“I said I’m open to a proposal. But I want to hear it from you.” Slowly, deliberately so, he inched as close to her as possible without touching. He hit her with the double-barreled attack of a heavy-lidded gaze and a seductive lick of his lips. Her nipples tightened under her sweater. And then, as if he knew he’d achieved his aim, he smirked and stepped back. “We can plan our next date in the car.”
He turned and started walking, leaving her there with her mouth hanging open. “Hold up.” She hurried to catch up with him. “I agreed to one date.”
“I don’t recall putting a number on it. I said, Go out with me.”
“That’s cheating.”
“That’s business.” He glanced down at her. “And I think some of ours is unfinished, don’t you?”
Nervous tension rendered the drive back to her house silent. When he turned the Christmas station back on, she didn’t argue, and he didn’t comment on her subservience. Every molecule of matter between them vibrated with the weight of two words. Unfinished business.
He slowed and stopped in front of her house. “Stay put,” he ordered when she reached for her door handle.
“Why?” The word came out a squeak.
“Because I want to be a gentleman and open your door for you.”
Oh. She wasn’t sure if she was relieved or disappointed. It wasn’t as if she’d been hoping he wanted to lean across the console, hook a hand around the back of her neck, and— Her door opened. She jumped and looked up at him. Colton held out his hand to her, and she was too jittery to do anything but accept the help.
As soon as she slid from the car and stood, his eyes dropped to her mouth. She gulped. “So when is our next date?”
“Eager, huh?”
“Eager to get this over with.”
“Friday.”
“I’ll check my schedule, but that should work.”
“Got another hot date you might have to cancel?”
“Yeah, a Pap smear.”
“An agenda item for our next meeting?”
She had to clear her throat to scrape away the traces of lust. “What?”
“Do I get to kiss you?”
“Do you want to kiss me?” Oh God. Had she actually said that? Where was her pride? Her dignity?
“I think you know the answer to that question.”
“Maybe we should table that discussion until I can weigh the pros and cons.”
“Let me know how I can help your research.”
She summoned her self-respect and stepped aside. “I’ll call you when I have a number for you.”
“You do that.”
She vowed not to look back at him as she strode up the sidewalk, climbed the porch steps, and walked into the house.
A Cold Winter’s Night
Simon Rye was late.
Not just a little late. A lot late. Like, almost a half hour late. And if there was anything that set Chelsea Vanderboek’s molars to grinding, it was tardiness.
Her entire life was a fine-tuned schedule. It had to be if she hoped to become the youngest ever junior partner at the Hollywood talent agency where she worked. From the moment she’d graduated from college, she’d made every minute count, and this meeting was no exception.
She had exactly two nights to finalize the sale of her family’s historic inn in northern Michigan before flying back to California in time for her agency’s annual Christmas party where, she hoped, she would get the promotion she’d been working toward.
Unfortunately, an infuriating local ordinance required approval by the Leland Township Historic Preservation Department for the sale of any property that had been held by the same family for more than one hundred years. Something to do with “safeguarding the heritage” of the area, according to the documents she’d been sent by her aunt’s probate attorney. It should have been just a formality, until Simon Rye got in the way.
Chelsea checked her watch. He was now thirty-six minutes late. Which was thirty-five minutes longer than she’d hoped to spend here. There was a reason she’d vowed to never return. Memories haunted every corner like Jacob Marley clanging his chains at Scrooge’s door. She’d instinctively hugged her arms around her torso the instant she walked in to ward off the chill and the sense of doom that clung to every square inch of the place.
She probably would have had to deal with the house eventually, but it shouldn’t have been this soon. Her aunt was supposed to have had two more decades of life in her—time to enjoy her golden years and to figure out what to do with the family estate before it ended up in Chelsea’s lap—but cancer in all its cruelty had stolen that. And now Chelsea was the sole member of the Vanderboek clan left to rid the world of this haunted, hated house. Fate had a sick sense of humor.