Читать книгу The Engagement Party - Barbara Boswell, Barbara Boswell - Страница 5

“The party is great, Katie. And Abby and Ben look so happy.”

Hannah Farley smiled with satisfaction as she gazed at Abby Long and her fiancé, Ben Harper, who were standing in the middle of the large living room of Katie’s Clover Street boardinghouse. The newly engaged couple were surrounded by a noisy, laughing group of family and friends who’d gathered for the surprise engagement party.

“I didn’t think we’d be able to keep the party a surprise, but we pulled it off, didn’t we?” Hannah, a longtime friend of Abby’s and one of her bridesmaids, was helping fellow bridesmaid, Katie Jones, replenish the snack dishes on the long, linen-covered table that had been set up to hold the refreshments. “Abby and Ben didn’t suspect a thing.”

“They both did a credible job of acting surprised,” Katie said dryly. “But yesterday at the Beauty Boutique, I overheard Jeannie Potts talking about the party to every customer who sat down to be shampooed. You have to assume if Jeannie knew...” Her voice trailed off, and Katie shrugged, not bothering to state the obvious.

“How did Jeannie find out about the party?” demanded Hannah. “It was supposed to be a secret. Who told?”

“Who knows? When it comes to gossip, Jeannie Potts has more sources than any tabloid or wire service.”

“You’re right. Jeannie doesn’t hear things through the grapevine. She is the grapevine of Clover, South Carolina.”

Katie grinned. “So if Abby and Ben didn’t know about this party, I’ll take a swim in the punch bowl. But who cares if it was a surprise or not? We’re all here celebrating their engagement and they really do look happy.”

Both the bridesmaids-to-be watched Ben reach over to lovingly tuck a loose strand of hair behind Abby’s small diamond-studded ear. Abby smiled at him, her eyes radiating an almost tangible tenderness.

“They’re really in love, aren’t they?” Hannah sighed wistfully. “I wonder what it feels like. To love someone enough to want to spend your whole life with them.”

Katie gave her a measuring look. “You don’t know?”

Hannah laughed, her slate gray eyes suddenly lighting with humor. “You really are tactful, Katie. And so diplomatic! It’s very kind of you not to refer to my three engagements, my three broken engagements. My family certainly does often enough. And to answer your question, no, I never have really been in love.”

“I guess it wouldn’t be tactful or diplomatic of me to ask why you got engaged three times when you weren’t in love,” Katie murmured. It was a question she never would’ve asked anyone else, but Hannah was so frank and open it was easy to respond in kind.

“Ah, The Question. Don’t think I haven’t asked it myself a few thousand times.” Hannah tossed her head and her thick, dark hair fell luxuriantly over her shoulders—a feminine, seductive gesture that she’d perfected back in her early teens. Now she was twenty-six, and her practiced gestures had become so natural they were an integral part of the alluring Hannah Farley charm.

“I was eighteen the first time I got engaged,” she continued, smiling ruefully in reminiscence. “Some of my sorority sisters were getting pinned to Brent’s fraternity brothers, and Brent and I thought it would be cool to get engaged instead. Imagine our shock when his family and mine began making wedding plans! We ended that engagement on a note of mutual panic.”

Her smile dimmed a little. “My second fiancé came along the year both of us were graduating from university. Neither of us knew what we wanted to do with our lives. Getting engaged seemed like a good idea at the time.”

“Until faced with those wedding plans again?” Katie guessed.

Hannah nodded, growing pensive. “My third engagement was shortly before my grandmother got sick three years ago. You remember, I was living and working in Charleston back then. So was Carter Moore, who was a virtual clone of my brother and brothers-in-law. He convinced me that it would “serve both our interests to get married.”

“That’s how he proposed?” Katie arched her brows. “Not quite the romantic type, was he?”

“Not quite. Instead of an engagement ring, he presented me with some stock certificates, which he considered far more sensible than a frivolous piece of jewelry.” Even three years later, Hannah’s gray eyes flashed with indignation at that spectacularly unromantic gesture.

Katie couldn’t suppress her amused smile. “And you ended the engagement then and there?”

