On Temporary Terms. Janice Maynard
time perhaps. Let’s see how tonight goes.”
Isobel’s eyes gleamed. “So you’re not entirely sure of yourself. That’s a good thing.”
“Whose side are you on?” he complained.
“I’ll always be in your corner, Duncan, but we women have to stick together.”
Several hours later, Duncan parked in front of Abby’s neat, bungalow-style white frame house and studied the property. She lived on a quiet side street only two blocks off the town square. Her handkerchief-sized yard was neatly manicured, and her windows gleamed in the early evening sun.
Since the moment Abby accepted his invitation Friday night, they had texted back and forth a time or two. He found himself eager to see her again, surprisingly so. Perhaps he needed a break from work or a distraction from his complicated new life. Or maybe he simply wanted to determine if the gut-level attraction he experienced in her office was still there.
Her conditions for accepting his invitation had angered him at first. But after some consideration, he decided, what the hell? Abby could talk about this mystery buyer all she wanted. It wasn’t going to change the bottom line.
When she opened the door at his knock, he caught his breath. Her smile was tentative, but everything else about her was no-holds-barred. The glorious hair. Her long-sleeved hunter green silk dress that hugged her hourglass figure from shoulders to knees. Black stiletto heels that gave her an additional few inches of height.
“You look beautiful,” he said gruffly. “I’m very glad you decided to say yes.”
“Me, too. Let me grab my purse.”
They chatted about inconsequential topics on the drive to Claremont, both of them on their best behavior. The drive was just long enough to break the ice. Duncan had chosen an upscale special-occasion restaurant that specialized in French cuisine.
When he helped Abby out of the car, his hand beneath her elbow, the punch of desire left him breathless. He’d been celibate out of necessity during this transition from Scotland to North Carolina, but whatever he felt for the petite lawyer was more than a sexual dry spell. She fascinated him.
Over dinner, he quizzed her about her life. “So tell me about your childhood. Did you always want to be a lawyer? I thought most girls went the princess route at first.”
Abby laughed as he had wanted her to. Her long-lashed eyes reminded him of a kitten he’d had as a boy. He’d named her Smoke, and she had followed him everywhere.
The waiter interrupted momentarily. Afterward, Abby answered his question. “To be honest, I was obsessed with the idea of international studies. I wanted to go to college abroad, anything to get away from my hometown. But I was pragmatic, even as a kid. I knew we didn’t have the finances to swing that. My mom died when I was three, so my dad raised me on his own. Money was always tight.”
“Law school isn’t cheap.”
“No. I was very lucky. Mr. Chester Sr., who was your grandparents’ original lawyer, had a long-standing tradition of mentoring students at the local high school. When he died, his son continued the program. I was fortunate enough to get an internship at the law firm during my senior year in high school. I realized that I liked the work. After four years at a state university, Mr. Chester helped me with law school applications, and I was accepted at Wake Forest. When I finished, they offered me a job here in Candlewick.”
“Didn’t you have aspirations to head for the big city and make your mark?”
Abby’s smile slipped. He couldn’t quite read her expression. “I think we all imagine what it would be like to start over someplace new. For me, the pluses of staying put outweighed any negatives. I haven’t regretted my decisions. How about you, Duncan? What was your life like back in Scotland?”
He shrugged, even now feeling the bittersweet pull of all he had left behind. “Ye’ve heard of the Isle of Skye, I suppose. It’s truly as beautiful as they say. Water and sky and everything in between.”
“You miss it. I hear it in your voice.”
“Aye. But I’m a grown man. I can handle a bit of disappointment.”
“How did you wind up working with your brother?”
“Brody started the boating business, both commercial fishing and tourist craft, when he was in his twenties. When I finished university, he begged me to join him and handle the financial stuff. We’ve had a good partnership over the years.”
“You told me that day in my office that he’s holding the job for you.”
“He wants to. I don’t think it makes sense. Granny is healthy as a horse. She could live for another decade. And I hope she does.”
He was shocked when Abby smiled at him and reached across the table to take one of his hands in hers. Her fingers were soft and warm. “I think you’re a very sweet man, Duncan Stewart.”
“I’m not sweet.” He bristled.
She stroked her thumb across his knuckles. “It’s a compliment.”
“Didn’t sound like one.” He lifted his free hand, the one Abby wasn’t holding, and summoned the waitress. “May we see a dessert menu, please?”
“Oh, not for me,” Abby said, her smile dimming.
“They’re famous for their bread pudding. I read about it on Yelp.”
“You’ll have to eat it. I’m too full.”
“Nonsense. You only had a salad and a tiny chicken breast. I can’t eat dessert alone.”
Now Abby looked genuinely upset. She let go of his hand, leaving him bereft. “No dessert,” she said firmly. “I’m dieting.”
He ordered one for himself anyway and frowned. “Why in God’s name are you dieting, lass? You’re perfect.”
* * *
Abby stared at him, waiting for the punch line...searching for the calculation in his eyes, the attempt to butter her up with compliments to lure her into bed. She saw none of that. Instead, Duncan seemed genuinely baffled and irritated by her insistence on refusing dessert.
She tried again. “You’re tall and lean, Duncan. For women like me who are short and chu—”
He reached across the table and put his hand over her mouth. “Don’t you dare say it. My God, girl. Are the men in this country blind and stupid? I’ve spent every minute of this evening wondering how long it will be until I get to see your naked curvy body pressed up against mine. And you’re worried about dessert?”
The waitress arrived with a decadent bread pudding topped off with real whipped cream. She set the plate on the table with fresh napkins and two spoons and walked away. In the ensuing silence, Abby felt her face turn red. Embarrassment mixed with sexual tension.
Duncan, his expression inscrutable, picked up a spoon and scooped out a bite of caramel-laced, whipped-cream-topped perfection. “Open your mouth, lass. I’ve an urge to feed you, since I can’t do anything else at the moment.”
Abby’s lips parted even as her knees pressed together. The way Duncan Stewart was looking at her ought to be illegal.
He lifted the spoon to her mouth. “Wider,” he said hoarsely.
She obeyed and moaned when he spooned the dessert between her lips. The flavors exploded onto her tongue. She chewed and swallowed, light-headed. Duncan watched her like a hungry hawk studying a mouse. “Do you like it?” he asked. His voice was sandpaper, the accent almost buried beneath rough desire.
“Yes.” The word stuck in her throat. “Do you want some?”
“Only if you feed it to me.”
Abby recognized the sexual challenge for what it was. Never in her life had she found herself