"Don't be alarmed."
Suzanne Rand spun around with a
gasp of surprise. Not because of the words, but because of
the voice. His voice. She knew it far more
intimately than she wanted to. His voice had a deep rumbling
tone that made her think of bourbon and jazz and hot summer
nights. She stared at the man standing in front of her
dressed in worn jeans, a faded shirt and sneakers. In the
distance, the sun set, lengthening the shadows of the trees
and the large stately white house behind her while the
distant cry of a skein of Canada geese flew
overhead.
She was all alone with him, one thing she'd
never imagined happening again.
"Rick Gordon," she
whispered as though if she spoke too loud he'd
disappear.
"It's been a long time," he said, his
seductive voice washing over her and causing her skin to
tingle. Suzanne knew his dark gaze could produce the same
effect and much more. She couldn't imagine what he thought
of her. She no longer wore her hair in microbraids down her
back; instead, her thick black hair was pulled into a French
braid. She wore a blue chiffon top, offset with a pair of
fitted white linen pants, which showed off her new slimmer
figure, and her lips sported bright red lipstick instead of
the subdued pink she'd always been known for.
Suzanne
folded her arms, suddenly feeling vulnerable under his
assessing gaze, wishing for a cool spring breeze or some
other reason to go back inside. Yes, it had been a long
time, but not long enough and she'd hoped never to see him
again. She'd planned to slip in and out of town before
having to deal with her past. Stares and whispers had been
part of her life when she'd left the small town of Anadale,
North Carolina, five years ago. Those stares and whispers
had greeted her again, since she'd been forced to return.
Meeting Rick Gordon would only make those whispers
grow.
"I'm surprised you remember me," he said, his
steady gaze piercing into hers.
Suzanne shrugged,
trying to appear nonchalant, although inside she was
shaking. "You shouldn't be. Everybody remembers
you."
A slow grin spread on his face and his eyes
brightened with mischief, making his handsome face more
appealing. "Especially you?" It was a statement rather than
a question, but she refused to respond to it even though he
was right.
Rick Gordon was an unforgettable
character. She remembered that he was always in trouble or
causing trouble for someone else. He was unlike anyone else
in town—reckless, rebellious, wild and one of the poorest
residents of Anadale. The police knew him, but he never got
into serious trouble and had never seen the inside of a
courtroom. "He's mine, if he ever comes in front of me,"
Suzanne's father, Gerald Rand, used to say, keenly aware of
his power as a judge. "The courtroom's my
kingdom."
That might have been true, but Anadale was
Rick's kingdom. He could draw people in with a smile or a
look and he had a charisma that was undeniable. Handsome
wasn't the first thought that came to mind when one looked
at him. Stunning suited him more. From his sharp, confident
profile to his magnetic brown eyes. He was coarse, bold and
sexy and that hadn't changed. People used to say he could
walk into a room and make the temperature rise because he
was living with the devil. "You stay away from him," her
father had warned. And she had, except for one summer during
her senior year. But Suzanne didn't want to remember that
now.
There had been so many things she'd wanted to
forget about Anadale, but she hadn't forgotten him. Even
after he'd left town ten years ago, he'd stayed in her
memory. And as his profile grew from trade school dropout to
owner of one of the largest energy-saving electronic
companies on the east coast, the gossips of Anadale made
sure that she remembered him. His success astounded them. No
one had expected him to amount to anything. Only a few
people knew that as a teenager he created energy-saving
devices in his spare time to help heat and light the old
dilapidated box house he and his family lived in. Later he
developed a business around his creations and continued to
use his knowledge to help poor and low-income families use
solar and wind energy to save money.
"You look well,"
he said.
Although his tone was polite, it set Suzanne
on edge. What was he doing here? What did he want? "Thank
you," she said, using the same formal tone.
He
glanced at the camera in her hand. "What are you
doing?"
Suzanne blinked at the object in her hand for
a moment as though she didn't know how it got there. "Oh,
yes." She turned to the house. "I was taking
pictures."
"For your scrapbook?"
"No," she
said, surprised that he remembered her old hobby. "I don't
do that anymore. These are for the new brochure to help sell
the house."
"I thought the Realtor was supposed to do
that."
"Yes, she did," Suzanne said cautiously. "But
we need to create another one."
"Because the first
one was crap."
"No," she said, defensive. "that's not
it."
Rick pulled out a worn brochure from inside his
jacket. "I've got it right here."
"Oh," Suzanne said
with a tinge of chagrin. He was right. The brochure was
crap. Everything about her return to Anadale seemed to
follow suit. Three weeks earlier she'd expected to come
back, arrange her father's funeral, settle his affairs then
go back to her life. But upon her arrival Suzanne had come
to discover that her father had become a stranger. The man
who'd once been a prominent judge and upright citizen of the
town had turned into a debt ridden, bitter old man who'd
lived as a hermit for the past year.
He'd kept this
from her. Any time she'd phoned, his voice had sounded
upbeat and he told her he was well. Although her mother had
died three years ago, Suzanne never worried about her father
being lonely. He was a sociable man and always had company.
It was only at his funeral that she'd discovered that her
father had dismissed his housekeeper and gardener three
months before his death without explanation. That he'd
stayed holed up in his house for months and hadn't paid his
bills and had let all of his investments
tank.
