All Grown Up. Janice Maynard

Annalise?”

      “Of course not.” Her reply was commendably quick, but lamentably false. “I’m just not sure if I have the time to fit you into my schedule.” Annalise didn’t need the money. But the cachet of having her name on this massive undertaking would take her business and reputation to a whole new level. She was ambitious, damn it. Sam might not think of her as anything more than a family friend, but professionally he had her pegged.

      He took her hand and drew her to her feet, cradling her loosely in the vee of his legs. “Make time, Annalise,” he said, his gaze locking onto hers like a charlatan preparing to hypnotize an unwary victim. “You know you want to.”

      Sam was overplaying his hand. Sexual nuance was not his normal mode of doing business. But the God’s honest truth was, Annalise made him nervous. He’d hurt her badly seven years ago when she’d had a big crush on him, and though he’d like to believe that was water under the bridge, the wariness in her sooty-lashed, pale blue eyes was unmistakable. The adoration she’d showered him with so long ago had changed into fury the instant he’d rejected her, and she had never forgiven him.

      The reluctant attraction he battled even now had simmered back then. He’d never been able to forget what happened, and though he’d tried on several occasions to apologize over the years, Annalise shut him down time and again until he finally gave up and avoided her as much as possible. She did likewise.

      But like a stubborn splinter beneath the skin, he couldn’t seem to extract her from his life and his thoughts. So when his grandparents insisted he offer the job to Annalise, he’d relished the opportunity to get her alone, to invite her to his office, to see her face-to-face.

      The color of her irises was unusual for a woman with hair so dark and glossy. But then again, most everything about Annalise Wolff was extraordinary. Tall and slim and infinitely confident, her striking looks could have made her a runway model or a film star. She carried herself with a boldness that did nothing to minimize her intense femininity.

      For a split second, Sam allowed himself to imagine all that boundless energy and subtle sexual aggression in his bed. His sex hardened to the point of pain. This was why he normally kept a healthy distance. He didn’t want to think of her that way. Cursing his own stupidity, he set her aside and put the desk between them. “I can’t give you long to make up your mind. Gram wanted you because of the work you did on the president’s home at UVA. She and my grandfather attended the reception that showcased the renovations there and they were both very impressed with your work. But if you don’t have the time, just say so.”

      Annalise folded her arms beneath her breasts. The soft red sweater she wore delineated her modest curves and her narrow waist. Sam had big hands, and it was not a far stretch to imagine himself lifting her and spreading her legs and—

      Oh, hell.

      She tilted her chin upward, nose in the air. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you? But sorry, Sam Ely, I guess you’re stuck with me. If your grandmother wants me to do this project, I’m in.”

      The jolt of joy that stabbed through his chest was a surprise. Did he really want an excuse to spend time with the prickly, stubborn Annalise Wolff? Apparently, according to his unreasonable but insistent erection, he did.

      Sam cleared his throat, making a show of turning the calendar around and jotting a note. “I’ll get my attorney to draw up a contract. Do you have any questions?”

      Ten days later, Annalise steered her Miata along a narrow paved road that led up to the entrance of Sycamore Farm. In the dead of winter, the property was not all that impressive. Fallow fields crusted with frost flanked both sides of the road. Excessive freezing and thawing had played havoc with the asphalt, leaving the occasional pothole.

      Sam’s grandparents had been gone for several weeks, searching out warmer climes. But Annalise had been assured that the fridge and pantry were stocked and at least one bedroom outfitted for a long-term guest.

      Remembering her last encounter with Sam, she muttered an expletive. Growing up in an all-male household had done unfortunate damage to a ladylike vocabulary. On New Year’s Eve she’d made a resolution to give up cursing, but so far, her progress hadn’t been stellar.

      Sam’s last words still rang in her ears. Do you have any questions?

      Hell, yes, she had questions, one in particular. Was I so repulsive seven years ago that you couldn’t bring yourself to have sex with me when I threw myself at you and acted like a fool?

      The remembered humiliation churned bile in her stomach. Steering with one hand, she rummaged in her purse for an antacid. The intervening days and months had done nothing to blunt the sharpness of the memory….

      “Hi, Sam.” She was breathless from running downstairs to intercept him before he got in his car. She’d kept a vigil at her bedroom window for the last half hour. Sam and his father had driven separately, because the older man was lingering to play poker with her father and Uncle Victor.

      Sam paused, one hand on the top of the car, the other holding a set of keys. “What’s up? I thought you weren’t feeling well.” His slow drawl and lazy hazel-eyed smile took her breath away.

      She bit her lip, legs trembling. She’d feigned a headache to get out of dinner. Sitting across the table from Sam would have been torture, because she dared not let her daddy see how much in love she was. Vincent Wolff was very protective of his baby daughter. She lifted her chin, reaching for calm. “Actually, I had some work to do. I’m graduating from college in a few weeks. And I’ll start my master’s program. Interior design,” she added, hoping he would be impressed. She felt like an adult for the first time in her life, with a level playing field, and the resultant adrenaline gave her confidence.

      Sam jingled his keys. “Oh.” The look on his face wasn’t encouraging. If anything he was eager to get on his way. At almost thirty, Sam Ely was in his prime, and just about the hottest thing Annalise had ever seen.

      She moved three steps closer. “I thought you might like to take me out to dinner sometime,” she said.

      The look on his face—as if he’d been poleaxed—was not flattering.

       Desperation lent wings to her feet. She moved forward with determination, went up on tiptoe to wrap her arms around his neck and kissed him square on the mouth. His arms went around her reflexively, but his entire body stiffened. “Um, Annalise…”

       She scattered kisses from his nose to his chin to his tanned neck revealed by an open-collared dress shirt. “I know you’ve been waiting for me to grow up,” she whispered. “Please tell me you want me. I know you do.”

      His burgeoning erection gave truth to her words. But at twenty-one, more naive than most, she didn’t fully grasp the difference between male reflex and a more romantic motive.

       After one heartfelt moment when it seemed as if Sam might return her kiss, he set her away firmly, holding out a hand when she would have embraced him again. “No, Annalise. I think of you as a sister.”

      Confusion brought her up short. His body had responded…unmistakably. “I think I’m in love with you, Sam,” she cried.

      He winced. He actually winced. And her heart turned to ashes.

       The kindness in his gaze scorched her with humiliation. “You’re barely an adult, honey. And I’m years too old for you. I’m flattered. You’re an amazing young woman. But both of our dads would string me up if I tried anything with you…And besides…”

      He had said enough. Annalise didn’t want to hear any more. She was mute with misery.

       “Besides,” he said slowly, “most guys like to do the chasing. You might want to think about that. I know you’ve grown up without a mother to teach you these things, but men like gentle, feminine women. Soft, self-effacing. I guess it’s the whole caveman thing.”