services? I assure you, I worked very hard, and I was … excellent at my job.”
He lifted his teacup to her, smiling as his bitter survey ran over her form in the fire’s glow. His reply was softly spoken. “I’ll just bet you were, Miss Anderson.”
She lowered her eyes, weary and sickened by her own pretense. “How long will we be stuck here?” she asked tersely.
“Depends on what the storm does. If it hovers, we’re in trouble. If not …” He shrugged. “A day or two at most.”
“A day or two!” She groaned.
He lifted a brow to her. “Well, I wasn’t expecting to be hemmed in here, myself. And I sure as hell wasn’t expecting to find you here.”
“I certainly wasn’t expecting you.”
“You weren’t? How curious. Logic alone should have told you I’d come here.”
“Why? You never came before.”
“May I remind you, Miss Anderson, that I spent my childhood summers here. It’s my family home.”
“If you would have written or phoned, Mr. Lane, I would have been happy to leave for those few moments you chose to walk down memory lane.”
“It didn’t occur to me, Miss Anderson, that you would still be here. I thought you would have had the decency to clear out.”
The tone of their voices grew sharper and more cuttingly restrained with each retort.
“Decency!” It was an outraged whiplash. She quieted then, her green eyes narrowing and sparking like flint in the firelight. “Decency, Mr. Lane, is common civility. It’s also caring; it’s respecting a person’s wishes and loving them whether you approve of their actions or not. You fell on your father like judge and jury. You condemned him and made him pay. I had no reason to clear out, Mr. Lane. I knew the house was being left in my name as well as yours. He worried about me, and I couldn’t argue him out of it. I had assumed that I could merely refuse to inherit and toss it all back into your lap. But now, Mr. Lane, I’ve come to realize that I have more right to be here than you do.”
It had been fun to watch the change in his face. Fun to strip away that look of scornful temperance. Very satisfying to watch the mocking curve around his mouth stretch out to a tight line.
But she didn’t like it at all when he placed his feet on the floor, rose, and stalked behind her.
She twisted to watch him, too unnerved to have him at her back when she couldn’t see him.
His head was slightly lowered so that she could not see his features. His hands were in his pockets as he idly, slowly paced the distance of the couch behind her.
“Did you ever study much history, Miss Anderson?” he inquired politely.
“What are you getting at, Lane?”
“Oh”—he paused, very close to her, looking down at her to smile, a blue iciness in his eyes that belied his pleasant words—“I was just thinking about Charles II of England. Have you heard of him? He was a man famous for his mistresses. And on his deathbed one of his favorites came to him—they’re not sure whether she bothered to say good-bye or not—and wrenched a jeweled ring off his finger. You see, she knew her days were numbered.”
Keep your temper! Susan thought, warning herself. She returned his chilling smile. She even chuckled softly. “I could hardly ‘wrench’ the beach house off your father’s person, Mr. Lane.”
“Yes, well, it’s still the same, isn’t it?”
“Is it?”
The mask slipped from him. He looked hard and determined. Almost ruthless.
“Whatever you want for your half, I’ll pay it, Miss Anderson.”
“Will you really? Even an outrageous sum?”
“Name your price.”
Susan unwound her legs and stood, smiling as she faced him. “You couldn’t come up with my price, Mr. Lane,” she said sweetly. She picked the candle up from the coffee table and sailed through the hallway to the kitchen, setting the candle back down on the counter with fingers that trembled with both triumph and anger.
The sense of triumph left her as she heard his
He lifted his teacup to her, smiling as his bitter survey ran over her form in the fire’s glow. His reply was softly spoken. “I’ll just bet you were, Miss Anderson.”
She lowered her eyes, weary and sickened by her own pretense. “How long will we be stuck here?” she asked tersely.
“Depends on what the storm does. If it hovers, we’re in trouble. If not …” He shrugged. “A day or two at most.”
“A day or two!” She groaned.
He lifted a brow to her. “Well, I wasn’t expecting to be hemmed in here, myself. And I sure as hell wasn’t expecting to find you here.”
“I certainly wasn’t expecting you.”
“You weren’t? How curious. Logic alone should have told you I’d come here.”
“Why? You never came before.”
“May I remind you, Miss Anderson, that I spent my childhood summers here. It’s my family home.”
“If you would have written or phoned, Mr. Lane, I would have been happy to leave for those few moments you chose to walk down memory lane.”
“It didn’t occur to me, Miss Anderson, that you would still be here. I thought you would have had the decency to clear out.”
The tone of their voices grew sharper and more cuttingly restrained with each retort.
“Decency!” It was an outraged whiplash. She quieted then, her green eyes narrowing and sparking like flint in the firelight. “Decency, Mr. Lane, is common civility. It’s also caring; it’s respecting a person’s wishes and loving them whether you approve of their actions or not. You fell on your father like judge and jury. You condemned him and made him pay. I had no reason to clear out, Mr. Lane. I knew the house was being left in my name as well as yours. He worried about me, and I couldn’t argue him out of it. I had assumed that I could merely refuse to inherit and toss it all back into your lap. But now, Mr. Lane, I’ve come to realize that I have more right to be here than you do.”
It had been fun to watch the change in his face. Fun to strip away that look of scornful temperance. Very satisfying to watch the mocking curve around his mouth stretch out to a tight line.
But she didn’t like it at all when he placed his feet on the floor, rose, and stalked behind her.
She twisted to watch him, too unnerved to have him at her back when she couldn’t see him.
His head was slightly lowered so that she could not see his features. His hands were in his pockets as he idly, slowly paced the distance of the couch behind her.
“Did you ever study much history, Miss Anderson?” he inquired politely.
“What are you getting at, Lane?”
“Oh”—he paused, very close to her, looking down at her to smile, a blue iciness in his eyes that belied his pleasant words—“I was just thinking about Charles II of England. Have you heard of him? He was a man famous for his mistresses. And on his deathbed one of his favorites came to him—they’re not sure whether she bothered to say good-bye or not—and wrenched a jeweled ring off his finger. You see, she knew her days were numbered.”
Keep your temper! Susan thought, warning herself. She returned his chilling smile. She even chuckled softly. “I could hardly ‘wrench’ the beach house off your father’s person, Mr. Lane.”
“Yes, well, it’s still the same, isn’t it?”
“Is it?”
The mask slipped from him. He looked hard and determined. Almost ruthless.
“Whatever you want for your half, I’ll pay it, Miss Anderson.”
“Will you really? Even an outrageous sum?”
“Name your price.”
Susan unwound her legs and stood, smiling as she faced him. “You couldn’t come up with my price, Mr. Lane,” she said sweetly. She picked the candle up from the coffee table and sailed through the hallway to the kitchen, setting the candle back down on the counter with fingers that trembled with both triumph and anger.
The sense of triumph left her as she heard his
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