“I should have, but I didn’t. My family was so thrilled with Carter, I sort of felt I owed it to them to make him an official member of the clan. I swear they liked him better than they liked me. When we got engaged, all the Farleys were ecstatic. I’d finally done something that pleased them, something they understood! It was a heady feeling, for a while.” Hannah rolled her eyes. “But then my grandmother got sick and nearly died and I moved back here. Carter couldn’t understand why I’d give up my job and life in the city to be with what he called ‘a dying old woman whose days are numbered anyway.’ That’s when I told Carter to take back his stock certificates, we were history.”

Katie winced. “Sounds like you had a lucky escape from Bachelor Number Three, Hannah.”

“I agree. And everything worked out for the best. Grandmother recovered, and I have my antique shop here in Clover. I’m very happy,” she added resolutely. The firm line of her jaw was set with a determination underestimated by those who saw only her striking beauty. “In fact, I’ve never been happier. At this point in my life, I’m dedicating myself to buying antiques and collectibles to resell at outrageous prices to tourists and Clover matrons who like to redecorate their houses every other year.” Hannah smiled mischievously. “So who needs men? Who needs a social life? We’re businesswomen, Katie—the backbone of Clover’s economy. Someday we might actually get elected to the board of the chamber of commerce and then look out—we’ll rule this town!”

Katie laughed along with her. Hannah’s exuberance was contagious. “There’s just one thing I have to dispute,” Katie said, her green eyes twinkling. “Your alleged lack of a social life. You haven’t spent a Saturday night dateless since you turned thirteen, Hannah.”

Hannah didn’t deny it. “That doesn’t mean I don’t find dating an insane concept. I’ve had some unsuccessful dates—I specialize in them, actually.” She cast another glance at Abby and Ben. “And even though I am definitely not looking for another fiancé, when I see those two together, I can’t help but wish—”

“Hannah!” Tall, lanky Sean Fitzgerald came up behind her. “You’re looking beautiful as always. Have I ever told you that you’re the unrequited love of my life?”

“You’ve mentioned it on occasion.” Hannah smiled languidly, knowing he was posturing. Sean, whose grandfather had founded the ever-popular Fitzgerald’s Bar and Grill on Clover Street, and Hannah had been friends for years. They playfully flirted with each other without a single thought of deepening their relationship.

“And here is the lovely Lady Kate!” Sean turned his megawatt smile on Katie. “Well, the surprise was probably the worst-kept secret in Clover history but this party is terrific. Even the weather cooperated, huh? A beautiful June evening made to order for the happy couple.”

He laughed as another violent crack of thunder seemed to shake the house to its very foundation. The summer thunderstorm intensified, and the rain, which had been steadily drizzling all day, suddenly began to teem. The heavy drops pelted the windows so hard, the glass rattled.

“When your conversation sinks to bad jokes about the weather, it’s time to move on, Sean.” Hannah gave him a friendly shove, her gray eyes gleaming. “Go chase Ben’s cousin, the blonde in from Charleston. I saw you drooling over her earlier.”

“As always, your wish is my command, Dream Girl.” Sean winked at Hannah as he moved toward the perky blonde dressed in pastel pink from head to toe.

“Heaven help the woman who takes Sean seriously. He breaks new ground in superficiality every day,” Hannah said wryly as she and Katie watched him approach the giggling pink blonde.

Katie nodded, amused. She agreed with Hannah’s assessment, though she never would’ve voiced it aloud. Hannah had no such inhibitions; she said exactly what she thought. Katie, who was reserved by nature and tended to keep her private thoughts just that, found Hannah’s company entertaining, albeit occasionally unnerving.

Undoubtedly the difference in their stations in life affected them as much as their contrasting introvert-extrovert personality types. Though both young people were Clover businesswomen—Katie owning and operating the Clover Street Boardinghouse, Hannah the proprietor of Yesterdays, which featured an eclectic assortment of antiques and collectibles—the two sprang from very different roots.

Katie had been raised by her aunt Peg, the warm, hardworking owner of Peg’s Diner, a Clover Street institution, the past and present town hot spot for down-home cooking, people-watching and good-natured gossip. Despite her own busy schedule at the boardinghouse, Katie still helped out her aging aunt at the diner, dividing her time between the two places.

