After Dark. Donna Hill

shrugged. “I don’t know. I only know I missed you.”

      “Convenient that this missing me started after Aidan sold the company.”

      “I missed you before that.”

      The simple explanation and clear sentiment behind it was hard to argue with. Sloan obviously felt the same, since she didn’t protest.

      “I got back to the island last night,” he added, “and couldn’t wait to see you.”

      Sloan moved away from him, wandering around the foyer. “I heard.”

      “Already?”

      “Gossip is the only thing that travels fast in this town. Helen told me this—” She whirled toward him. “Why did you come here? To this house? In another fifteen minutes I would have been back at the library.”

      Or in my bed. And Aidan wished like hell he’d taken Sloan’s advice and ignored the door, forcing the intruder to go away.

      Again, Davis glanced at Aidan. “I did go to the library. The clerk said you were here with the new owner, who turned out to be Aidan. So I decided to come right over.”

      Now that was interesting, Aidan thought. Davis obviously hadn’t rushed over with a housewarming gift. Was it possible Davis considered him a threat to his big, happy reunion plans?

      To complicate matters, he and Davis had had some minor wars over business decisions in the past. While he respected the other man’s understanding of sales and dealing with customer issues, his overall marketing strategy was too impulsive and not clearly defined. If not for his family tragedy, Aidan was sure he would have eventually fired Davis.

      Was this trip back home another impulse?

      Should he share these observations with Sloan? Or was he simply feeling his own level of threat from the easygoing ex?

      And why was he getting so worked up about a woman he’d known less than twenty-four hours? Why did he care if she and Davis made up, screwed themselves silly, then settled into cheery, small-town life? Why did he care if Davis got his hands on that luscious body, those lips that—

      Hell.

      “I’m going back to work,” he said, stalking through the foyer.

      “No,” Sloan said, stepping into his path, placing her hand on his chest. “Davis should go.” She glanced at him. “Aidan and I have things to discuss.”

      Davis’s gaze moved to Sloan’s hand, then back to her face. “Discuss?”

      “About the renovations.”

      “I can discuss renovations.”

      “Please go, Davis,” she said emphatically.

      Davis opened his mouth, no doubt prepared to argue.

      “Don’t worry,” Aidan couldn’t resist saying with a fierce look at his former employee. “I’ll take good care of her.”

      Davis glared at him. “I just bet you will.” He turned to Sloan. “I’ll call you,” he said in a gentle tone.

      One he no doubt practiced on a daily basis.

      “Fine,” she said coolly.

      Davis let himself out of the house.

      “What a mess!” Sloan burst out the moment the door closed, throwing up her hands. “Our relationship was always out of balance. Why that man, of all the others, could always hit me right here—” she tapped her chest “—I’ll never understand.”

      “All the others?”

      Still ranting, Sloan seemed not to hear him. “The downright, outrageous nerve of him, thinking I’d jump for orgasmic joy at the sight of him.”

      “Orgasmic?” Even as the idea sent ripples of anticipation through his body, she rolled on.

      “I wonder if he expected to have to apologize right away, or if he thought I’d fall onto my back immediately.”

      “He acted sincere,” Aidan said, shrugging. “But who knows?”

      “A bit slick and convenient, but, I guess, sincere.” She stopped, then waved her hand and continued pacing.

      Whether she was brushing aside the slickness or the sincerity, Aidan wasn’t sure. Her anger at Davis was good enough for him. His competitive nature was one of the qualities that had helped him to run his company so effectively.

      He’d spent last night resisting Sloan. Was he now going to give in simply to win?

      The idea troubled him as much as it excited him.

      It had been a long time since he’d been excited.

      As the arguments rushed through his head, he watched her move. She’d taken to pacing in circles. His body throbbed, watching her hips sway. When she flipped her hair over her shoulder, he groaned silently, barely resisting the urge to bury his fingers in the silky strands. Imagining those blond locks cascading across his stomach as she moved—

      “I’m sorry about all that,” she said as she approached him, startling him out of his fantasy.

      “It was—” He made an effort to think about hammering. Well, no, that wasn’t good. He concentrated on the image of sweeping. Sweeping, like her hair would brush across his body, tickling, arousing… “—no problem,” he somehow managed to say.

      “I shouldn’t have pulled you into the middle of the argument. I’m sure you felt awkward.”

      Since she was close enough now to touch, he concentrated on her face, though he found that equally distracting. “I enjoyed myself mostly. My personal favorite moment was when you mocked him about his pet names for you.”

      “Mmm.” She smiled with remembrance. “I was working on the fly, but I thought that had a nice touch of anger and disbelief.”

      “It did.”

      “May I ask you a question?”

      “Why stop now?” he asked, though the sarcasm didn’t have the same heat it might have had last night. That insane, amazing kiss had broken down a barrier he didn’t think he wanted to reconstruct, even if he could.

      “Davis worked for you,” she said. “Did you not like him?”

      “I did until he started ringing my damn doorbell.”

      Her gaze connected with his. Fire lit with blue flames. “His timing was never that great.”

      “Never?” He lifted the corners of his mouth and lowered his tone. “There are moments when timing is essential.”

      Her gaze dropped to his lips. “There certainly are.”

      Ding-dong.

      Sloan groaned. “You’ve got to be kidding. If that’s him again, I’m gonna—” She flung open the door. “Oh, hey, Pete.”

      Pete Willis, wearing an orange-and-white ball cap, worn jeans and a blue cotton shirt, stood on the porch. As Sloan stepped back, he walked inside, carrying an armload of tools. Despite the fact that he was barely twenty, he was reputed to be the best carpenter in town. So far, Aidan had to agree.

      “Hey, Miss Caldwell.” He nodded at Aidan. “I’m a few minutes early, Mr. Kendrick. That all right?”

      Hell, no. “Sure,” Aidan said, wondering if he could squeeze in a cold shower before getting back to work. “Why don’t you check out the supplies in the parlor? I’ll be right there.”

      He laid his hand on Sloan’s lower back and ushered her onto the porch. “Thanks again for lunch.”

      “Anytime.” She lifted her hand as if she might touch him, then let it fall by her side. “Sorry about my personal drama.”