By Private Invitation (20 page)

This man was nothing like Gary. He was so far from being like Gary they should have
come from different planets.

She took a deep breath and nodded. “Alright, let me have it straight.”

After he’d left her bed last night, Jared had spent the rest of the night lying in
the surprisingly comfortable bed at the inn, staring at the ceiling.

Thinking about this woman.

She’d fallen asleep on him, literally. He’d picked her up after that last round on
the couch and she’d fallen asleep with her head on his shoulder.

After settling her into bed, he’d almost climbed in with her before he remembered
what she’d said about gossip in a small town.

He knew how devastating gossip could be in a city like Philadelphia, but the city
was big so you could always find a bolt-hole away from the snide comments and dirty
looks. Or you could go to Europe to escape. His mother loved Europe.

In a small town, there weren’t that many places to hide.

And if he’d stayed the night, the owner of the bed and breakfast would have told the
owner of the café that he hadn’t returned
last night. And the owner of the café would have told the first twenty or thirty people
who came through for their morning coffee. By noon, everyone in town would have known,
or thought they’d known, that he’d slept in Annabelle’s bed.

Not that he cared about his reputation. He didn’t live here. But Annabelle did.

Even if he did find a property for the spa in the area, he wouldn’t be dealing with
the locals on a regular basis. He’d hire someone to do that.

So he’d forced himself to go back to the inn. And thought about her all night.

That didn’t happen often. The women he dated were far from stupid, but their end goal
usually involved a wedding ring and unlimited access to the Golden bank accounts.
Which didn’t rank high on Jared’s list of things he admired in a woman.

The woman now staring at him with bright green eyes had neither of those goals in
mind. If she’d had her way originally, he’d have been out of here yesterday.

Was that the appeal? Her seeming indifference to his social standing and his money?
Or was she a better actress than he gave her credit for?

“Jared?”

He heard a question in her tone, saw it in the lift of her brows. And in the arms
crossed over her beautiful breasts.

He smiled at her but she only lifted her eyebrows higher. “Why don’t you show me around,
tell me a little about this place and your goods. We can talk as we walk.”

She didn’t immediately snap to attention, and he had to admit he really liked that.
After a few seconds she sighed but didn’t come out from behind the counter. “What
do you want to know?”

He wanted to know everything about her, but he’d take what
he could get for now. “Tell me about the shop. How long have you been here? Give me
a little background.”

“Well, Granddad bought the building about ten years ago. He decided to settle down
while I was in college and this area seemed like a good one. Small town but it attracts
a huge clientele in exactly what we sell. Granddad’s specialty was furniture, French
and English and a little Italian. I have a broader base in American furniture and
art. I double majored in art history and business administration with a minor in American
history at Gettysburg College.”

Setting his coffee on the counter next to hers, he leaned closer to her. “Sounds like
you were busy.”

She shrugged but didn’t move away. “I loved college, though I was pretty much an outcast.
Both Kate and I were. I guess it’s why we’re such good friends now. But all I really
wanted to do was get out and get back here.”

“I know how that goes. I hated college, all that studying.” He mock shuddered and
was rewarded with one of her smiles. “But a college degree was included in the terms
of my inheritance and we needed the inheritance to build Haven.” She opened her mouth
to ask another question, but he didn’t want to talk about himself. “So you’ve been
running the shop since your grandfather died?”

She nodded. “About a year ago.”

He saw grief etched in the downturn of her lips and in the shadows of her eyes. He
wanted to walk around the counter and take her in his arms, comfort her. But that
was completely out of character for him so he stayed exactly where he was.

“And your parents?” he asked instead.

She shook her head, no hesitation in her answer. “I don’t really remember them. They
were killed in a boating accident when I was five. They were crewing a yacht in the
Atlantic when a storm blew up. Witnesses say my father was blown overboard and my
mother jumped in after him. Neither of them were seen again and their bodies were
never recovered.”

Jared heard something in her tone, something he couldn’t put his finger on. He’d known
about her parents because of Dane’s investigation but it almost sounded rehearsed.

Or maybe he was just reading too much into something she must find painful.

“My grandfather raised me. He hired a tutor to educate me while we traveled around
Europe. At that time, Granddad was an independent appraiser who worked for most of
the major auction houses in Britain. Luckily for me, Granddad and my tutor, Isadore,
fell in love and stayed together until Isadore died about four years ago.”

“Her loss must have been tough for both of you.”

“It was. And when Granddad died, I floundered for a little while. He was well known
in the business and I was always riding his coattails.”

“But you have the credentials?”

Her gaze snapped back to his, bright and determined. “Yes, and not just in years of
experience. Granddad always said I had the eye.”

“What does that mean?”

“I can tell quality, whether it’s a piece of furniture or artwork. I learned from
an early age how to tell a fake from an original. Granddad was a master. It would
have been impossible not to pick up some of his wisdom.”

She warmed to her subject as they meandered through the shop, telling him bits and
pieces of information about each piece—where it’d been found, who’d made it, or who’d
owned it. She had an incredible knowledge of each piece but lingered over the ones
that had stories attached.