Hannah was the youngest daughter of Clover’s old-moneyed, blue-blooded Farley family, who traced their genealogy back to the aristocratic antebellum South. Hannah, a cheerful flirt, lively, laughing and teasing, with a gift for mixing with all types and putting anyone at ease, was an enigma to her very proper relatives. With the exception of her beloved grandmother, who doted on her, the rest of the Farleys were still trying to adjust to having “a shop girl” numbered among their kin. They did not understand or wholly approve of her friendships with “tradespersons” such as Katie and her aunt Peg, the Fitzgeralds and Emma Wynn, who managed the bookstore on Clover Street.

At her own insistence, Hannah was the first and only Farley ever to attend the Clover public schools and the state university, and she’d graduated with a degree in marketing despite her relatives’ dire predictions concerning her fate.

Hannah knew nothing would please her family more than for her to marry well, although they lived in horror of yet another disrupted engagement. The thought of a fourth broken engagement alarmed Hannah, as well, one of the very few things she had in common with her kin.

A brilliant bolt of lightning reflected through the rain-streaked windowpanes. It was almost simultaneously accompanied by a boom of thunder. The lights flickered, went out, then almost immediately flashed back on. There were groans and squeals among the party guests, followed by a rowdy burst of cheering when the electricity held its own against the storm.

“Miss Jones!” The voice, deep and peremptory, very annoyed and very male, caused nearly every head to turn to the foot of the stairs, where a very annoyed man stood on the landing, his arms folded across his chest, his dark eyes glowering. He projected the air of an infuriated marine drill sergeant, looking over a group of unsatisfactory recruits, and for a moment, the entire crowd shifted uneasily, as if feeling the apprehension of a hapless young corps.

But the group was too jolly to sustain any mood but a festive one for very long. They quickly resumed their partying, ignoring the imperious intruder. Not Hannah, though. She bristled. The nerve of this stranger. No one used that tone with her, nor would she permit her friends to be verbally accosted in such a manner. Why, poor Katie looked positively stricken!

Hannah started toward the stairs, determined to cut the obnoxious intruder down to size. When she was through, he would be miniaturized, so small that the antique dollhouse featured in her shop window would be too big for him.

Her eyes met the stranger’s when she was only a few feet away from him.

Hannah stopped cold in her tracks. The man’s smoldering dark eyes, so dark they appeared as black as onyx, were making a leisurely perusal, moving over her from head to toe and then back again. Males had been giving Hannah the admiring, assessing once-over since she’d donned her first training bra at age twelve. She knew how to deal with it, knew when to be flattered or insulted, knew how to respond playfully or forbiddingly.

But she wasn’t sure how to respond to this man. For after taking careful, minute inventory of her every feature, her every curve, he merely blinked and dispassionately looked away, totally dismissing her.

Hannah followed his gaze, saw those dark eyes of his fix on Katie, who was crossing the room to him, looking worried and nervous and apologetic. Hannah’s eyes widened. She silently willed the dark stranger to look over at her. She intended to devastate him with her most sultry stare, then reduce him to a quivering pool of nerves with an ego-shriveling insult.

But the man never looked her way again. She might as well have been invisible. It was as if he was unaware she existed, hadn’t seen her at all during those few charged seconds when she’d watched him devour her with his eyes.

“Mr. Granger, is there something wrong?” Katie asked breathlessly.

Hannah was standing near enough to overhear the conversation, and she moved closer, listening shamelessly.

“Yes, Miss Jones, you could say that,” Mr. Granger growled. “I want you to come upstairs to my room immediately.” He turned and headed up the stairs, not looking back, expecting Katie to follow him without question, without protest.

And she did exactly that! Hannah’s jaw dropped as she watched Katie trail after the man, up the steps and away from the party.

“I want you to come upstairs to my room immediately.” The deep, commanding voice seemed to echo in Hannah’s head while her mind’s eye kept flashing his image as visual accompaniment.

