She could climb trees, play football, talk cars and quote sports statistics with the best of them. And if the need arose, she knew how to fell a man with one quick move.
What she hadn’t quite mastered, though, was how a woman could resist when the man she’d wanted for years was so close she could lift her lips and touch her mouth to his.
With every fiber of her being, she yearned to move against him, rest her head on his shoulder and feel his big masculine arms enfold her. But that was exactly why she couldn’t.
Any notion she’d ever had of snagging Sam had disappeared when she’d embarrassed herself with a youthful, impassioned declaration that was ill-timed to say the least. Sam might pretend he’d only been letting her down easy, but she had a hunch that in their charged encounter way back then, he had been speaking the truth.
Sam’s perfect woman was not Annalise. Not by a long shot.
Dear Reader,
When I set out to write Annalise’s story, I knew she would be someone special. I also realized that her hero needed to be a man who could see past her outer shell of wealth and beauty to the sometimes emotionally fragile woman within.
Annalise fascinated me as she came to life on the page. She and I have very little in common. So I had to stretch my limits to understand this complex sister/daughter/cousin.
After growing up on Wolff Mountain amid an incredible sea of testosterone, Annalise had to learn (as an adult) what it meant to be a woman. Not a carbon copy of anyone else…but simply herself. A still-sore memory from her past puts the lone female Wolff’s unexpected chance to find a mate in jeopardy.
Sam and Annalise strike sparks off one another. Come along and see what happens when two strong-willed people go head-to-head and happen to fall in love when they least expect it.
Happy reading,
Janice Maynard
www.JaniceMaynard.com
www.WolffMountain.com
About the Author
JANICE MAYNARD came to writing early in life. When her short story The Princess and the Robbers won a red ribbon in her school arts fair, Janice was hooked. She holds a BA from Emory and Henry College and an MA from East Tennessee State University. In 2002 Janice left a fifteen-year career as an infant teacher to pursue writing full-time. Her first love is creating sexy, character-driven, contemporary romance. She has written for Kensington and NAL, and now is so very happy to also be part of the Mills & Boon® family—a lifelong dream, by the way!
Janice and her husband live in beautiful east Tennessee in the shadow of the Great Smoky Mountains. She loves to travel and enjoys using those experiences as settings for books.
Hearing from readers is one of the best perks of the job! Visit her website, www.janicemaynard.com, or email her at [email protected]. And of course, don’t forget Facebook and Twitter. Visit all the men of Wolff Mountain at www.wolffmountain.com.
All Grown Up
Janice Maynard
MILLS & BOON
Before you start reading, why not sign up?
Thank you for downloading this Mills & Boon book. If you want to hear about exclusive discounts, special offers and competitions, sign up to our email newsletter today!
Or simply visit
Mills & Boon emails are completely free to receive and you can unsubscribe at any time via the link in any email we send you.
This book is dedicated to women everywhere
who pave their own way with grace and beauty
and originality. Never apologize for being who you are.
Life has shaped you with experiences both good and
bad. Embrace your unique self and let the world
know what you have to offer. Shine!
One
Annalise Wolff regarded Sam Ely much like she did the IRS. She was forced to deal with him occasionally, but the experience inevitably gave her a bad feeling in the pit of her stomach…thus making her voluntary presence in his office today all the more incomprehensible. She leaned back in her chair, crossed one slim leg over the other and admired the sheen on her soft ebony leather boots. They were Prada, as was her voluminous purse.
Suffering the indignity of face-to-face contact with the ridiculously handsome architect required full body armor. Her crimson cashmere sweater and narrow black wool skirt were designed to show him she was all grown up.
Unfortunately, Sam didn’t seem all that impressed.
He lounged against the window frame, his gaze absently focused on the wintry day outside. “Yes or no, Annalise,” he said, a faint but unmistakable bite in his voice despite his honeyed drawl. “I’m giving you the courtesy of first refusal, but there are dozens of interior designers who would jump at this opportunity.”
He was right, damn his scurvy, sexy, Southern hide. The Shenandoah Valley home and dairy farm that belonged to his grandparents dated back to the time of Thomas Jefferson. The house was listed on the national register. Experts in historic renovation were handling the extensive changes Sam had drawn in detail via the plans rolled out on a nearby table. The project was an interior designer’s dream. She stalled, telling herself she could walk away. “And the magazine spread afterward is a done deal?”
“My college roommate’s mom is the managing editor of Architectural Design. She’s salivating at the opportunity to put Sycamore Farm in the earliest possible issue. The only holdup at the moment is you.”
He returned to his desk and sat down on the edge of it, his long, muscular legs dangerously close to hers. The position put him above her, and she knew he did it deliberately. She’d known this man for most of her life. His father had done the architectural design for much of Wolff Castle, and Sam and his dad had been frequent visitors to the Wolff home over the years. For an adolescent girl locked away like Rapunzel in her tower, Annalise’s interactions with the much older Sam had been her first and only exposure to hormonal-driven, adolescent passion.
“When would I start?” she hedged. “If I agree.”
He glanced down at the calendar beside him. “I’m sure you have a few things to wrap up. How about a week from Friday? Gram and Pops want you to live onsite, given the remoteness of the farm. Too much time commuting would eat into the schedule.”
She felt her face heat. “Where will you be?”
He put his hands on his thighs, drawing her attention to their size and firmness and the shape of his masculinity nestled where they met. “Don’t worry,” he muttered, irritation etching a scowl between his eyebrows as he glared at her. “Gram wants me to spend a couple of days at the beginning to orient you to the project, but afterward, I’ll return here to my office, far, far, away. That should put your mind at rest.” He ran a hand through his hair. “For God’s sake, I’m not making you a prisoner. Go home whenever you need to, but I want you to