Instead of the beautiful home she'd remembered
as a child and young woman, she found a dusty tomb that
needed to be sold—fast. So she hired Della because she was a
Fulford (which meant a lot in Anadale), and came from a
proud and established family. Della's mother had been a
top-selling Realtor and owned Fulford Realtors, one of, if
not the most, successful Realtors in town. So it was
inevitable and/or expected that Suzanne would work with
them. Unfortunately, Suzanne soon realized that Della had
only inherited the "name" but not the skills.
Suzanne
soon discovered that Della had created a totally ineffective
brochure that was glossy and full of color (and very
expensive), but showed three images of the living
room and only one other picture of the backyard. In
addition, she hadn't listed the house in the proper venues
and had twice missed appointments. However, Suzanne knew she
couldn't fire her without the whole town thinking that
Suzanne considered herself above them and had become too
"New York." So instead she decided to take some new pictures
of the house and get them to the printers so that a new
brochure could be made and distributed.
"What are you
doing with that?" Suzanne asked, looking at the crumbled
brochure in his hand.
"I wanted to see what the house
looked like," Rick said in a low tone.
She blinked.
"Why?"
"The same reason as anyone else."
She
furrowed her brow. "I don't understand."
Rick folded
his arms with a look of impatience. "Why would someone look
at a house?" When she didn't reply he said, "I plan to buy
it."
Suzanne schooled her features, determined to
hide her surprise and doubt. "Oh. Of course."
The
corner of his mouth kicked up in amusement. "You don't
believe me?"
"No, it's not that," she said quickly.
"I'm sorry, Della, I mean Ms. Fulford, didn't tell me she
had someone coming by."
He shrugged, unconcerned, a
casual gesture that made it clear that the problem wasn't
his. "She told me to come by."
"Right." Suzanne
fumbled for her cell phone, desperate to have a reason not
to look at him. Did he mean it? He wanted to buy her house?
Why? What was he up to? It was at moments like these that
she wished she still had Neena the housekeeper. Neena would
always help her deal with situations she didn't want to. She
dialed Della's number. After four rings Della picked up and
Suzanne heard noise in the background—like that of a
blow-dryer. "Della, did you forget that you had an
appointment today?"
"What?" Della shouted into the
phone.
Suzanne glanced up at the sky for patience.
"Did you have an appointment today?"
"I don't think
so."
"A Mr. Rick Gordon?"
"Rick!" Della
squeaked. "I forgot about him. I'm so sorry. I scheduled my
hair appointment late and I needed to get my roots done. You
must think I'm a dingbat to forget such a delicious specimen
of a man. I know he's a Gordon and totally off-limits to
women like us, but he's still a danger to any woman who
wants to keep her reputation clean, if you know what I mean.
Have you seen him lately?"
Suzanne sent Rick a quick
glance hoping he couldn't hear what Della was saying over
the phone, but from the look he sent her she knew he'd heard
every word. She lowered her voice. "I'm looking at him right
now."
"What?"
Suzanne reluctantly raised her
tone. "I said I'm seeing him right now."
"You mean
he's there?"
"Yes."
"Alone with
you?"
"Yes."
"You
lucky—"
"Della!"
"I'm almost done. I'll be
right over. Say in fifteen minutes. Can he
wait?"
Suzanne gripped the phone. Wait? Della wanted
him to wait? What was she supposed to do with him? She
turned to him and lifted an eyebrow in question. "Do you
mind waiting?"
He shook his head.
"I'm not
sure how long she'll be," Suzanne lied, hoping to discourage
him.
"That's fine."
She silently groaned then
returned to Della. "Yes, he'll wait."
"Great. I'll be
right over. Don't let him get away. Toodles."
Suzanne
closed the phone, determined not to repeat Della's signature
sign-off. "Let's wait inside," she said, then headed for the
house before he could disagree.
He didn't move. "Not
that way."
She turned to him, surprised. "What
way?"
He glanced at the side door. "Don't you think I
deserve front door treatment? Or am I not good enough
yet?"
"I always go through the side
door."
"But you don't take guests that
way."
Suzanne gritted her teeth at his smug tone and
implication that she was being a snob. Unfortunately, he was
right. She never took guests through the side
entrance.
She took a deep calming breath then changed
her direction and went around to the front, where the house
sported a grand entrance with four large pillars and a solid
oak door with stained glass. She opened the door then made
an exaggerated display of welcoming him inside.
Rick
ignored her mockery and stepped into the large foyer. He
slowly turned in a circle as he looked around.
As he
studied the interior of the house, Suzanne studied him. She
couldn't help herself. He was a man who commanded attention
without effort. His large, solid form had not been
diminished by the years, but enhanced. His massive shoulders
stretched the fabric of his shirt and his muscular legs
could put tree trunks to shame. That coarse air about him
had been slightly tamed, however, because although his
clothes looked worn, she could detect that they were of a
fine quality.
"Wow, never imagined it would look like
this," Rick said in awe. Without invitation, or wiping his
shoes on the welcome rug, he walked directly into the living
room and sat down on a large green sofa. One thing was
clear—Rick was here to stay.
Suzanne stood in the
hallway wishing Della would come soon. She resisted the urge
to look at her watch because she knew that would only make
her more anxious. What was she supposed to say? Do? Was he
really interested in the house? Why? He didn't seem the type
to want to settle down. What did he really want? She watched
him sitting on the couch looking the complete opposite of
the moneyed businessmen who'd visited before.
He
looked like a handyman who'd lost his way and didn't care.
She noticed something glitter on his wrist and saw his
watch. It wasn't a gold plated imitation, but the genuine
thing. At that moment, Suzanne decided to hone in her
thoughts. She had to remember that what he looked like
didn't matter.