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Authors: Rebecca E. Grant
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Gavin jogged over to help collect the errant mail.
She watched his body stretch, appreciating the view as he handed her the various catalogs—mostly lingerie. At that moment, the image of him retrieving her bow when it flew out of her hand during her audition all those years ago, spiraled back. Her cheeks flushed hot.
“No rush.” He waved a hand at her body. “It’s obvious I’ve been up longer than you. I’ll hang around until you’re ready.”
“You needn’t bother.” She spoke through a clenched jaw, hoping to keep the mail anchored with her chin. “I have my car. If you’d called, I could have saved you the trouble.”
Mail started to slip again.
He caught it mid-slide by moving against her and circling his arms around hers. “Exactly why I didn’t call. Didn’t want to give you an opportunity to object.”
His nearness caused tiny tremors in her lower abdomen. Jill stopped struggling with the mail and scanned his face. His grin almost masked the tired lines in the corners of his eyes. He has trouble sleeping.
“I’m here to offer a full confession. After watching you work your way through that egg salad sandwich yesterday, I thought we owed you a break.”
“But I love to drive ” The mail on top slipped.
He shifted his body, pressing closer. “Have you had breakfast yet?”
The heat of his body warmed her. She didn’t trust her voice and shook her head.
“Get dressed. I know a place with the best caramel cinnamon rolls.” His eyebrow quirked. “If we’re lucky, we’ll get a table outside.”
Jill opened her mouth to tell him she already knew about the Maple Tree Inn, and then snapped it closed, suddenly aware of the nearness of his mouth. The neurological anatomy of the male brain is hardwired to drive men to please women. By her count, this was his second attempt in as many days. What possible harm could be in Gavin Fairfield wanting to please her? She swallowed hard, remembering the way she slogged through her egg salad sandwich. But caramel rolls were a far cry from egg salad, and this time she knew what was on the menu. Careful, girl. This is business, not personal. You can’t forget for a minute he’s made his agenda clear.
Jill showered, using her favorite spicy jasmine shower splash, fixed her hair in long loose waves, and stepped into tall boots. After considering her wardrobe, she selected a long skirt made of bright colored scarves that rode low on her hips. She pulled on a three-quarter sleeved black tank and topped it with a snug-fitting denim vest.
Gavin stood, tilted his head, and smiled as she entered the living room. “Nice.”
In the car he said, “I owe you an apology. Adrienne admitted to being the leak.” He shrugged. “She meant well. She’s…overenthusiastic about keeping me in the public eye, but she’s a damn fine agent. The very best, in fact. So, tell me, Jillian. Why did you choose this line of work?”
Something about the way he said her name and the timbre of his voice sounded intimate. Jill crossed her legs and smoothed her skirt as she angled her body toward him, trying to quiet the fluttering in her belly. “I love children.”
“You loved the cello, as I recall,” he teased.
“And I still do. Maybe I’ll play for you one day.” She chuckled, more than a little surprised to be joking about the subject.
“I’d guess you chose this career for more reasons than your love of children. Not telling me?”
Several seconds passed and he prompted, “Passion, money, living up to someone else’s expectations—that’s usually why people do what they do. Which was yours?”
“Which one is it for you?” she asked, unsure just how much was wise to share.
He stared straight ahead. “The short version is no one in my family wanted me to be a musician. But I didn’t choose it. Music chose me.”
Jill uncrossed her legs. “So, for you it’s passion.”
“Definitely. Your turn.”
Jill leaned back, letting the comfort of the
She watched his body stretch, appreciating the view as he handed her the various catalogs—mostly lingerie. At that moment, the image of him retrieving her bow when it flew out of her hand during her audition all those years ago, spiraled back. Her cheeks flushed hot.
“No rush.” He waved a hand at her body. “It’s obvious I’ve been up longer than you. I’ll hang around until you’re ready.”
“You needn’t bother.” She spoke through a clenched jaw, hoping to keep the mail anchored with her chin. “I have my car. If you’d called, I could have saved you the trouble.”
Mail started to slip again.
He caught it mid-slide by moving against her and circling his arms around hers. “Exactly why I didn’t call. Didn’t want to give you an opportunity to object.”
His nearness caused tiny tremors in her lower abdomen. Jill stopped struggling with the mail and scanned his face. His grin almost masked the tired lines in the corners of his eyes. He has trouble sleeping.
“I’m here to offer a full confession. After watching you work your way through that egg salad sandwich yesterday, I thought we owed you a break.”
“But I love to drive ” The mail on top slipped.
He shifted his body, pressing closer. “Have you had breakfast yet?”
The heat of his body warmed her. She didn’t trust her voice and shook her head.
“Get dressed. I know a place with the best caramel cinnamon rolls.” His eyebrow quirked. “If we’re lucky, we’ll get a table outside.”
Jill opened her mouth to tell him she already knew about the Maple Tree Inn, and then snapped it closed, suddenly aware of the nearness of his mouth. The neurological anatomy of the male brain is hardwired to drive men to please women. By her count, this was his second attempt in as many days. What possible harm could be in Gavin Fairfield wanting to please her? She swallowed hard, remembering the way she slogged through her egg salad sandwich. But caramel rolls were a far cry from egg salad, and this time she knew what was on the menu. Careful, girl. This is business, not personal. You can’t forget for a minute he’s made his agenda clear.
Jill showered, using her favorite spicy jasmine shower splash, fixed her hair in long loose waves, and stepped into tall boots. After considering her wardrobe, she selected a long skirt made of bright colored scarves that rode low on her hips. She pulled on a three-quarter sleeved black tank and topped it with a snug-fitting denim vest.
Gavin stood, tilted his head, and smiled as she entered the living room. “Nice.”
In the car he said, “I owe you an apology. Adrienne admitted to being the leak.” He shrugged. “She meant well. She’s…overenthusiastic about keeping me in the public eye, but she’s a damn fine agent. The very best, in fact. So, tell me, Jillian. Why did you choose this line of work?”
Something about the way he said her name and the timbre of his voice sounded intimate. Jill crossed her legs and smoothed her skirt as she angled her body toward him, trying to quiet the fluttering in her belly. “I love children.”
“You loved the cello, as I recall,” he teased.
“And I still do. Maybe I’ll play for you one day.” She chuckled, more than a little surprised to be joking about the subject.
“I’d guess you chose this career for more reasons than your love of children. Not telling me?”
Several seconds passed and he prompted, “Passion, money, living up to someone else’s expectations—that’s usually why people do what they do. Which was yours?”
“Which one is it for you?” she asked, unsure just how much was wise to share.
He stared straight ahead. “The short version is no one in my family wanted me to be a musician. But I didn’t choose it. Music chose me.”
Jill uncrossed her legs. “So, for you it’s passion.”
“Definitely. Your turn.”
Jill leaned back, letting the comfort of the
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