you?’’
He looked startled by that. ‘‘I haven’t had much practice hearing it, I guess.’’
‘‘No, I guess you haven’t, judging from the way Sylvia, Angie and Francine talked today.’’
‘‘Mm.’’
She shouldn’t have brought that up, because now she was thinking about the fantastic sex Sylvia and Angie had raved about. She needed to eat her sandwich, partly to prove she could do it without compromising her principles, and then leave before she compromised something else.
She started to step onto the quilt and thought better of it. ‘‘That looks like an antique. I’ll take off my shoes.’’
‘‘It is an antique, but it washes.’’
‘‘Even so, it’s muddy out there.’’ She nudged off her running shoes before positioning herself cross-legged on one side of the wicker chest.
‘‘Yeah, you’re right. No point in getting the quilt dirty.’’ Sitting on the quilt, he unlaced his work boots and pulled them off.
The work boots were sexy, too. And he wore clean white socks under them, which was also kind of— Oh, come on, Maggie! You must be seriously deprived if you find clean socks sexy.
She was seriously deprived, but she’d chosen to focus on her job. She happened to have a little downtime right now, so her unmet sexual needs were popping up like dandelions in her carefully groomed lawn of disinterest. Considering the stakes—a lucrative career versus unemployment—she had to rip those little dandelions out by the roots.
Sean settled down on the opposite side of the chest, picked up the wine bottle and poured some into her glass.
‘‘Sean, I’m not drinking it.’’ Wine was liable to make her dandelions grow.
‘‘Then don’t. I am.’’ He poured his own glass full and set down the bottle. Then he picked up his glass and touched it to hers. ‘‘To friendship.’’
She left the glass sitting there untouched. ‘‘I don’t see how we can be friends. We’re both after this property, and we can’t both have it.’’
He smiled at her. ‘‘I’m beginning to think that being hungry makes you grumpy.’’
That made her laugh, because it was right on target. No man had ever noticed it before, not even the guy she’d seriously considered marrying. Henry’s work had taken him away from Houston, and he’d assumed she’d leav
e with him.
The timing had been lousy. She’d just landed the job with SaveALot and had been amazed Henry would expect her to abandon it. She realized now that he hadn’t known her at all, including how much she needed regular meals.
‘‘I suppose I am grumpy when I don’t eat,’’ she said. ‘‘Thank you for making the sandwiches.’’ Taking off the wax paper, she picked up the sandwich and took a bite. Heaven.
If he’d made this chicken salad, she didn’t care about his dopey glasses or his wacked-out hair. A guy who made chicken salad this yummy didn’t even have to be good in bed. If he was good in bed and good in the kitchen, he deserved all the women he could get.
Just not her.
Chapter 9
Sean took heart from the expression of bliss on Maggie’s face when she tasted the sandwich. He was definitely making progress.
‘‘Chips?’’ He held out the bowl to her.
Still working on her first bite, she nodded and took a handful for her plate.
He tried not to stare, but he’d never seen anyone look so cute while they ate, and he’d shared plenty of meals with plenty of women. Behind her little wire-framed glasses, her blue eyes shone with pleasure and her freckles seemed to dance with enjoyment as she chewed. He liked that she didn’t try to cover her freckles with a lot of makeup.
A dab of mayonnaise escaped from the corner of her mouth. Instead of using her napkin, she flicked the mayonnaise back in with her tongue, as if she didn’t want to miss a single bit of this food. She’d been the same way when she’d devoured the cinnamon rolls at the Hob Knob, and he’d been fascinated then, too.
She swallowed and picked up the sandwich to dive in again. ‘‘This is incredible chicken salad. Did you make it?’’
‘‘No.’’ No use pretending he could cook. ‘‘It came from the Big Knob Market’s deli counter. I always keep a container of it in my fridge.’’
‘‘I would, too, if I lived here. I wonder if they ship.’’
Sean laughed. ‘‘You could ask, but I doubt it. We’re not very up on that kind of thing in Big Knob.’’ Then, because he was afraid she’d catch him staring at her like a lust-crazed idiot, he unwrapped his own sandwich and bit down.
Man, it was good. He’d been eating a chicken salad sandwich on unseeded rye a couple of times a week for seven or eight years, ever since Bradley had taken over the deli counter. It was always great, but today it was incredible. He couldn’t explain the difference, because this was from the same batch he’d eaten a couple of days ago.
Maybe it was the wine. That wine seemed to make everything taste like it came from a five-star restaurant. Then again, he’d never eaten at a five-star restaurant, so he wasn’t much of a judge.
Maggie probably was, though, and she was obviously enjoying herself. That was even without the wine.
‘‘You should take a sip of the wine,’’ he said. ‘‘It makes the sandwich even better.’’
‘‘Not possible.’’ She’d finished half of her sandwich and started munching on the chips. ‘‘That chicken salad is so yummy that I’m pacing myself, making myself wait to eat the second half, so I can draw out the experience.’’
He wondered if she knew how sexy that sounded, or if she realized that having an appetite for good food usually translated into an appetite for good sex, too. His hormones kicked in. ‘‘I’m glad the sandwich is a hit.’’
‘‘It’s a complete hit. And there’s no way a little glass of wine could improve on perfection.’’
‘‘I’m telling you, it will. Last night’s meal at the Lowells’ blew me away, and now I’m thinking it might have been the wine that made it all taste so amazing. It’s like a flavor booster for whatever you’re eating.’’
Her eyes narrowed. ‘‘Is this a trick just to get me to drink the wine so it will lower my resistance?’’
