thing was that when she opened the door she could have sworn that the quick yet thorough appraisal he gave her was much more than just “friendly” in nature. But she told herself she was reading far too much into a simple glance.
When his eyes returned to hers he smiled, and Sam’s breath caught in her throat at the warmth in his gaze. “You look great,” he said quietly, his voice shaded with a husky timbre that surprised them both. He’d been caught off guard by his own reaction to her discreet but alluring outfit, his gaze lingering just a moment too long on what the fashionably short skirt revealed—a pair of fabulous legs that just didn’t quit. He’d have to be dead not to notice, he thought, trying to justify the surprising direction of his thoughts.
“Thanks.” She tried to smile, but she suddenly felt shaky as her eyes took in his appearance. Tonight Brad did not look anything like a minister, she thought. His dove gray suit, starched white shirt and striking maroon and blue tie were more suited to a man of the world than a man of the cloth. If at lunch he’d made her think of an aftershave ad, tonight he looked like a successful executive or entrepreneur. The very faint brush of silver at his temples added a distinguished touch to his appearance and magnified his appeal. For just a moment she wondered what it would feel like to be held against his solid chest, to feel his gentle touch against her cheek, to— Disconcerted by the inappropriate direction of her thoughts, Sam abruptly took a step back and motioned him inside.
“Come on in. I’m ready. I just need to get my sweater,” she said breathlessly.
Brad strolled inside and looked around with interest. The open room featured white walls and light gray modular furniture that could be easily moved into new configurations. Coffee and end tables were glass and chrome, and a fireplace was framed by a black screen. Throw pillows in magenta and cobalt blue added striking touches of color.
“Nice,” Brad said as his gaze traveled around the room. “It makes me feel like I’ve stepped onto the pages of a decorating magazine.”
Sam shrugged. “It’s functional. And it suits my lifestyle. But I wouldn’t exactly call it homey.”
“It doesn’t seem like ‘homey’ was what you were after,” Brad said thoughtfully.
“You’re right. It wasn’t,” she admitted slowly, surprised by his insight, realizing that she’d never consciously analyzed her decorating choices before. It was more as if she’d created a stage setting, a backdrop, for her as a single, socializing, professional woman, she thought, letting her own gaze circle the modernistic, picture-perfect room. In fact, it was almost as if no one actually lived here, she realized. And it certainly didn’t reflect her real personality. Sam liked modern things, true. She wouldn’t want Nick and Laura’s old Victorian house, though she could appreciate its charm and realized it suited them. No, if she had a real home it would be contemporary, but she would intersperse the modern with the homey. A warm, handloomed throw on the sofa. A lovingly-stitched needlepoint pillow next to the fireplace. A brandy decanter on the mantel, with a pair of glasses for late-night toasts. A child’s drawing framed and hung proudly on the wall….
Sam felt her eyes mist over at the last image. That was something she was never destined to have, she knew. She’d had her chance once, and she’d thrown it away. Better to live in this relatively sterile environment, where she could more easily pretend that those things were unimportant to her, she thought resolutely.
Sam suddenly realized that Brad was watching her with those insightful brown eyes of his, and she turned away and reached for her sweater. “So, are we ready?” she asked with forced brightness.
He seemed about to say something, but apparently he thought better of it and instead silently followed her to the door.
By the time they were
When his eyes returned to hers he smiled, and Sam’s breath caught in her throat at the warmth in his gaze. “You look great,” he said quietly, his voice shaded with a husky timbre that surprised them both. He’d been caught off guard by his own reaction to her discreet but alluring outfit, his gaze lingering just a moment too long on what the fashionably short skirt revealed—a pair of fabulous legs that just didn’t quit. He’d have to be dead not to notice, he thought, trying to justify the surprising direction of his thoughts.
“Thanks.” She tried to smile, but she suddenly felt shaky as her eyes took in his appearance. Tonight Brad did not look anything like a minister, she thought. His dove gray suit, starched white shirt and striking maroon and blue tie were more suited to a man of the world than a man of the cloth. If at lunch he’d made her think of an aftershave ad, tonight he looked like a successful executive or entrepreneur. The very faint brush of silver at his temples added a distinguished touch to his appearance and magnified his appeal. For just a moment she wondered what it would feel like to be held against his solid chest, to feel his gentle touch against her cheek, to— Disconcerted by the inappropriate direction of her thoughts, Sam abruptly took a step back and motioned him inside.
“Come on in. I’m ready. I just need to get my sweater,” she said breathlessly.
Brad strolled inside and looked around with interest. The open room featured white walls and light gray modular furniture that could be easily moved into new configurations. Coffee and end tables were glass and chrome, and a fireplace was framed by a black screen. Throw pillows in magenta and cobalt blue added striking touches of color.
“Nice,” Brad said as his gaze traveled around the room. “It makes me feel like I’ve stepped onto the pages of a decorating magazine.”
Sam shrugged. “It’s functional. And it suits my lifestyle. But I wouldn’t exactly call it homey.”
“It doesn’t seem like ‘homey’ was what you were after,” Brad said thoughtfully.
“You’re right. It wasn’t,” she admitted slowly, surprised by his insight, realizing that she’d never consciously analyzed her decorating choices before. It was more as if she’d created a stage setting, a backdrop, for her as a single, socializing, professional woman, she thought, letting her own gaze circle the modernistic, picture-perfect room. In fact, it was almost as if no one actually lived here, she realized. And it certainly didn’t reflect her real personality. Sam liked modern things, true. She wouldn’t want Nick and Laura’s old Victorian house, though she could appreciate its charm and realized it suited them. No, if she had a real home it would be contemporary, but she would intersperse the modern with the homey. A warm, handloomed throw on the sofa. A lovingly-stitched needlepoint pillow next to the fireplace. A brandy decanter on the mantel, with a pair of glasses for late-night toasts. A child’s drawing framed and hung proudly on the wall….
Sam felt her eyes mist over at the last image. That was something she was never destined to have, she knew. She’d had her chance once, and she’d thrown it away. Better to live in this relatively sterile environment, where she could more easily pretend that those things were unimportant to her, she thought resolutely.
Sam suddenly realized that Brad was watching her with those insightful brown eyes of his, and she turned away and reached for her sweater. “So, are we ready?” she asked with forced brightness.
He seemed about to say something, but apparently he thought better of it and instead silently followed her to the door.
By the time they were
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