“The man who sold me this chair told me George Washington once sat on it while he
was in Philadelphia for the Constitutional Convention of 1787. Of course, I can’t
prove it, but it is the right age and make, and I can trace its provenance back to
the early 1800s in Philadelphia. I just can’t place Washington in the chair.” Her
smile returned. “When I sit in it, though, I swear I feel presidential.”

And she made him feel like a hormonally charged teenager when she smiled at him like
that.

As she showed him around the rest of shop, he struggled to take mental notes. It was
hard with her by his side, talking, laughing, and smiling. But he did manage some
general impressions and he’d already had a few ideas from yesterday.

As they made their way back to the counter, Annabelle fell silent until she sat back
down on her stool, the counter between them again.

“So?” She propped her elbow on the counter and placed her chin in her hand. “What
do you think?”

He thought she looked damn good naked, and he wanted to spread her out on the counter
and feast on her.

Of course, that wasn’t what she wanted to hear, so he said, “Organization and presentation.”

Tiny furrows grew between her eyes. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, you know your stuff. Now you just have to package it better.”

He paused to see how she was taking this and was encouraged by the interest in her
expression.

“And how do you think I should do that?”

He swallowed the smile that probably would have put her nose out of joint at his cockiness,
but he knew he had her hooked.

“Well, that’s going to cost you another dinner with me.”

Her head tilted to the side, and she bit her bottom lip while weighing the pros and
cons.

Most women he knew would have jumped at his offer. If Belle said no…Fine. No harm,
no foul.

She looked to be seriously considering her options. And for the first time, he actually
worried that he wouldn’t measure up.

Finally she lifted her chin off her hand and sat up straight on the stool. “I can
do dinner again. Here at my place, around seven tonight.”

Her place? Not at a restaurant but here, which was more intimate. But was she worried
about staying out of sight of prying eyes?

“Absolutely. Can I bring wine?”

“Sure. Are you okay with Italian?”

“Love it.” And he did. Hell, she could make soup and sandwiches and he’d be there.

She hopped off her stool, rubbed her palms on her slightly baggy jeans, then put her
hands in her pockets. “Great. So I’ll see you tonight.”

She wanted him gone. How was that for a kick in the ass?

With a true grin now, he acknowledged her unspoken demand with a slight nod of his
head. “I should get to my meeting with the Realtor. I’ll be back.”

And she’d pay for kicking him out. And love every minute of it. He’d make sure she
did.

“Hello, girls. How are you today?”

“Hello, Mrs. Schell,” Kate and Annabelle replied in perfect schoolgirl unison, causing
them to exchange an eye roll.

Planted dead center in the first aisle of the grocery store, her hair
in perfect blue-gray curls peeking from beneath her ball cap, Mrs. Schell held out
a chocolate chip cookie in each blue-veined hand. “You young ladies can afford the
calories. And”—she gave Annabelle a sly grin—“you need to keep up your strength, Annabelle.
I heard he’s a looker. Good for you, dear.”

As Kate nearly choked on her cookie, Annabelle forced a pleasant smile for the great-grandmother
of three who’d worked for this same store since the Vietnam War. She was half-blind
and had a tendency to wander around talking to herself, but loyalty and longevity
meant everything in a small town. “Thanks for the cookie, Mrs. Schell.”

“Oh, you’re very welcome. Have a good day, girls.”

Annabelle pushed the cart into the produce aisle as fast as she could without running,
Kate still trying to choke down her cookie through her laughter.

“Jesus, I swear I’m going to become a hermit.” Annabelle stopped to pick up lettuce
and shredded carrots, figuring she’d make a salad to start. She made a mental note
to pick up walnuts in the next aisle. “The man is a menace.”

“Right.” Kate drew the word out to about five syllables. “So that’s why you’re making
dinner for him. Because he’s a menace.”

“He wreaks havoc with my brain. Why else would I agree to make dinner for a man who
only eats gourmet cuisine? Hell, I had a jar of unopened peanut butter and a box of
stale crackers in my cabinet.”

“But you can cook. You took cooking classes in Italy, for chrissake. And I know you
enjoy it. Why
wouldn’t
you ask him?”

Racing through the aisles, trying to figure out what to make, Annabelle stopped in
the pasta aisle, picked up a box of linguine, and waved it at Kate. “Don’t you start
with me. You’re supposed to nod and agree with everything I say.”

Kate’s smile reminded Annabelle of a lounging tiger who’d just spotted an easy lunch.
“Sorry, but that only applies to discussions of boyfriends and fiancés. Jared didn’t
happen to cross over into that designation yet, did he?”

Annabelle huffed and put the linguine back on the shelf, reaching instead for the
fettuccine. Fettuccine Alfredo with shrimp and broccoli. Simple, tasty, and basically
foolproof.

“You know he didn’t. We don’t even really know each other. But…he offered me a job
and now I’m cooking dinner for the man. How did that happen?”

Kate snorted. “I would assume you agreed to it.”

Annabelle opened her mouth to swear at Kate until she noticed the Mennonite woman
with three children headed down the aisle. So she settled instead for a death glare.
“Yes, I did. But I swear that man puts a spell on me every time he smiles.”

“He certainly does have a nice smile.”