She pictured him so clearly he could still be standing in front of her, dressed all in black, his T-shirt, jeans and sneakers nearly the same dark shade as his hair. His complexion was swarthy, his teeth very white. It was as if Dracula had appeared at the summer-night party, a dark, menacing presence among the colorful floral and pastel dresses of the ladies and the light ice-cream suits of the men.

Hannah shivered. She felt edgy. Worst of all, she felt ridiculous! Her imagination, always active—why had she been the only Farley ever to possess one?—had clearly gone into overdrive. Dracula, indeed! The man was obviously a tenant here, seeking out the proprietor, and most rudely, too!

His bare arms flashed to mind, unnerving her further. He was muscular, his forearms covered with a sprinkling of hair, his shoulders broad. His hands were big, his fingers long. He was probably very strong.

Hannah was disconcerted by her detailed observation of the man. After all, she’d only seen him for a few moments. And then he had summoned Katie to his room. The party no longer held Hannah’s interest. Impulsively she climbed the stairs to the second floor of the three-storied house, hurrying through the halls, listening.

“...I’ve been in dumps and dives all over the world, but this place has to be the worst! I have never experienced...”

The irate male voice was coming from the end of the hall, and Hannah rushed into the room. Katie was standing beside the window, looking mortified as the man she called Mr. Granger lambasted the Clover Street Boardinghouse, comparing it unfavorably to accommodations found anywhere in an inner-city slum.

Hannah glanced around and understood why. It looked like it was raining inside the room. Water didn’t simply trickle or drip; it was pouring through several places in the ceiling, as if there were shower heads embedded in the roof directing the water down into this bedroom.

“The roof is leaking,” Hannah blurted out.

“Did you figure that out all by yourself?” The stranger turned from Katie to Hannah, his dark eyes mocking. ”You’re a real genius, aren’t you, little girl?”

“I am not a little girl!” Hannah snapped, instantly incensed. “Of all the sexist remarks to make, that one—”

The man’s eyes swept over her. “I was referring to your height. You’re short. Little. Can’t a man make a truthful observation without being called sexist?”

Hannah was indignant. Her height—or the lack of it—was a sore point with her. She was barely five foot three and considered herself too short. She had never stopped wishing that she were tall and willowy like her two older sisters.

Tonight, the nearly four-inch heels she wore gave her a sense of height and power. “You’re not much taller than I am. Does that make you a little boy?” She squared her shoulders and held her head high. Her power shoes did bring her somewhat closer to his height, which was an inch or two under six feet.

“You’re on stilts and you’re still shorter, honey,” he observed ungallantly.

“Mr. Granger, I am sorry.” Katie jumped into the decidedly confrontational conversation. “I was aware that the roof had a-a couple of small leaky spots but I didn’t realize...I never dreamed...this has never happened before—”

Granger turned back to Katie. “Look at this!” He had been momentarily diverted, but was not ready to be appeased. With a sweep of his hand, he indicated a stream of water splashing onto a case. “That is my laptop computer. If it hadn’t been in its case, it would’ve been soaked.” He picked up the case, moving it out from under the cascade. “Do you have any idea what damage water causes to electronic equipment, Miss Jones? And this—” He pointed to the bed where the indoor deluge was in the process of drenching the pillow. “If I’d been asleep, I would have been shocked awake by a blast of rain on my head!”

“Well, you weren’t asleep so you weren’t shocked awake by a blast of rain on your head,” Hannah said coolly. “And your precious computer was in its case so it wasn’t damaged by water. As far as I can see, there’s no harm done, certainly nothing to warrant this tantrum you’re throwing. What’s a little water anyway? Are you a complainer by nature, Mr. Granger? Would you like some cheese to go along with your whine?”

She had the immense satisfaction of watching his face redden. She knew how very much men hated to be accused of whining! It was the antithesis of the ideal of strong, silent male fortitude.

Katie, however, was aghast. “Oh, no, Hannah!” She gripped her throat, gulping for breath. “Mr. Granger has every reason to be infuriated. I agree with him. These conditions are inexcusable and totally unacceptable! Mr. Granger, I hope you’ll give the boardinghouse another chance to make this up to you. I’ll move you to a new room immediately, and of course, you won’t be charged for today or tonight—or—or tomorrow, either. I am so terribly, terribly sorry.”

