To All A Good Night. Jill Shalvis

can find my way,” she told him sharply, then seemed to realize she was being overly tense about the situation, and relented slightly. “But thank you for the assistance.” She started down the short hall, but paused at the top of the steps and looked back at him. “I’m going to settle the animals in for the night, then get my things and settle in as well. We can figure out how to handle…everything else in the morning.”

      She turned to go, but he put a hand gently on her arm. “I know my visit isn’t in your little notebook, but I’m sure we can figure out how to stay under the same roof without all the tension. It’s a big house. It shouldn’t be too hard to stay out of each other’s way. If we want to, that is.”

      Her gaze darted from his hand on her arm to his face. “Meaning what, exactly?”

      He couldn’t help it. He smiled. He hadn’t meant that to sound as suggestive as it had. In fact, he wasn’t sure why he’d tacked that little part on. It was to his advantage to have her want to steer as far clear of him as she could during his, hopefully very brief, stay. In fact, as soon as she tucked herself in, he planned to resume his hunt. If his luck changed, he’d be gone as soon as the sun came up and he could get off the mountain.

      He lifted his hand, palm out. “Just that we’re both here, we both have a right to be here, so we might as well make the best of it. Most people find me a relatively decent sort of chap, charming, even. So I just thought—”

      “I’m here to take care of the animals’ needs, not—”

      “I wasn’t asking for that. In any capacity.”

      Pink bloomed on her cheeks then, and she ducked her chin. “I’m…I apologize. You’re right, it was silly to think—my mistake.”

      “No worries,” he said, tilting his head just slightly as he continued to regard her. The sitter was turning out to be quite the puzzle. He already had one mystery to solve, however. No time to take on another.

      When she didn’t turn to leave, he gestured to the stairs. “Ladies first.”

      She jerked her gaze away, as if unaware she’d been staring. The pink still in her cheeks, she started down in front of him, then abruptly stopped on the next landing. She almost plowed into him when she suddenly swung around. “Oops, sorry. I didn’t know you were so close.”

      It’s your hair, he could have told her. He’d had to curl his hands into his palms to keep from reaching out to touch it. Even now he found himself wondering what scent of shampoo she used. “What?” He cleared his throat. “What’s the problem?”

      “No—no problem. But, can I see some identification? No insult, it’s just—”

      “No, no,” he said, reaching into his back pocket. He smiled. “Lionel was smart to hire you. I’ll be glad to put in a good word for the thorough job you’re doing.” Not that Lionel would have any interest in his great nephew’s opinion, but she didn’t have to know that. “Make up for scaring ten years off your life up there in the hallway.”

      “That’s all right,” she said, peering at the driver’s license he flashed at her. “Chapel Hill?” she said, looking up.

      He nodded. “Went to college in North Carolina and stayed there. Go Tarheels.” He got the tiniest flicker of a smile from her then.

      “You’re speaking to a Hokie, here, so don’t expect any enthusiasm on that score from me.”

      He made the sign of the cross with two of his fingers. “An ACC rival. However will we survive under one roof?”

      “As long as that roof isn’t the one covering Cassell Coliseum, you—and your Tarheels—are probably safe.”

      The stubborn had been replaced by smug. It was a damn cute smug, too. He really had no business noticing. “Very amusing. It won’t be so funny when your boys are at the Dean Dome this weekend.”

      Her smile went from smug to downright insouciant. “Big talk. Care to make a wager on that, Mr. Hamilton?”

      He smiled, pleasantly surprised by the sudden shift to what could be described—almost—as easy banter between them. Amazing what college rivalries could do to lower defenses. Or at least distract them for a short time. “A betting woman, huh? And it’s Trevor. Please.”

      “Okay, Trevor Please, I’ll wager twenty and spot you the spread.”

      “Very generous. Why don’t we go double or nothing? Seeing as you’re so sure and all.”

      “I’m a loyal alumni, but I’m also a new business owner, so—”

      “Say no more. I understand the fiscal fears there.” She smiled, but her eyes said she didn’t believe for one second he understood what it was like to lose sleep, sweat bullets, and yank out your hair over the start-up of a new company. He was a Hamilton, after all. They had piles of money just lying around. Which, was not altogether untrue. He’d just never once happened to touch his own pile, that was all. But why bother explaining?

      “I’ll tell you what,” he offered. “Skip the monetary bet. We can wager food.”

      Her eyebrow edged up until it was lost beneath the cascade of curls. “Food?”

      “You said you were a great cook. I win, and you’re my cook. For one meal. Your pick which one.”

      “And, if I were to agree to this bet, and win, which I probably will, what would I get out of the deal?”

      He gave her a mock affronted look. “I’ll have you know the chicken Marsala I personally prepared for my last dinner party is still talked about in certain circles.”

      “As long as those circling weren’t standing in the emergency room at the time, then I suppose I can agree to that. Except, how do you propose one of us collects on this bet? FedEx the ingredients?”

      “Still trying to get rid of me?” He pushed open the doors to the kitchen, where they were both enthusiastically greeted by Martha, Jack, and Cicero.

      “Welcome! Right this way!”

      It wasn’t until she moved past him as she crouched down to scratch Jack’s head that he finally got a whiff of those softly scented curls, and he realized…“I don’t know your name.”

      She stood but misjudged her footing, and he had to make a quick grab for her arms to keep her from stumbling backwards and falling over Martha. Which had the added benefit of bringing her flush into his personal space. They were, indeed, hazel, he thought, looking into her startled eyes, leaning toward green when her pupils dilated, as they were now. He discovered he was in no hurry to let her go.

      “Emma,” she managed, the word hardly more than a whisper. “Lafferty.”

      “Pleasure to meet you, Emma Lafferty.” He smiled. “So, what are you going to cook for me?”

      3

      “Awfully sure of yourself, Mr. Hamilton.”

      “I thought we’d progressed to Trevor. Please.”

      Her lips curved a little at that, but she stepped back, breaking his hold. “Trevor, please let me know when you’re done in the kitchen. I’m going to go unpack and settle in, and I don’t want to be in your way.”

      “We haven’t settled the terms of the bet.”

      “Why don’t we leave it at this: If you’re still here on game night and you win, I’ll cook you the meal of your choice the following day. I win, I get your infamous chicken Marsala.”

      “So, I have to be present to win.” He grinned and was entirely too charming about it. “Are you encouraging me to stay now?”

      Emma picked up her satchels and slung the straps over her shoulder. Not that she didn’t trust him, leaving them there while she hiked back out to the garage, but