Connor Langley wasn’t going to be ecstatic to see her but, all the same, she couldn’t help herself. Every hungry cell of her body wanted to take him in, to swarm under the thick, warm feeling of attraction, even if only for the time it took to give him this basket.
She paused at the door, blowing out a cloud of pent-up steam. Then, ready for a scolding, she knocked.
A long hesitation followed, as if he was thinking about pretending not to be home. Finally, after what seemed like eons, the door creaked open on rusted hinges.
He stood in front of her, arms akimbo, his hair tied at his nape. “What didn’t you understand about leaving me alone?”
Boy, his eyes were blue. And now that she was almost toe-to-toe with him, she could see icicle-white flecks spiking the deep color of his irises.
“I…” She grinned, shoving the gingham-lined carrier in front of her as aggressively as she’d presented the fireplace implement this afternoon. “I wanted to tell you that you can stay in the cabin. And I cooked you dinner in apology for almost running you through with that metal thing.”
“I told you, it’s an andiron.” Then, as he cocked a brow, Lacey wondered why she’d thought this would be such a wonderful idea in the first place.
Before he could speak, she rushed on. “I really am good in the kitchen, so you shouldn’t refuse this. I’ve whipped up a spinach and grilled shrimp salad with a sherry vinaigrette, salmon rolls with spinach and sole with Champagne sauce and pear cake savoie. Pretty decent grub for the middle of nowhere.”
She waited with what had to be a silly, hopeful please-oh-please-accept-me grin on her face.
“I’m miffed,” he said.
“Well, I was puttering around the house, fixing to eat dinner myself, and I thought—”
He looked away and shook his head.
Getting the message loud and clear, Lacey set the basket on the ground, right by his boots, then turned to leave.
“Wait, Ms. Vedae.”
When she peeked over her shoulder, he’d picked up the wicker carrier and opened the door a crack wider. He glanced at her, something like guilt etching the lines around his mouth. “My privacy is important to me. Understand?”
With the way he’d growled the words, Lacey wondered if he was inviting her to share the meal or trying to scare her off.
Maybe she was being terribly invasive. “Bon appetit, Mr. Langley. I’ll leave you to your own company.”
And back she’d go to her massive house, wondering how it had ever become so empty.
The hinges screamed as he opened the door wider. “Get in here.”
Ooo, a command. If her stepbrothers, Matt and Rick, or one of her employees had talked to her in such a tone, she’d have given them a good dose of put-them-in-their-place. But with this man…
She didn’t say a word. She merely tilted her head as if she’d been expecting his invitation all along and strolled into the cabin.
Into the warmth of a stranger’s presence.
Chapter Two
T he woman sure could cook.
As Conn bit into the last of the pear cake whatever-it-was-called, he stifled a groan of contentment. He was more used to the beef and potatoes his ex-fiancée, Emily, had whipped up for him on a regular basis. Every Sunday night after church, she’d invite him over for dinner, then they’d sit in front of the television in her parents’ clapboard house, pretending that someday in the future, they might have something to talk about during the commercial breaks.
But now he was dining on food he couldn’t even pronounce.
Maybe it was for the best, though he hadn’t exactly been singing for joy when Lacey had shown up at his doorstep uninvited. For the second time today.
After she’d left this afternoon, he’d returned to the woods to keep his eye on the Spencer estate, cursing at the absence of activity there. Maybe the family had gone out of town. Who knew? But Conn was determined to wait, to watch and collect all the information he could before taking the next step.
Introducing himself.
And the sooner, the better. His mom was slowly dying, and he’d promised her that he’d come up with a way to make her better.
The sound of splashing wine drew him back to the moment as Lacey refreshed his glass with more Riesling. The woman had come prepared with everything.
“So, now that I’ve got you all liquored up, are you going to tell me why you’re here?” She smiled, her eyes the same color as the sky surrounding an evening star, especially vivid against the lavender of her turtleneck.
“I thought we’d already gone over this. About ten times.”
“Never hurts to ask.”
“That’s what you think.”
She pushed the wine bottle aside, tilting her head in apparent interest, telling Conn that he’d provided a little too much information.
The lady was sharp. He needed to keep all hints of why he was camped in this cabin out of his voice.
She asked, “Is it really so awful to reveal anything about yourself? I mean, talk about hiding in your cave.”
He must have seemed offended, because she added, “Mars, Venus? No? You’ve never been exposed to the world of Dr. Phil self-help?”
Touchy-feely garbage. Right. “I’m not into all that new age philosophy, I suppose.”
The smile on her mouth froze, stiffened, then melted after a beat. “Sure. All that build-yourself-up stuff. It’s not everybody’s thing.”
Had he said something wrong? It wasn’t that he looked down on group-hug betterment; he was merely a simple man who hadn’t thought much about it. “I guess I just depend more on family to tell me what’s what. Having strangers feed me advice about who I am and how I can make myself different doesn’t appeal to a guy like me.”
Lacey folded her elbows on the table and leaned her chin on her clasped fingers, the fire casting a warm glow over her features. “You know you’ve provided a perfect opening for more personal queries. If I didn’t know that you’d scowl at me, I’d ask you what kind of guy you are.”
“Are you posing an off-limits question? Because I feel that scowl coming on.”
She grinned, making Conn wish she hadn’t already become such a vital part of his plan to be here in the woods. If she were an anonymous woman in a roadside bar, he might be able to caress the heart-shaped angles of her face without considering the consequences. But, even now, at a point when they still barely knew each other, he couldn’t afford to get close, to alienate her with the eventuality of his leaving town once he’d gotten what he needed from the Spencers.
“I can guess at what sort of guy you are,” Lacey said. “You’re a hiker, a nature boy who wanted to get out of the cold and ducked into my cabin. Right?”
He didn’t correct her, thinking she’d concocted a pretty good cover for the real reason he was here. “And what about you? Are you the type of woman who cooks dinner for a family in that big house of yours?”
Not that he thought she would’ve been dining with him if she had kids and a significant other; he was just surprised he cared enough to ask.
Lacey seemed taken aback by his inquiry. “I’ve got plenty of kin and friends. And there’s almost always someone in my home with me.”
“I