“Katie, there is no need to grovel to this man.” Hannah was speaking to Katie, but her eyes were focused on the darkly rugged Mr. Granger. He was staring back at her, his black gaze piercing and intense. “I think he owes you an apology,” Hannah continued gleefully. “He’s behaved rudely, summoning you up here as if he’s some sort of feudal lord taking the servant girl to task.”

Katie choked. “Mr. Granger,” she began placatingly, “please don’t—”

“Who is she and why is she here?” Granger asked Katie, his eyes never leaving Hannah. “If she turns out to be the demented co-owner of this place, I’m checking out immediately.”

Katie ran her hand through her hair in an agitated manner that left it tousled. “Mr. Granger, this is Hannah Kaye Farley who—who owns a shop here in Clover. Hannah, my guest is Matthew Granger. He checked in this morning. And, Hannah, I would greatly appreciate it if you would go back downstairs and make sure the party is running smoothly while I move Mr. Granger to another room.”

Hannah and Matthew Granger continued to stare at each other.

“Since Miss Farley made it a point to stick her elegant little nose into your business, I think it’s only fair that she stay and help you make the room switch.” Matthew arched his dark brows, his expression challenging. Before either Hannah or Katie could say another word, he dumped the wet case containing the laptop computer into Hannah’s arms. “Here, you can carry this.”

Hannah was so startled she nearly dropped it. “It’s all wet!” She felt the bodice of her silver minidress absorb the moisture and knew it would leave a visible damp spot.

“What’s a little water?” Matthew drawled. “Are you a complainer by nature, Miss Farley? Perhaps you’d like some cheese to go with your whine?”

Katie froze, bracing herself for Hannah’s response while mentally reviewing the coverage in her insurance policy.

But instead of flinging the laptop to the floor or on Matthew’s head, Hannah flashed a sudden smile. “Touché, Mr. Granger.”

Matthew was completely disarmed. He studied the sensual perfection of her mouth and had to remind himself to breathe. His heart began to pump faster, making heat surge through him. Her face was exquisite, her complexion smooth and milky white, an intriguing contrast to her raven black hair. Her gray eyes, wide set and framed by dark lashes and brows, shone with intelligence and fire.

He’d been attracted to her the moment he laid eyes on her, when he’d come downstairs to rail at Katie. He’d been too attracted to her. Sensing trouble, he’d looked away, not daring even to glance at her one more time.

But it was happening all over again. The darkly gorgeous Hannah Farley had totally unhinged him. This time he couldn’t tear his eyes away from her. Her well-shaped, scarlet red lips were made for kissing. For passion. Matthew’s body began to tighten with need.

As a man who prided himself on never losing his head over a woman, on always maintaining control over his emotions in his dealings with the opposite sex, he found it more than a little disturbing that she could command his attention so easily and so completely.

Every primitive male instinct within him urged him toward the shapely, petite raven haired beauty in the eye-popping silver minidress and provocative spike-heeled sandals.

It was the sudden splash of cold water on the top of his head—yet another leak!—that jolted him out of the powerful sensual grip she had on him.

Hannah Farley was dangerous, Matthew decided. She used that smile of hers as a weapon. One flash, and bam! The unsuspecting recipient was disoriented, a willing captive to her sultry Southern charms.

Well, not him. Matthew flicked the raindrops from his hair. The smile she’d almost coaxed out of him rapidly turned into a defiant scowl. He was not here to lust after a teasing little flirt who was oh-so-confident of her appeal. He couldn’t allow anything or anyone to divert him, even temporarily, from the vital mission that had brought him to Clover.

He suspected that Hannah Farley could be far more than a temporary distraction. Becoming absorbed in her might easily become a full-time preoccupation. Matthew steeled himself against her allure. She was tempting but not irresistible. He could and would resist.

“Save it, sweetie,” he growled. “What you’re selling, I’m not buying.”

Hannah heaved an exasperated groan. “Are you one of those vain, tiresome men who thinks that any time a woman smiles at him, she’s coming on to him? Well, let me assure you that I am not, Mr. Granger.”

