quoted Shelley and Byron in the love letter? "Any woman would be a fool to trust you too quickly."
"Did your Grammy teach you to be wary of strangers? If she did, she was a smart lady." Mitch sat beside her, unmoving, but within his own mind, he withdrew from her. "You're right. I can be dangerous."
Dear God, sweet Emily, I'm the most dangerous man you know.
"My grandmother taught me to trust my instincts where people are concerned."
"What are your instincts telling you right now?"
Swallowing, Emily held back the first response that came to mind. She'd nearly said her instincts were telling her that she should give herself to him, that she was meant to belong to him. Lord help her, had she lost her mind? "My instincts are telling me to be very careful where you're concerned."
When she gazed up at him, she was shocked by the look of pure lust she saw in his eyes. This man wanted her. The thought sent pinpricks of excitement rushing through her. She couldn't let this happen. She had no idea who he was. He was a stranger. She didn't even know his name.
Mitch told himself to get up and walk away. The last thing he needed was a relationship with a woman who would feel only hatred for him if she knew his name. He was having a difficult enough time trying to rebuild a life that his own stupidity had destroyed, without succumbing totally to his desperate need for Emily's forgiveness.
Mitch lowered his body onto the quilt, lying down beside her, propping himself up on one elbow. Run, you damned fool. Run now! he told himself.
Emily drew in a deep breath. This man was a stranger, perhaps a dangerous stranger. Why didn't she tell him to go away? Why didn't she gather up her belongings and return to her cottage? Staying here, so close to him, was bound to lead to trouble. As ridiculous as the notion was, she wanted him to kiss her … this man she didn't know. She longed to feel his lips on hers.
He leaned toward her, his face so close that she tasted his breath. "I—I don't think this is such a good idea," she said. "We're strangers."
"Are you always so friendly to strangers on the beach?" he asked, somehow knowing she had never reacted this way to any other man.
"No," she admitted, closing her eyes, wanting to escape the nearness of his body, the smell of his musky aftershave, the feel of his breath mingling with hers. "Strangers don't usually intrude on my privacy."
"Why didn't you ask me to leave when I first approached you?"
"Because I… You're my neighbor. I didn't want to be unfriendly."
"I've been watching you for weeks now," Mitch told her. "I'm no good for you, pretty lady, but I couldn't stop myself from coming out here to meet you."
He'd been watching her? Emily's heart skipped a beat. All the while she'd been spying on his privacy, he'd been doing the same thing. "I've watched you, too, and wondered about you."
"You're as lonely as I am, aren't you?" Why would a woman with so much charm and beauty and intelligence not have a man in her life? Mitch wondered. It didn't make sense. Was it possible that she was still in love with her dead husband?
"Yes, I'm lonely. My husband died five years ago, and there's been no one…" And there never can be anyone, she told herself. No man would want such an imperfect woman.
"I'm sorry about your husband. I lost someone about five years ago, too." Had he ever really loved Loni? he wondered, or had she just been a part of his big plans to get rich, to be important, to once and for all prove to himself and everyone else that there wasn't any
Mississippi
red clay left under his fingernails?
"She died?" Emily asked.
"No." Mitch chuckled, admitting to himself that losing Loni wasn't the worst thing that had happened to him. "My fiancée ran off with my former business partner."
"Oh." His business partner? How could that be? She'd assumed he was a manual laborer—had he once owned his own business?
"I think it's about time we introduce ourselves, pretty lady, don't
"Did your Grammy teach you to be wary of strangers? If she did, she was a smart lady." Mitch sat beside her, unmoving, but within his own mind, he withdrew from her. "You're right. I can be dangerous."
Dear God, sweet Emily, I'm the most dangerous man you know.
"My grandmother taught me to trust my instincts where people are concerned."
"What are your instincts telling you right now?"
Swallowing, Emily held back the first response that came to mind. She'd nearly said her instincts were telling her that she should give herself to him, that she was meant to belong to him. Lord help her, had she lost her mind? "My instincts are telling me to be very careful where you're concerned."
When she gazed up at him, she was shocked by the look of pure lust she saw in his eyes. This man wanted her. The thought sent pinpricks of excitement rushing through her. She couldn't let this happen. She had no idea who he was. He was a stranger. She didn't even know his name.
Mitch told himself to get up and walk away. The last thing he needed was a relationship with a woman who would feel only hatred for him if she knew his name. He was having a difficult enough time trying to rebuild a life that his own stupidity had destroyed, without succumbing totally to his desperate need for Emily's forgiveness.
Mitch lowered his body onto the quilt, lying down beside her, propping himself up on one elbow. Run, you damned fool. Run now! he told himself.
Emily drew in a deep breath. This man was a stranger, perhaps a dangerous stranger. Why didn't she tell him to go away? Why didn't she gather up her belongings and return to her cottage? Staying here, so close to him, was bound to lead to trouble. As ridiculous as the notion was, she wanted him to kiss her … this man she didn't know. She longed to feel his lips on hers.
He leaned toward her, his face so close that she tasted his breath. "I—I don't think this is such a good idea," she said. "We're strangers."
"Are you always so friendly to strangers on the beach?" he asked, somehow knowing she had never reacted this way to any other man.
"No," she admitted, closing her eyes, wanting to escape the nearness of his body, the smell of his musky aftershave, the feel of his breath mingling with hers. "Strangers don't usually intrude on my privacy."
"Why didn't you ask me to leave when I first approached you?"
"Because I… You're my neighbor. I didn't want to be unfriendly."
"I've been watching you for weeks now," Mitch told her. "I'm no good for you, pretty lady, but I couldn't stop myself from coming out here to meet you."
He'd been watching her? Emily's heart skipped a beat. All the while she'd been spying on his privacy, he'd been doing the same thing. "I've watched you, too, and wondered about you."
"You're as lonely as I am, aren't you?" Why would a woman with so much charm and beauty and intelligence not have a man in her life? Mitch wondered. It didn't make sense. Was it possible that she was still in love with her dead husband?
"Yes, I'm lonely. My husband died five years ago, and there's been no one…" And there never can be anyone, she told herself. No man would want such an imperfect woman.
"I'm sorry about your husband. I lost someone about five years ago, too." Had he ever really loved Loni? he wondered, or had she just been a part of his big plans to get rich, to be important, to once and for all prove to himself and everyone else that there wasn't any
Mississippi
red clay left under his fingernails?
"She died?" Emily asked.
"No." Mitch chuckled, admitting to himself that losing Loni wasn't the worst thing that had happened to him. "My fiancée ran off with my former business partner."
"Oh." His business partner? How could that be? She'd assumed he was a manual laborer—had he once owned his own business?
"I think it's about time we introduce ourselves, pretty lady, don't
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