“Of course not.” He offered a hand to help her from her seat behind the desk.
She must be out of her mind. But, he could cook? That was pretty irresistible. And she could go back to her hotel right after dinner. “I’ll drive in my car.” Then she could take off any time she wanted.
“Sure. You can follow me.”
* * *
The road to his house was long and winding, an old farm road that led past his grandparents’ new house and through fields dotted with grazing cattle. Gnarled apple trees lined the drive and framed the austere form of John’s white farmhouse. A new cedar-shake roof gleamed gold in the lowering sun and stickers still ornamented the shiny new windows. A Dumpster filled with construction debris and a cement mixer were among the signs that a major renovation was still in progress.
“We stripped it right back to the old post-and-beam framing, and added stud walls and insulation. There’s almost nothing left of the original house, but it’s starting to look like it used to in its heyday. All the major work is done. Now they’re reinstalling the original woodwork. I should be back living here in a month or so.”
“It looks lovely.” She was surprised that a notorious bachelor like John would even want a big old house when he could be catered to by staff at his own luxury hotel.
“It’s coming together really well. I can’t wait to move in. I’m going to get a dog.”
“What kind?”
“I don’t know yet. Something big. And cute. I’ll adopt it from a shelter.”
“That’s a great idea. I’ve always wanted a dog.”
“Why don’t you get one?”
“I need to move out of my parents’ house first. My mom doesn’t like them.”
He nodded. He must think it pathetic that she still lived at home with her parents at age twenty-seven. She needed to put moving out at the top of her goals for the coming year.
They walked up solid stone steps to the front door, which was still stripped bare of paint. John opened it and ushered her in. She glanced around his inner sanctum, taking in all the authentic details he’d had lovingly preserved.
“This house was built in 1837 by one of my ancestors. He and his sons handcrafted a lot of the woodwork themselves.”
She stroked a turned cherry bannister. “This must have been quite a labor of love before power tools became common.”
“All the more reason to restore it to its original beauty.” He led her into a bright kitchen with ivory cabinets and big center island. “Do you like shrimp?”
“Love it.”
“Good, because I’ve had it marinating since this morning.”
“You knew you were going to ask me over?”
“Of course.”
His arrogance should have been annoying. “What if I said I didn’t like shrimp? Or I was allergic.”
He shot her a cheeky smile. “I’ve got some chicken prepared as well.”
“You’re ready for anything, aren’t you?”
“I try to be.”
He grilled the shrimp and some corn on the cob outdoors, and they ate it with an elaborate salad they made together of feta cheese and pear tossed with spring greens. The million-dollar view from his bluestone patio looked over pastures and rolling wooded hills. Constance couldn’t remember a time she’d been anywhere so beautiful. Her own drab environs in an unprepossessing part of Cleveland were depressing by comparison. Yet soon she’d be back there, looking off the back porch over the weedy garden, remembering this delicious dinner and her dangerously charming host.
Dark clouds were gathering along the horizon as the sun disappeared behind the trees. Raindrops spotted the patio as they brought the plates back inside, and by the time they loaded them in the dishwasher, rain was pounding on the darkened windows.
While John brewed the fresh-ground coffee, thunderclaps boomed overhead. “You’d better wait until this stops.” Anticipation shimmered in his gaze.
She reached into her bag. “Let me check the satellite images on my phone to see how big the storm looks.”
“I already did. It’s going to continue all night.”
Had John somehow planned this storm along with everything else about this evening? He seemed so vastly in control of his life and nearly everyone else’s that it might just be possible. She wasn’t a pawn here. She had free will. “I’m sure I can drive in it.”
“I won’t allow it.” He towered over her in the dimly lit kitchen.
“What makes you think you can allow it or not allow it? You’re not my boss.”
“But I am concerned about your safety. These back roads can wash out in this kind of storm. Some of the worst messes I see as a volunteer firefighter are one-car accidents where someone tried to drive at night in the wrong weather. It’s too hard to see the road when you’re out in the woods in rainy darkness.”
“I suppose you do have a point,” she muttered. “But I can’t sleep with you.”
“I believe we’ve passed that milestone already.”
“I know, but that was a one-time, spur-of-the-moment thing. If I stay over again...”
“It’ll mean you actually like me.” His teeth flashed in a wicked grin.
She had no idea how to respond to that. Especially since it was true. “I don’t know why I like you. You’re insufferably arrogant.”
“You find that refreshing because you’re used to dealing with wimps.”
“That’s not true at all.” I’m not used to dealing with anyone. She couldn’t believe she’d actually admitted to John that she hadn’t even been on a single date since she broke up with her college boyfriend.
“Then maybe I’m just likable.” He crossed the kitchen in two strides and placed his hands on her hips. Heat flared between them. His gentle but insistent kiss left her speechless, and she noticed how her treacherous fingers were already sliding lower to the curve of his backside. How did he do this to her?
She didn’t want to tell him she liked him. He might take it the wrong way and think she wanted some kind of real relationship with him. That was impossible, of course.
She knew that. Which was why she shouldn’t be here kissing a man who had no honorable intentions toward her.
Nevertheless, she found herself kissing him back with passion that that flowed from somewhere deep inside her. This was the kind of thing they’d warned her about in Sunday school. That her parents tut-tutted over when other girls from her neighborhood had affairs that quickly fizzled out, sometimes leaving them pregnant. They thought you shouldn’t even kiss someone until there was a ring or a promise in the picture.
Constance had neither, and yet her fingers now tugged at John’s tie and the buttons on his shirt.
“Let’s go upstairs.” He didn’t wait for an answer but swept her along with his powerful arm around her waist. He kissed her neck with each step, caressed her backside as she walked ahead of him. Under his admiring gaze and tender touch she felt unbelievably desirable. She even had a swing in her step she’d never felt before. Being with John Fairweather was doing something very strange to her mind and body.
“This