Matthew watched the warmth fade from her gray eyes as they narrowed to slits under her dark brows, watched her smile turn into a frown as fierce as his own. He was appalled that he felt regret, that he wanted to recall his insult and make her smile at him again. Her spell was potent indeed!

That feminine power of hers refueled his determination to send her on her way. Safely out of his way. She’d made it plain that she resented male condescension; therefore it became his weapon of choice.

“I guess it’s time for me to tell you that you’re beautiful when you’re angry.” He taunted her with his tone, with his expression. “The way you toss your hair, the way your eyes flash—baby, you project the image of glamorous anger as well as any soap-opera queen.”

Only his eyes, hot and intent, belied his cocky attitude.

Katie was right there to catch the laptop case before it hit the ground. She had rightly anticipated Hannah’s next move. “Hannah, please, the party,” she prompted under her breath. “It would be so helpful to me if you would go down and—”

“Throw the unruly mob out into the rain?” Matthew suggested. “I’m surprised none of the other tenants has complained about the noise. When I checked into this place, I thought it would provide the quiet I was seeking. Instead, there is a rowdy party going on downstairs with the Hit Parade from Hell playing in the background. Is this a nightly occurrence, Miss Jones? If so—”

“If you wanted a dark, quiet place, why didn’t you check into the city morgue?” Hannah said crossly. “The accommodations there would be ideal for an icy stiff like you.”

Matthew actually laughed. “Touché to you, too, Miss Farley.”

It was Hannah’s turn to be rendered speechless. Matthew Granger was attractive in a severely masculine way when he was angry and upset but he was absolutely charismatic when his dark eyes sparkled with humor and his face was lit with laughter.

Hannah slid a sidelong glance in Katie’s direction. If Katie had been equally floored by Matthew’s charisma, she was covering her reaction well. Katie appeared more concerned with balancing the dripping-wet computer case than gaping breathlessly at the mercurial Matthew Granger.

Which Hannah found herself doing, much to her own disconcertment. She took inventory of his face—and his body. He was not a classically handsome man but he had interesting features. The sharp blade of a nose and hard slash of a mouth were as compelling as his black eyes, arched by black brows. He was lean and muscular and almost vibrating with a restless energy that she instantly understood because she possessed it herself. A need to make things happen. An edginess combined with a daring need for something that hadn’t been found because it had yet to be identified.

“Mr. Granger, if I may, I’ll set the computer down here.” Katie laid it safely down in a dry spot and wiped her hands on the skirt of her light summer dress. “And I’ll get the key to room 206. I’ll be back in a minute.”

“Don’t forget to take your sidekick with you,” Matthew called after her, as Katie fled down the hall.

Hannah folded her arms across her chest. She decided then and there not to do anything to accommodate him. If he wanted her gone, she would stay put. “I won’t conveniently go away, giving you free rein to bully and disparage poor Katie. She obviously needs your business and you’re taking full advantage of that fact.”

“What about you?” taunted Matthew. “According to Katie, you’re a shop owner. Shouldn’t you be patronizing me as a potential customer for your wares—whatever they might be?”

Hannah gave him a dismissive laugh. “I certainly don’t need to cultivate the likes of you.”

“Because you’re a rich girl whose shop is just a diversion until a suitable candidate for your privileged little hand shows up?”

“My shop holds its own, not that it’s any business of yours. And I am definitely not in a rush to marry anyone,” she added, a little too fervently.

“Why not? Every woman I’ve ever known has been burning to find a husband and take that long walk down the aisle, all decked out in white lace and sequins.”

“Good heavens, what kind of women have you been spending time with?”

“Ones with bad taste in wedding attire?”

“Not to mention bad taste in men, if they’re burning to take that long walk down the aisle with you!”

He grinned. “I didn’t say they all wanted to marry me. I said they all wanted to get married. Just like you do, honey. Let me guess. You want some tall, elegant Southern aristocrat who’ll keep you in the grand style you’ve always been accustomed to. Or maybe a good-looking, fun-loving socialite who glides along on his connections and his boyish charm.”

“Been there. Done that.” Hannah feigned boredom, but she was far from bored. There was a current of sexual tension sizzling between them, which energized her, challenged her, too.

“So you’re a lady with a past? I’m intrigued.”

