On the Move by Pamela Britton Page B

Brandon was the last person she should allow under her skin. He was the type of man who’d take what he wanted and then leave. And she’d had enough of that in her life already, thank you very much. “I’d like to get back to the hotel, if you don’t mind. I have a couple of apartments I’m supposed to look at this afternoon.”
    “Vicky,” he said, somehow inserting himself between her and the vehicle. “Look at me.”
    She told herself not to. She really did. Nothing good could come from looking up at him. Already her cheeks were radiating like the roof of the car. Only that heat had started to spread to other areas, too. It was a crying shame—not to mention vastly unfair—that she was so attracted to the man.
    “Honestly, Vicky,” he said softly. “You’re selling yourself short every time you think I’m not interested in you.”
    Her gaze shot to his. When their eyes met, Vicky felt as if she’d jumped off a horse at full gallop.
    “Besides,” he murmured, his hand reaching up to stroke her cheek. “You don’t need to find an apartment.”
    “No?” she asked, heart pounding. “Why not?”
    “Because,” he said with a smile that should grace the cover of a magazine, “you’re moving in with me.”



CHAPTER EIGHT
    “M OVING IN WITH YOU ?” she cried.
    He was joking, she realized. Of course he was pulling her leg because right after he said the words he stepped back from her and opened the door.
    “In you go,” he said with his perky charm.
    She didn’t want to “go” anywhere. She wanted to go back inside KEM, maybe find herself an air-conditioning duct, one she could stand in front of to cool her face.
    Man, she wished he’d quit messing with her. “Thanks,” she said, mouth dry.
    When he opened his own door and slid inside, she expected him to continue the conversation, but instead he said, “Hey, you mind if we run an errand on our way back to town?”
    Mind? Of course she minded. All she wanted to do was get away from him fast. To forget about how nice it’d been to have his palm cup her face.
    “No,” she choked out. “Of course not.”
    “Great,” he said, leaning toward her and resting a palm on her thigh.
    She flicked it off.
    “Oops, sorry,” he said. “There I go invading your box again, huh?”
    She could tell that he wasn’t sorry at all. She looked out the window, struggled with a way to bring up the subject of her supposed “moving in” with him, but in the end she chickened out. Besides, he’d obviously been pulling her leg. He was inhaling something other than exhaust if he thought they’d ever live together.
    “I’m not moving in with you.”
    He flashed her a grin that echoed the twinkle in his eyes. “I know,” he said. “I was just pulling your leg. Although I do have nanny quarters.”
    “Oh,” she said, feeling like a fool for buying into his joke.
    She should have known it was all a jest. “Where are we going, by the way?” she forced herself to say.
    They’d pulled out of the parking lot, tall trees blocking the sun. Vicky pretended an interest in their surroundings, but in fact, it was all she could do not to scoot to the farthest edge of her seat.
    “I want to go look at some homes.”
    “To build?” she immediately asked.
    “Something like that,” he murmured.
    She didn’t like the idea of going sightseeing with him at all. What if he pulled off the road? Tried to kiss her? Maybe attempted to prove to her that he really did want her?
    You’ve been inhaling more than exhaust fumes, too, a little voice said. Relax, Vicky. It’s not as if he’s going to force himself on you.
    She knew that. She just didn’t like the thought of being alone with him any longer than necessary.
    “Um, what kind of house are you going to build?” she asked, more to distract herself than anything else.
    “You’ll see,” he said noncommittally.
    And that was it. That was the extent of their conversation. He never touched her again. Never said