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Authors: Jo Goodman
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up slowly and felt her sister's hand drop away. "Do you know, Skye," she said carefully.
"I haven't the faintest idea." chapter 3
Six weeks later The door opened softly. Connor didn't look up because he knew who it was and because it would irritate his uninvited and unwanted guest; he continued to fiddle with his cufflink. "What is it, Beryl?" he asked indifferently.
She had hardly made a sound. She closed the door behind her and leaned against it, watching him deliberately ignore her. It annoyed her but it also gave her an opportunity to simply stare at him.
Knowing it would irritate him in turn, Beryl took her fill. "Is it my perfume?" she asked quietly.
Connor turned suddenly. He caught her off guard. Beryl's pale blue eyes, a startling contrast to the dark chestnut color of her hair, were fastened on the breadth of his shoulders. Since she had recommended the tailor, she was probably congratulating herself on the fit of his evening coat, he thought cynically. Making no effort to conceal his impatience he asked, "Is what your perfume?"
"The reason you noticed me before I said anything."
Beryl Walker Holiday was easily the most beautiful woman he had ever known. "It was any number of things," he said. "Your step in the hallway. That breathy little sigh. The rustle of your gown.
And your perfume. Is that what you wanted to hear?"
Her smile transformed a beautiful face into a radiant one. She pushed away from the door and took a step into the room.
Connor went on. "Men always notice you before you say anything," he told her. "It's when you open your mouth that they turn away."
Suiting his actions to his words, Connor turned and began adjusting the gold stud on his left sleeve.
Beryl rocked slightly on her heels as if feeling the blow physically.
"I think you take a certain amount of delight in being cruel to me," she said. "Have I hurt you so badly that you must punish me at every turn?"
"Save it, Beryl. I've heard this speech before."
She was thoughtful, touching the tip of her index finger to her lips.
She could not make him look at her so the calculated innocence of the gesture was wasted. Beryl dropped her hand to her side.
Changing tactics, she said, "You're looking quite handsome this evening.
The cut of that jacket suits you."
He gave no indication that he had even heard her.
Beryl approached him, walking behind Connor to critically assess the man while pretending interest in his evening wear. "You should always dress that way," she said. "It becomes you." He was quite magnificent, she thought, with his lean strength contained in tailored trappings. True, his dark hair brushed his collar unfashionably and the fingers that fiddled with the cufflinks were calloused, but Beryl found even these things appealing. The idea that Connor's restless energy could be leashed in a black swallowtail coat and trousers was an intriguing one. The idea of unleashing that energy was exciting, almost as exciting as the prospect of being caught in it. When Beryl looked past Connor's shoulder into her reflection in the mirror she saw her eyes had darkened.
Connor caught the sultry cast of Beryl's glance and his own eyes narrowed. Barely able to conceal his impatience, he asked, "Was there something specific you wanted or have you only come to gloat?"
She patted his shoulder lightly and stepped the rest of the way around him. Although she pretended not to understand, one corner of her mouth rose in a sly, knowing smile. "Gloat? Aren't you being absurd? Why would I be gloating?"
He shrugged away from her touch and straightened the tails of his jacket. "Enough, Beryl. I'm not answering your questions. If you have something to say, say it."
Her smile faded. Her hand dropped slowly to her side. "All right, then," she said. "I find it quite interesting that you've decided to put yourself up for sale." Her eyes followed him in the mirror as he left her
"I haven't the faintest idea." chapter 3
Six weeks later The door opened softly. Connor didn't look up because he knew who it was and because it would irritate his uninvited and unwanted guest; he continued to fiddle with his cufflink. "What is it, Beryl?" he asked indifferently.
She had hardly made a sound. She closed the door behind her and leaned against it, watching him deliberately ignore her. It annoyed her but it also gave her an opportunity to simply stare at him.
Knowing it would irritate him in turn, Beryl took her fill. "Is it my perfume?" she asked quietly.
Connor turned suddenly. He caught her off guard. Beryl's pale blue eyes, a startling contrast to the dark chestnut color of her hair, were fastened on the breadth of his shoulders. Since she had recommended the tailor, she was probably congratulating herself on the fit of his evening coat, he thought cynically. Making no effort to conceal his impatience he asked, "Is what your perfume?"
"The reason you noticed me before I said anything."
Beryl Walker Holiday was easily the most beautiful woman he had ever known. "It was any number of things," he said. "Your step in the hallway. That breathy little sigh. The rustle of your gown.
And your perfume. Is that what you wanted to hear?"
Her smile transformed a beautiful face into a radiant one. She pushed away from the door and took a step into the room.
Connor went on. "Men always notice you before you say anything," he told her. "It's when you open your mouth that they turn away."
Suiting his actions to his words, Connor turned and began adjusting the gold stud on his left sleeve.
Beryl rocked slightly on her heels as if feeling the blow physically.
"I think you take a certain amount of delight in being cruel to me," she said. "Have I hurt you so badly that you must punish me at every turn?"
"Save it, Beryl. I've heard this speech before."
She was thoughtful, touching the tip of her index finger to her lips.
She could not make him look at her so the calculated innocence of the gesture was wasted. Beryl dropped her hand to her side.
Changing tactics, she said, "You're looking quite handsome this evening.
The cut of that jacket suits you."
He gave no indication that he had even heard her.
Beryl approached him, walking behind Connor to critically assess the man while pretending interest in his evening wear. "You should always dress that way," she said. "It becomes you." He was quite magnificent, she thought, with his lean strength contained in tailored trappings. True, his dark hair brushed his collar unfashionably and the fingers that fiddled with the cufflinks were calloused, but Beryl found even these things appealing. The idea that Connor's restless energy could be leashed in a black swallowtail coat and trousers was an intriguing one. The idea of unleashing that energy was exciting, almost as exciting as the prospect of being caught in it. When Beryl looked past Connor's shoulder into her reflection in the mirror she saw her eyes had darkened.
Connor caught the sultry cast of Beryl's glance and his own eyes narrowed. Barely able to conceal his impatience, he asked, "Was there something specific you wanted or have you only come to gloat?"
She patted his shoulder lightly and stepped the rest of the way around him. Although she pretended not to understand, one corner of her mouth rose in a sly, knowing smile. "Gloat? Aren't you being absurd? Why would I be gloating?"
He shrugged away from her touch and straightened the tails of his jacket. "Enough, Beryl. I'm not answering your questions. If you have something to say, say it."
Her smile faded. Her hand dropped slowly to her side. "All right, then," she said. "I find it quite interesting that you've decided to put yourself up for sale." Her eyes followed him in the mirror as he left her
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