She didn’t reply, just stalked to the front door and yanked it open.
“This isn’t anywhere near over, Isobel,” he warned, exiting her apartment.
“Maybe it isn’t for you. But for me, I’m going to forget all about you as soon as you get out.” And with that parting shot, she closed the door shut behind him. Or more accurately, in his face.
He didn’t immediately head down the hallway, instead pausing a moment to stare at the door. And smile.
He’d meant what he’d told her. This wasn’t over.
And damn if he wasn’t looking forward to the next skirmish.
Four
Aweek later, Isobel drove through the winding, tidy streets of Lake Forest. During the hour and fifteen minutes’ drive from South Deering, the inner-city landscape gave way to the steel-and-glass metropolis of downtown, to the affluent suburb that made a person believe she’d stepped into a pretty New England town. The quaint ice cream shop, bookstore, gift shop and boutiques in the center of the town emanated charm and wealth. All of it practically shouted history, affluence andkeep the hell out, riffraff!
She would be the aforementioned riffraff. Discomfort crawled down her neck. Her decade-old Honda Civic stuck out like a sore thumb among the Aston Martins, Bugattis and Mercedes Benzes like a poor American relation among its luxurious, foreign cousins. Her GPS announced her upcoming turn, and she returned her focus to locating Darius’s home.
Minutes later, Siri informed her that she’d reached her destination.
Good. God.
She didn’t know much about architecture other than what she retained from the shows on HGTV, but even she recognized the style of the three-story home as Georgian. Beautiful golden bricks—not the weathered, dull color of her own apartment building—formed the outside of the huge structure, with its sloped roof and attached garage. It curved in an arc, claiming the land not already seized by the towering maple trees surrounding the property. Black shutters framed the many windows that faced the front and bracketed the wide wine-red door.
“You are not in South Deering anymore,” she murmured to herself.
No wonder Darius had scrutinized her tiny apartment with a slight curl to his lips. He called this beautiful, imposing mansion home. Her place must’ve appeared like a Hobbit hole to him. A Hobbit hole from the wrong side of the Shire tracks.
Sighing, she dragged her attention back to the reason she’d driven out here.
She had a marriage bargain to seal.
After climbing the three shallow steps that led to the front door, she rang the bell. Only seconds passed before it opened and—instead of a housekeeper or butler—Darius stood in the entryway.
It wasn’t fair.
His masculine beauty. His affect on her.
She was well versed in the danger of handsome men. They used their appearance as a lure—a bright, sensual lure that entranced a woman, distracted her from the darkness behind the shiny exterior. And by the time a woman noticed, it was way too late...
Even though she was aware of the threat he presented, she still stared at him, fighting the carnal thrall he exuded like a pheromone. His dark brown hair waved away from his strong brow, emphasizing the slashing cheekbones, patrician nose, full lips and rock-hard jaw with the faint dent in the chin. And his eyes...vivid, golden and piercing. They unleashed a warm slide of heat in her veins, even as she fought the urge to duck her head and avoid that scalpel-sharp gaze.
With a quick glance, she took in the black turtleneck and slacks that draped over his powerful shoulders, wide chest and muscular thighs. It didn’t require much effort to once again feel those thighs under hers or recall the solid strength of his chest under her hands. Her body tingled with the memory, as if he’d imprinted himself in her skin, in her senses, that night. And no matter how she tried, she couldn’t evict him.
“Isobel.” The way that low, cultured drawl wrapped around her name was indecent. “Come in.”
She dipped her chin in acknowledgment and moved forward. Doing her best not to touch him, she still couldn’t avoid breathing in his delicious scent—cedar and sun-warmed air, with a hint of musk that was all male. All him. She’d tried her best to forget the flavor of him from that night, too. Epic fail.
The heels of her boots clacked against the hardwood floor of the foyer, and she almost bent to remove them, not wanting to make scuff marks. She studied the house, not even attempting to hide her curiosity. Yes, the inside lived up to the splendor of the exterior. A wide staircase swept to an upper level, and two airy rooms extended from each side of the entryway. Huge fireplaces, furniture that belonged in magazines and rugs that could’ve taken up space in museums. And windows. So many windows, which offered views of acres of land.
But she examined her surroundings for hints into the man who owned the home. Framed photos lined the mantel in one of the living rooms, but she couldn’t glimpse the images from this distance. Were they of the parents he’d told her about during the blackout? Were they of Gage, when they were teens? Around the time he’d saved Darius’s life? Did the photographs contain images of the Wellses?
Her survey swept over the expected but beautiful portraits of landscapes and zeroed in on a glass-and-weathered-wood box. A step closer revealed a collection of antique pocket watches. She shifted her inspection to Darius, who watched her, his expression shuttered. Oh, there had to be a story there.
But she wasn’t here to find it out.
“You know why I’m here,” she said. “I’d like to get this over with.”
“We can talk in the study.” He turned, and after a moment of hesitation, she followed.
