Yesterday's Scandal. Gina Wilkins
his only response.
“Be thinking about what you want for dinner tonight, okay?” she suggested, her tone conciliatory. “We can go to that new Mexican place you like so much. You’d enjoy that, wouldn’t you?”
“Might as well sit at home and watch TV,” he muttered.
“If that’s your choice,” she agreed evenly. “I have to get back to work now. I’ll see you this afternoon.”
He hung up without responding.
Sharon rubbed her forehead as she hung up the phone. It was Tuesday afternoon, a slow day in her home-decor shop, and for once she was grateful for the lull. Her full-time assistant was at a doctor’s appointment, and Sharon was alone. Between her confrontations with her rebellious kid brother and the almost incessant calls from acquaintances still wanting to talk about the incident Friday night, she was ready for some time to herself.
With her back to the door of the shop, she slid the phone into its place beneath the counter, then turned to the paperwork she’d been looking over when Brad called. Her elbow bumped a thick wallpaper-sample book, which crashed to the floor at her feet. Muttering a mild curse, she knelt to pick it up, tucking it into the crook of one arm. What else could go wrong today?
She gasped when a man’s hand suddenly appeared in front of her, offering to assist her to her feet. She hadn’t heard anyone enter the shop, so it caught her completely off guard to realize she wasn’t alone. She looked up and swallowed hard when her gaze was captured and held by a pair of eyes as dark and unrevealing as polished onyx.
Sharon had never considered herself a fanciful person, but the image that came immediately to mind was that of a sleek, dangerous black cat. This intriguing man was as out of place in her little shop as he was…well, in this small, sleepy town.
No wonder everyone in Honoria had been speculating about him.
Almost involuntarily, she placed her hand in his. There was an instant shock of familiarity when his fingers closed around hers, bringing back memories of how safe she had felt when he’d pulled her out of Snake Creek.
He helped her to her feet. Her voice was a bit breathless when she said, “Thank you, Mr. Cordero.”
His left eyebrow rose half an inch. His voice was a deep growl that befitted the exotic animal she had envisioned when she saw him—the same voice that had echoed in the back of her mind since the accident Friday night. “I wasn’t sure you would remember me.”
Her smile felt wry. “I’m not likely to forget our meeting anytime soon.”
His answering smile was just a slight shift at the corners of his mouth—and only added to his attractiveness, in Sharon’s opinion. She hadn’t gotten a really good look at him in the shadowy darkness Friday night, but now she could understand why so many women in town had been whispering about him. It wasn’t often they saw a man like this.
“Six feet of sex,” Leslie Anne Cantrell, the town flirt, had called him, eliciting delighted giggles from the women who’d overheard. Sharon could honestly say now that Leslie Anne hadn’t been exaggerating. Any normal woman would appreciate Mac Cordero’s thick black hair, gleaming dark eyes, taut brown skin and sleekly muscular build.
He wasn’t a man any woman was likely to forget, she mused, no matter how they met.
Realizing abruptly that she was standing there gazing up at him, her fingers still clasped in his, she pulled her hand away and stuck it in the pocket of the navy linen blazer she wore with a muted plaid shirt and khaki slacks. Though the expression in his eyes was impossible to read, she had the unnerving sensation that he could see directly into her mind as he searched her face. “You’ve suffered no ill effects from your ordeal?”
“No, I’m fine. A few colorful bruises and sore muscles, but no real injuries, thank goodness.”
“You were fortunate.”
She nodded. “Yes, I know.”
“Any word about the van that ran you off the road?”
“No. Wade—the police chief—said it seems to have disappeared. But if it’s still in the area, he’ll find it.”
“You seem confident about that.”
She couldn’t help smiling. “Wade takes his job very seriously. When someone breaks the law, he doesn’t rest until he catches them.”
“Then I hope he catches them soon.” For the first time since he’d helped her to her feet, he looked away from her face long enough to glance around her shop, Intriguing Interiors. The store was filled with rows of wallpapers and borders, shelves of order books, swatches of designer fabrics, and displays of decorator and gift items. “Nice place.”
“Thank you. I bought it almost two years ago.”
What might have been amusement glimmered for a moment in his eyes. “I know.”
She studied him curiously. “You do?”
His mouth quirked again into that sexy semi-smile, making her pulse race in a manner that both distracted and annoyed her. She made an effort to focus on their conversation rather than the effect he had on her—something she would think about and rationalize later, she promised herself.
“Ever since I helped you out of that water, everyone in this town has wanted to talk to me about the accident—and you,” he said ruefully.
She waved a hand toward the door. “That’s my town. The rumor capital of the world. So what did they tell you about me?”
“That you’re a very talented decorator. Which is one of the reasons I stopped by.”
He had surprised her again. “You need a decorator?”
“Yes. I’ve purchased an old Victorian house at the end of Deer Run Lane—”
“The Garrett place,” she acknowledged with a nod. “People have been talking about you, too.”
The slight twist of his mouth this time might have been a smile or maybe a grimace, but either way, it was as sexy as all get-out. Feeling uncomfortably schoolgirlish, Sharon almost sighed.
“Anyway,” he continued, “I’m completely renovating the place. I need a decorator. I’d like to keep the decor appropriate to the period of the architecture—Victorian, but not overdone. I’ll want to start consultations soon so there will be plenty of time to order wallpaper, light fixtures and any other decorating items I’ll need. Are you interested in the job?”
Though she loved the idea of decorating a restored historic home, Sharon felt compelled to be honest. “I’m not really a trained decorator, Mr. Cordero.”
“Call me Mac. I understand you’ve decorated quite a few homes and offices around town. Trent McBride, who’s doing the cabinetwork for my renovation project, recommended you. He said you’re redecorating his father and brother’s law offices.”
She wondered if she could ever be comfortable using his first name. She found herself rather intimidated by this man, for some reason. It was hard to imagine having a casual relationship with him.
“I do some interior decorating as a sideline for my shop,” she admitted. “It’s always been an interest of mine, and I’ve taken a few decorating classes. I started out helping friends, and then other people began to request my services. But if you want a more experienced, better-known professional decorator, you’ll have to bring someone in from Atlanta.”
He shook his head. “I prefer to patronize local businesses.”
She knew he had hired local carpenters, plumbers, electricians and other subcontractors for the renovation project. She knew, as well, that he hadn’t demanded a lengthy list of credentials from everyone he’d hired. Trent McBride, for example, had only just gone into business as a cabinetmaker.
“I would certainly be interested in discussing