‘‘No.’’ He hated to admit to her that he wasn’t that tricky. He’d never had to resort to wine to lower a woman’s resistance. No woman had ever resisted him.
She continued to regard him with suspicion. ‘‘You’re sure?’’
‘‘Honest. You don’t have to try it if you don’t want to. Maybe you’re not much for wine.’’
‘‘I am. I love wine.’’
‘‘Then you’ll be missing some outstanding stuff if you don’t drink at least a little bit. I have no idea how expensive it is, but I need to find out.’’
‘‘You didn’t buy it?’’
‘‘I did, in a way. I bartered for it. I guess they have a bunch in their basement. God knows what it costs a bottle, but if it’s less than twenty bucks I might splurge on it once in a while.’’
Maggie sighed. ‘‘Oh, all right. Sheesh. If it’s that big a deal, I suppose one little taste isn’t going to kill me.’’
‘‘You’ll thank me for it.’’ He waited as she picked up her wineglass. Watching her drink was as much of a turn-on as watching her eat.
She rested the rim of the glass against the curve of her lower lip and took a tentative sip. Then her eyes drifted shut, and she took another sip. ‘‘Mm.’’
His mouth grew moist from wanting to kiss her. ‘‘Told you.’’
‘‘Didn’t believe you.’’ Eyes still closed, she tipped the glass and drank again. Then she lowered the glass, opened her eyes and gazed at him. ‘‘They have a bunch of this in their basement?’’
‘‘That’s what they said.’’
‘‘Let me see the bottle.’’
He handed it to her and she studied the label. He hadn’t paid much attention, figuring he wouldn’t recognize it, anyway, not being a wine person.
‘‘It’s a malbec,’’ she said, ‘‘from Mystic Hills Winery, which is in Sedona, Arizona. I didn’t know they made wine there, let alone fantastic wine.’’ She handed the bottle back to him. ‘‘What did you barter for it?’’
He regretted telling her about the sex bench earlier, even though he hadn’t said whom it was for. Telling her about the mirrored ceilings would be an even worse breach of client privacy. ‘‘I promised to do some carpentry work for them,’’ he said.
‘‘They have a matchmaking business, don’t they?’’
They do now, thanks to me. ‘‘Something like that.’’
‘‘I’m going to take a wild guess and say that the Lowells are the ones you’re constructing the sex bench for.’’ She drank the rest of her wine. ‘‘So now you’re building them something else besides the bench, something that’s also sexually oriented.’’
The fierce pang of want grew stronger. ‘‘I shouldn’t have said anything about the sex bench.’’
‘‘Aha! So I’m right! Hey, don’t worry. I won’t rat you out.’’
‘‘I appreciate that.’’ He loved the way her black sweater draped over her breasts. He wondered if she had freckles on her breasts, too.
‘‘No problem. Now let’s test your theory that the sandwich will taste better after drinking the wine.’’ She picked up the second half of her sandwich and took a bite. ‘‘Mm-mm!’’
‘‘I was right, wasn’t I?’’ He guessed that she had freckles on her breasts, freckles everywhere. He wanted to lick each one.
She nodded vigorously and gestured for him to pour her some more wine.
Hey, he couldn’t very well turn down a lady’s request for more wine. That would be rude. He refilled her glass.
‘‘So they’re matchmakers,’’ Maggie said when she took a break from her sandwich to have some more wine. ‘‘Pardon my saying so, but they don’t look as if they belong here.’’
‘‘Yeah, I know what you mean.’’ He felt sure she was a natural redhead, which meant she’d have downy red hair . . . in one strategic spot. Even though he’d had lots of experience, he felt seventeen again, as if he’d never seen a naked woman before.
‘‘It’s not just how the Lowells look, but how they act. I’ll bet nobody else in town has commissioned a sex bench.’’
There was no reason he couldn�
��t build a sex bench for himself and Maggie. ‘‘I’m not sure why they picked Big Knob, but they’re taking a sabbatical.’’ He hoped she wouldn’t ask him what that was.
Maggie chewed her last bite of sandwich. Then she swallowed and looked at him. ‘‘I know what’s going on. They’re on the lam.’’
‘‘In Big Knob?’’ His hot thoughts about Maggie were temporarily derailed by the concept of Dorcas and Ambrose as Bonnie and Clyde. God, he hoped not.
‘‘Makes sense to me. Sleepy little town in Southern Indiana. Nobody asks any questions. Maybe they’re not even using their real names.’’
‘‘I don’t think they’re running away from anything.’’ Sean thought about their expensive wardrobe and their pricey wine and wasn’t all that sure. Maybe they were con artists who came into town, took everyone’s money, and left.
They hadn’t exactly taken his money, though. Maybe they were running from some terrible thing they’d done. What if they had used the wrong combination of herbs on someone and killed them? What if he was their next guinea pig, and they had no idea whether he’d survive this transformation or not?
‘‘Sean, I didn’t mean to upset you.’’
‘‘I’m not upset.’’ He slugged back some more wine. ‘‘Dorcas and Ambrose are just a normal, upscale couple who enjoy the atmosphere of a small town. Besides, they can’t be fugitives.’’
‘‘Why not?’’
‘‘They have a cat.’’
Maggie giggled. ‘‘Well, that certainly settles it. Anybody with a cat has to be on the up-and-up.’’
‘‘Think about it. Cats don’t like to move around. A dog is one thing, but you don’t drag a cat with you if you’re on the run.’’ He’d cling to that belief until he could question the Lowells some more. He’d been way too trusting.
‘‘Maybe you’re right about the cat. Can I have a wee bit more of that wine?’’
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