“Don’t be. You’re not my type.”

“You’re saying I don’t stand a chance with you?” He sounded amused, not insulted.

“Not a chance,” Hannah affirmed. She sashayed by him, deeper into the room, taking care to avoid the water dripping steadily from the various leaks in the ceiling.

On top of the bureau lay a big canvas bag, which was half open and crammed full of notebooks, folders and books, both paperback and hardcover. She peered inside, but before she could glimpse any of the titles, Matthew stalked across the room to stand between her and the bureau, blocking both her view and her access to the bag.

“Do you make a habit of barging into people’s rooms and snooping through their things?” His tone was light but his dark eyes were hard and forbidding.

“What do you have in there that you don’t want me to see?” Hannah asked curiously. When she took a step closer, he sidestepped her, continuing to block her view of the bag and its contents.

“Why do you feel the need to know?” he countered.

“I don’t.” Hannah shrugged. “But you’re awfully defensive about it. Are you one of those creepy perverts who travels with his own personal stash of hard-core pornography?”

“You do have an interesting imagination.” Matthew tried but failed to suppress a grin. “But the answer is no. Sorry if I’ve disappointed you.”

Her body reacted to his smile, her heartbeat accelerating as hot little quivers pierced her abdomen. Hannah tried to will them away. “Why are you here in Clover, Mr. Granger?” she demanded sharply.

“I’m a writer.” His eyes held hers. “This bag holds research and reference materials. I’m here to...gather information for the book I plan to write.”

“I checked room 206 and it’s fine.” Katie rushed into the room, panting from exertion. “Shall we get you moved in there, Mr. Granger?”

“I would appreciate that. And please call me Matthew.” He zipped up his canvas tote and grabbed its straps. “Lead the way, Miss Jones.”

“If we’ve moved to a first-name basis, you must use Katie, please.” Katie was relieved that his fury seemed to have abated and that he was willing to be placated. “May I carry something for you, Matthew?”

“The laptop.” Matthew pointed, and Katie scooped it up.

“Katie, did you know he’s a writer?” Hannah eyed him dubiously. “At least he claims he is. He says he’s here to do research for his book.”

“A writer here in Clover?” Katie paused at the threshold. “Are you going to write a book about the town?” she asked him eagerly. “I read a wonderful novel about Savannah a few months ago and—”

“I know the book,” Matthew cut in. “Mine won’t be anything like it. I’m going to describe the insect life of a small Southern coastal town. Clover seemed a likely setting.”

“You’re writing a book about insects in Clover?” Hannah was incredulous.

“I’m sure it will be very interesting,” Katie said diplomatically.

“Will it be like a textbook?” pressed Hannah.

“Like, yes.” Matthew’s eyes mocked her. “I promise to send you both an autographed copy.”

“I don’t believe for one minute that you’re here to write an insect textbook,” Hannah declared boldly. The gleam in his dark eyes was all the proof she needed to know that he was putting them on. Katie was too polite to call him on it, but Hannah had nothing to lose. He wasn’t her tenant. “And I don’t—”

“As long as you’re determined to stick around, you may as well make yourself useful, angel face. Take my shirts from the closet and bring them to 206,” Matthew directed Hannah.

He didn’t wait around to see if she followed his orders. Obviously he expected to be obeyed, just as he had assumed that Katie would follow him upstairs after he’d issued his earlier command. Matthew strode from the room, Katie at his heels.

“Yes, sir. Whatever you say, sir.” Hannah gave a mock salute. The man barked out orders like a general on the battlefield. But it was her curiosity, not any sense of obedience, that drove her to open the closet door.

An assortment of shirts was hung neatly on hangers on the rod, and Hannah draped them over her arm. From the number of them, it appeared that Matthew Granger planned to stick around for a while. There were also two lightweight summer suits hanging there. Hannah decided she could carry them, too.

She felt the hard lump in the inside pocket of the jacket as she added the suits to her load. The same innate curiosity that had prompted her to examine the books inside his canvas bag caused her to investigate the bulge in the pocket.

Hannah’s eyes widened in shocked alarm when she pulled out a small, gleamingly polished handgun.