hotter than a two-sided firecracker.
She was the firecracker, at least where he was concerned. He only needed to look at her out of those big, long-lashed dark eyes and she wanted to explode across the sky in a big flash of heat and color and sparkles.
“I like you, Sam. A lot. But I told you I’m not going to sleep with you and I mean it. I don’t do relationships very well. Casual, flirty and fun I can handle but I’m not interested in more than that.”
“Nothing wrong with casual, flirty and fun. For now.”
She pounced on the last two words. “See, right there. That’s the problem. I only want the now. And actually, I don’t even want that in this particular now. Nothing personal, but I just don’t have the energy for you.”
He studied her in the moonlight and she felt exposed to the bone, as if he could sift through layers of skin and muscle and sinew to the very heart of her.
Oh, the wonders of self-delusion. She thought she could handle a man like Sam the same way she treated the fun-loving ski bums and river guides she usually dated. It was no coincidence they were usually a few years younger than she was and more than willing to let her set the terms and make up the rules.
Sam was different. With him, she felt extremely out of control, as if she were floating down level-five rapids with no life preserver, no raft, no helmet, no protection but her own wits. Flimsy help, there.
“This is an important time for me, preparing to open the restaurant after months—years, really—of planning. I just can’t afford the distraction.”
“Distraction.”
He spoke the word softly and it hovered between them like a pesky deerfly.
“Yes. What else would you call this?”
He was silent for a long moment. “You’re definitely distracting. I can’t seem to get you out of my head, try as I might. I thought seeing you again would help in that department but I think we’ve only made things worse.”
He sighed. “As much as I’m tempted to give you all the casual, flirty fun you can handle,” he went on, his voice low, “I think you’re probably right. This isn’t a good idea.”
She was so busy trying to ignore the burst of heat from his words, it took a moment for the second part of what he said to seep through.
“It’s not? I mean, no, it’s not. What a relief that you agree with me.”
“The timing isn’t great for either one of us.”
“Horrible,” she agreed.
“Neither of us is looking for a relationship right now.”
“Absolutely right.”
“So no more midnight walks. Are we agreed on that?”
“Probably smart.”
They both looked at each other for a long moment and then Sam smiled, one edge of his mouth lifting just a little higher than the other. “It’s too bad, really. I like you right back, Alexandra.”
“No reason we can’t still be friendly with each other.”
“Except every time I’m with you, I’ll want to kiss you again.”
“You’ll get over it.”
He laughed and unexpectedly reached out and pulled her into his arms, kissing the top of her head with an affection that stealthily sneaked into her heart more effectively than a passionate embrace.
“I’ll do my best.” Too soon, he released her and she opened her car door and climbed inside.
“Good night, Sam.”
“Night. Thanks for the hike and the company.”
“You’re welcome.”
She closed the door quickly, firmly, and shoved the transmission into Reverse. She didn’t quite squeal her tires, but it was close as she backed out of the parking space then quickly headed toward her house in Currant Creek Valley before she could surrender to the fierce urge surging through her to turn off the engine, fly out of the SUV and jump back into his arms.
CHAPTER EIGHT
FOUR HOURS AND SIX HOUSES after starting out with the Realtor, Sam picked the house he wanted five minutes after walking through the front door.
“This is the one. It’s perfect.”
His perky real estate agent—the aptly named Jill Sellers—quickly concealed her dubious expression. “Are you sure? It needs so much work! I only showed you this one because you insisted.”
He should have trusted Brodie Thorne’s instincts. This was the very house Brodie had suggested he consider, a two-story early-century bungalow in serious need of some love and care.
The rooms were small and dark and the trim looked as if it had been painted over at least a dozen times. The last kitchen makeover was probably circa 1970, at least judging by the green appliances