All Grown Up. Janice Maynard
the hallway toward the front of the house in order to give himself time to regain his footing. If Annalise Wolff was going to start smiling at him, all bets were off.
He flung open the front door and stopped dead. A string of heartfelt curses brought his lovely guest running. “What is it? What’s wrong?”
They stood shoulder-to-shoulder gazing out into a world of swirling snow. Already Annalise’s tire tracks were being erased. And her car was coated in white.
She punched his arm. “Did you know this was going to happen? Why didn’t you tell me not to come?”
His eyebrows reached his hairline. “I’ve been a little busy, damn it. Did you even bother to look at a forecast?”
“This is your fault!” They shouted in unison, with two identical expressions of dismay and disbelief.
Sam closed the door and leaned back, his arms folded across his chest. “I can’t tell for sure without checking The Weather Channel, but having spent a lot of years in Virginia, I’d say we’re in for a big one.”
“I’m sure it’s not going to be more than a few inches.” The unflappable Annalise Wolff was definitely rattled. A pulse beat visibly in the side of her swanlike neck.
The urge to make an inappropriate sexual comment was strong, but he squelched it. “You seem upset,” he said mildly.
It was her turn to do the eyebrow thing. “Seriously? Aren’t you the man who doesn’t leave the office until nine most nights? You could be stuck here. For hours…maybe days.” Her voice ended on a high squeak.
Oddly, the more she freaked, the greater his sense of amusement. “Don’t worry, Annalise. At least we have each other.”
Two
Glaring, she thrust out her chin and fisted her hands. “I absolutely will not be locked up in this house with you. No way, no how.”
He shrugged. “I promised Gram I’d stay the weekend and get you oriented. But if you’re worried about being stuck and alone with me, we can leave right now. She’ll be really disappointed….”
He was goading her, and not even trying to hide it. Frustration knotted her belly, even as her recalcitrant imagination conjured up images of the two of them entwined beneath one of Gram’s handmade quilts. “I’m not worried about myself. You’re the one who needs to get back to work.”
“What do you propose we do? I drove the Porsche. You’re in a Miata. If we stay here any length of time, neither of us has a prayer of making it back out to the interstate.”
His expression was veiled, unreadable. Was this some kind of game where Sam waited to see if she would cry uncle? She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.
“Fine,” she said abruptly. “The weather doesn’t bother me. But I’d like my bags now, if you don’t mind. So I can get settled in.” She handed him her keys.
She was pretty sure his jaw dropped a millimeter. Clearly he thought she’d go running back to the city. But Annalise Wolff never backed down from a challenge.
He scowled. “Are you sure about this, Princess? If the power goes out, we’ll be roughing it.”
Annalise gulped inwardly. Her idea of rustic was not staying on the concierge floor at the Four Seasons. “I’m sure there’s a generator…right?”
“Of course. But it won’t run forever. Did you even bring any warm clothes besides your coat?” His gaze felt like a caress as he did a visual inventory of her silk blouse and thin slacks.
“I have everything I need. Do you want me to help you retrieve the suitcases?”
Her snarky question deepened his frown. “I think I can manage.”
She watched through the window and grinned as Sam opened the trunk and did a double take. Hiding her smile, she stayed out of the way while he made three trips in a row, grousing audibly at the mounting pile of luggage.
When he was finally finished, he closed the door behind him and locked it, looking for all the world like a sexy abominable snowman. He shrugged out of his thick jacket and ran a hand through his hair, sending droplets of water flying as melting snowflakes dampened the floor.
Annalise leaned against the wall, trying not to go weak in the knees when his muscles flexed beneath the fabric of a thermal weave shirt in a deep rust color that complemented his eyes. “Thank you.”
He tossed the wet jacket over the back of a chair. “Does the term high maintenance mean anything to you?”
She shrugged. “I plan to be here for several weeks. Am I supposed to write you a check for excess baggage?”
He stared at her, a long, intense clashing of gazes that was unmistakably sexual. “You have a smart mouth.”
“You have an arrogant attitude.”
The ruddy tinge that colored his cheekbones gave her more satisfaction than it should have. “What’s in all those bags?” he asked, his stance combative.
“Books, laptop, snacks, lingerie…” She gestured toward the pieces of her Louis Vuitton matched set. Uncle Victor had given it to her as a graduation present. She was spoiled, she freely admitted it. But that didn’t give the insufferable Sam Ely a right to criticize.
“Snacks?” He leaned against the opposite wall, adopting a pose that mirrored hers. Barely three feet separated them, and although the foyer was definitely chilly after Sam had been in and out the door several times, Annalise was not cold at all.
“I have a weakness for chocolate. So sue me. The stuff I picked up in Lucerne after Christmas is better than sex.”
“Then you’ve been having the wrong kind of sex.”
This time it was her jaw that dropped. Her thighs tightened, and she was pretty sure her nipples were playing peek-a-boo through the silk of her blouse…though she wasn’t about to check. Surreptitiously, she lifted her folded arms. “Is flirtation your default setting? Or do you really expect me to argue the point?”
“You’re right,” he said smoothly, his voice slow as syrup. “That was an inappropriate remark between colleagues.”
“I’m not your colleague,” she shot back. “I work for your grandparents.”
Sam straightened and closed the distance between them. “You have to forgive me for the past, Annalise. Otherwise we’re going to be at each other’s throats forever.”
She looked at the tanned skin of his jaw and below…saw the way warm, masculine flesh disappeared into the neckline of his henley shirt, revealing a faint dusting of hair where the top two buttons gaped open. Her heart thudded in her chest and her palms were damp.
Licking her lips, she looked past him to the antique grandfather clock that held a place of honor flanking the foot of a curved staircase. “I’m surprised you haven’t ever found that paragon of womanhood you described to me. You know, all meek and quiet and docile.” Saying the words aloud revived the awful memory of that evening. Her chest hurt.
She heard him curse and felt big, warm hands settle on her shoulders. “Look at me, Princess. I’m sorry. All that crap I said to you that day was just that. I was babbling. Trying to get myself out of a sticky situation. Yes, I was attracted to you. But you had a crush, that’s all. That guff I spouted about waiting for a man to make the first move…well, I guess I wanted to make sure you’d never try that stunt again. I didn’t want you to end up hurt because some jerk took you up on your offer and then dumped you.”
His breath was warm on her face. She dared not look into his eyes. She felt far too fragile, and that really pissed her off, because Annalise Wolff was not fragile. She’d grown up in a monster of a house with two brothers, three male cousins, an uncle and a father. Any girly ways had been hammered out of