All Grown Up. Janice Maynard

perfect woman was not Annalise. Not by a long shot.

      With a strangled mutter of protest, she eluded his embrace, picked up two small bags and headed toward the kitchen. Refusing to look at him, she raised her voice as she walked away. “I’d like another cup of coffee, and then I’d appreciate it if you would show me my room.”

      Sam grabbed up most of the rest of the bags and followed her, grinding his teeth in frustration. He’d apologized, damn it. What more could he do? He wasn’t about to crawl. Especially since he hadn’t done anything wrong. In fact, he ought to get a medal for doing the right thing. Annalise was one of the most sensual, beautiful women he had ever known. If he’d been a different kind of man—or not suitably intimidated by his father and hers—he would have said to hell with it and taken her up on her offer.

      He’d certainly thought about it often enough over the years. But he’d been raised to adhere to a gentlemanly code of conduct, and that code precluded a thirty-year-old man from having sex with one not-quite-mature college graduate who’d been sheltered more than most.

      He wasn’t the bad guy in this scenario. So why did he get the distinct impression that Annalise Wolff would like to consign him to the devil?

      Striding through the kitchen and into the hallway beyond, he tried to avoid looking at her. The scent of her perfume, something light and beguiling, mingled with the smell of coffee.

      The bedroom that had been prepared for Annalise was as cold as ice. He rolled his eyes in disgust and opened all the vents. Evidently the housekeeping service his grandmother utilized had missed a few key points about dates.

      Annalise startled him when she appeared at his side, her arms wrapped around her waist protectively. “It’s like a meat locker in here,” she said. “Are you sure the heat’s working at all?”

      He hefted her large suitcase onto a large cedar-lined chest at the foot of the bed. “For now? Yes. But I’ll kick the thermostat up a few notches to be sure. It wouldn’t kill you to put on a sweater.”

      “The cold doesn’t seem to be bothering you.”

      “I have a fast metabolism. And quite a few more pounds of insulation than you do.” He paused, uncharacteristically uncertain. Of himself. Of her. “Last chance,” he said. “If we leave now, I think we can still make it back to town.”

      Annalise stared at him, eyes wide. “I’ve cleared my calendar,” she said quietly. “This project deserves my full attention. Even with bad weather, there is a lot I can do to keep the ball rolling. Measuring and sketching alone will keep me occupied for several days. But I understand if you need to go back to Charlottesville.”

      He couldn’t read her expression. Weak late-afternoon light, muted by the snow, filtered in through lace sheers, casting dappled shadows on the hardwood floor. “I can’t leave you here alone,” he said, not really wanting to. “Anything could happen.”

      She shrugged, glimmers of something disturbing in her eyes. “I’m more resilient than you think. You’re not responsible for me.”

      He allowed himself to touch her briefly, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear. “I promised Gram I’d get you started. There’s a lot of info I need to share. So I guess we’re staying.”

      He was shocked that she allowed the fleeting touch without protest. A tiny smile kicked up one corner of her mouth. “I guess we are.”

      At that moment, the lights flickered. Annalise looked at him with apprehension. “Already?”

      “It’s probably just the wind at this point. Although, to be honest, the power isn’t all that reliable on a good week. And by the way, the plans include undergrounding all the utilities. Not only for occasions like today, but to restore the original look of the place.”

      “Holy cow, Sam. That will cost a fortune.”

      Coming from the daughter of one of the wealthiest families in America, her amazement was telling. “Yeah,” he said, grinning. “But I’m an architectural purist. What can I say?”

      The lights flickered a second time, galvanizing him into action. “I need to go bring in as much firewood as I can. If the power goes out, we’ll camp out in the living room.”

      “That’s behind the kitchen, right?”

      “Yes. The two rooms share a chimney. Fortunately, that section of the house has already been finished. If you don’t mind, how about making us a couple of omelets while I get the wood. If we do lose power, it would be nice to have one last hot meal.”

      Annalise blanched.

      “What’s wrong?”

      “I’m not handy in the kitchen,” she said with a wry, self-deprecating twist of her mouth.

      “Nothing fancy,” he assured her. “There’s lunch meat in the fridge. Just chop up some ham.”

      She grimaced, and for a split second he witnessed in Annalise a shocking vulnerability he had never seen before. “I’m serious, Sam. I don’t cook.”

      The expression on her face seemed to indicate she was awaiting his derision. And although he was certainly incredulous, he tried to hide his surprise. “I guess that makes sense. Growing up without a mother must have been tough.”

      “I wanted the chef to teach me. When I was thirteen. But Daddy said it was inappropriate for me to spend time in the kitchen when I could be learning Latin and Greek. He has odd ideas about things like that.”

      “And in college?”

      “I lived in the dorm. Ate in the cafeteria. When I got out on my own, it wasn’t an issue. I order a lot of take-out, and when I entertain, I hire a caterer.”

      He was momentarily speechless.

      Annalise lifted her chin. “I know your grandmother is a fabulous cook. And I’m sure your mother is, as well. But if that’s what you were expecting, you’re out of luck. I planned on eating a lot of cereal and canned tuna while I’m here.”

      Sam inhaled, feeling as though he was stepping through a minefield. “It’s not important, Annalise. You caught me off guard, that’s all. I have this impression of you as being Superwoman, and I suppose I thought there was nothing you couldn’t do.”

      Her tense shoulders relaxed. “That’s a nice thing to say.”

      He tugged her hair. “I can be nice on occasion. When I’m not continually provoked.”

      “Is that a jab at me?”

      He lifted an eyebrow innocently. “Would I do that?”

      They laughed softly in unison, and he felt an imperceptible shift in the parameters that had governed the recent cold war between them.

      Annalise waved her hands. “Go get the wood. I’ll make some sandwiches. And I do know how to heat soup.”

      “Well, there you go,” he said. “What more do we need?”

      He found himself whistling as he carried armload after armload of wood into the house from the pile beside the barn. Something inside him felt charged with anticipation, though if he’d been called on to identify the odd feeling, he wouldn’t have been able to pin it down. For the moment, he was content to enjoy the prospect of an evening with a beautiful woman.

      If they had to rely on the fireplace for everything, the supply of logs would dwindle rapidly. So he labored until his arms ached and his back protested. When he finally was satisfied that they had enough fuel for the immediate future, he replaced the tarp covering the woodpile and prayed they wouldn’t need to revisit it anytime soon.

      As he returned to the house, a rush of warm air greeted him along with the sound of Adele’s voice filling the hallways at high volume. He found Annalise singing along, oblivious to his entrance as she bent over the kitchen table, arranging two place mats at perfect angles