Connor fixed her with one of his spiked-through-the-heart gazes. Lacey felt the heat rise from her belly to her face.
“You mentioned your brothers. How is it that you run the business and they don’t?” he asked.
“Phew. That’s a long story.”
“I’ve got time on my hands.”
“All right,” she said. “You asked for it.”
She used her fork to push around some rice from the Paella on her plate, and decided to start her story after her stay in the clinic. She didn’t think he’d want to know about it anyway.
“Here’s the abridged version. My mom, who’d been wed twice before, married into the Shane family, and we moved to Kane’s Crossing. I wanted—needed—something to excel at, and the business was it. My stepdad delighted in my interest and mentored me to succeed. He died of a heart attack running Shane Industries and, at first, it seemed like my stepbrother Matt would take over from there on out.
“Matt did a good job for a while, but started following in Dad’s footsteps. He worked so hard that he alienated his family. Then one day, he disappeared and no one knew what happened to him. That’s when I took over.”
“Damn,” said Connor. He’d leaned his elbows on the table, listening to her. The candlelight flirted over his sun-tinted skin, making Lacey long to touch the planes of his cheekbones, the shadow of a beginning beard.
She cleared her throat. “Yeah, well, Matt came back last year, but that’s another story. Suffice to say that he, his wife Rachel, Tamela and the baby in Rachel’s tummy are one big happy family again. Especially since Matt decided I should still run the company.”
“You have another brother, though. Right? What about him?”
Lacey smiled at the mention of Rick. She’d always held a soft spot for her smart aleck brother. Not that she didn’t love Matt, too, but they’d never been as close.
“Rick’s another long tale. He and Dad had a falling out years ago, and Rick joined the army and fought in the Gulf War. He never wanted anything to do with the business, so he asked me to run it. Good decision, too, because now he has his own happy ending with Daisy, the woman he just married.”
“And that leaves you,” Connor said softly.
She wished he hadn’t caught on to that part. Had she told her stories with such obvious yearning for someone to treasure her? Was it so clear that she didn’t belong to anyone?
“I’m fine on my own,” she said. “I’ve got lots of work to keep me busy. And I can make it by myself, especially since Dad left me a tidy sum of money when he passed away.”
“Oh.” Connor broke eye contact and stared at a candle, as if suddenly realizing she was a bread winner and he was a…what?
What the heck was he?
He must’ve sensed the question balancing on the tip of her tongue, because he said, “As for me, no epic stories. I’m just a simple guy.”
If the muscles in his jaw hadn’t jumped after the comment—an action similar to the kick of a rifle after it fires—Lacey would’ve let the words fade.
“You’re not fooling me, Connor.”
He leaned back, silent, watching her as intently as he’d been watching the Spencer estate this afternoon. Lacey wanted to glance away, to disengage before the look stretched into discomfort. She didn’t want him peering too hard at her, because there was so much to hide.
She broke the tension. “What?”
“Nothing. Just looking.”
“You do a lot of that.”
“You’re a very pretty woman.”
Lacey tried not to act surprised. It was the last thing she’d been expecting him to say. Embarrassment crept up her neck.
“Thank you,” she managed to say.
Connor shrugged, as if it meant next to nothing.
Lacey was more than aware of the fact that she talked too much when she felt under the spotlight. Probably because she’d slung so much bull at her doctors when they expected answers that she hadn’t ever learned to break the habit.
“Usually,” she said, her voice an octave higher than usual, “I have to deal with this whole ‘cute’ label. You know, like a cheerleader or kitty cat or bunny—”
Connor’s brows lifted.
“—but it’s a relief to hear someone say ‘pretty’ instead of ‘cute.’ Not that I look in the mirror every morning and ask, ‘Who’s the fairest of them all?’ Because I don’t care much about that…”
She let the sentence trail off into the air. What a ditz.
But then Connor came to her rescue, changing the subject. “You’re dressed differently tonight.”
Lacey looked down at her attire. For the last week, she’d been on a sixties ski-princess kick. Tonight she was riding the wave of her menu and cultivating a Spanish style, with her hair pulled back into a small, sleek bun and her silken, flared red dress covered by a black, fringed shawl.
Her propensity to change images tickled the people of Kane’s Crossing, but Lacey liked the fact that she had control over the way she appeared to them. The more she manipulated her appearance, the less power they had to shape it.
“I get a bit bored with the same wardrobe,” she said, leaving it at that.
“Hell. Candlelight, music, gourmet food…” Connor stood from his chair, grabbing his plate as he prepared to clear the table. “If I was the type who loved ’em and left ’em, I think I’d be completely overcome with your charms.”
Wings seemed to flutter in her belly, then stopped, a heavy sense of failure diving into her stomach instead. “Don’t flatter yourself. It’s not like I was trying to seduce you.”
He grinned. “No matter what your intentions were, you’re safe with me. Unlike you, I don’t intend to follow in the footsteps of my own deadbeat dad.”
Then, with a wry expression, Connor walked to the kitchen, causing Lacey to wonder what he’d meant by that last cryptic comment.
Chapter Four
C onnor knew that his last statement had really gotten to Lacey.
As they’d cleaned the dining room and kitchen, she’d watched him with a speculative gleam in her gray-blue eyes. Not that he was about to explain what he’d meant by “I don’t intend to follow in the footsteps of my own deadbeat dad.”
Conn must have been gnashing his teeth or something equally obvious because, just as he and Lacey finished the last of the clean up, she cleared her throat, jolting him.
He pushed aside his thoughts and tried to grin at her. “Guess it’s time to call it a night,” he said.
“Yeah.” Her eyes were huge, made more so by her sophisticated hairdo. “I’m glad you could make it, what, between your cabin renovation and bird-watching.”
“A man’s got to eat.”
She held up a finger. “There’s caramel-covered flan for dessert, if you want it.”
“You mean to trap me here with food, don’t you?”
“A man’s got to eat,” she said, using his own ammunition against him.
Hell. Did he really want to go back to that cabin yet? Conn had never felt so isolated in his life. For