Taming Tall, Dark Brandon. Joan Elliott Pickart

to glare at him and stomp away.

      What had Jennifer wanted him to say about Andrea’s meal, for Pete’s sake? Food was food.

      Now that he really thought about it, however, Andrea hadn’t ordered very much to eat, which was probably the point Jennifer had been attempting to make. Andrea should have added a potato, vegetables and dessert to her dinner. She was physically exhausted, and should be consuming more food to bolster her energy.

      When he’d held Andrea in his arms after she fainted, he’d been aware, very aware, of how delicate she was, how fragile. She needed someone to look after her, to take care of her.

      Brandon shook his head and frowned.

      Yeah, right, he thought dryly. Andrea was a big-city executive, who was dedicated to her career to the exclusion of everything else, including her own health and welfare.

      She didn’t want, nor seemed to need, anyone intruding on her focused life.

      He’d lived that type of existence for more years than he cared to admit. When he’d suddenly suffered from chest pains, his doctor had told him that he was a lucky man. His body had warned him of a potential heart attack waiting in the wings even though he was only thirty-five years old. Brandon decided then to make some adjustments in his life-style.

      So, he’d walked away from the world of highpressure, corporate law in New York City, taken courses in hotel management, and returned to Prescott, to his roots, to take possession of Hamilton House and begin the restorations that were needed so badly.

      The charming old building had been in the Hamilton family since the day it was built at the turn of the century. When his great-grandfather had died, the series of leases had begun, the hotel falling into good hands at times and into inefficient care at others.