One
SJ
I park my rented red sports car in front of the brightly painted Sunflower Inn and blow out a steadying breath. But I’m here for a reason. I can do this. I push the car door open wide, pivot on the seat, and attempt a graceful exit in case anyone is watching. Not that anyone has a reason to stare out the window awaiting my arrival. They don’t know who I am. They don’t know I have my future on the line. I walk back to the trunk on stiff legs, breathing in the warm summer air that carries an earthy pine scent. The long, mountainous drive from Denver International challenged me more than I expected. I pop open the back with a press of a button and gloat one last time about how I managed to fit both suitcases in the tiny space.
Leaving my extra-large bag for the moment, I retrieve my carry-on and wheel the case to the doorway of the repurposed Victorian. The website didn’t capture how cute and welcoming the place would be.
A bell chimes when I open the unlocked cobalt blue front door. After I shift my bag across the threshold, I have to catch my breath. The room is stunning. Floor to ceiling windows on the far wall overlook an inviting patio before a grassy lawn leads to a towering embrace of evergreens. I’ve never seen anything like it.
“Welcome to the Sunflower. You must be SJ.” A friendly woman with a welcoming smile steps off the last stair to my left. “I’m Amy. I’m so happy you found us.”
I smile back. “Your directions were perfect.”
“I’m glad.” She moves behind a tall, wooden cabinet with a crocheted doily on top, an open guest book, and a small vase of flowers. “I have a room ready for you. It overlooks the back garden so you should have plenty of quiet for your writing. It’s so exciting to have a writer staying here.” She leans forward conspiratorially. “I’m an avid reader, so you’ll have to share your pen name with me before you leave.”
A nervous laugh escapes my lips. “Of course.”
“Your editor called earlier, the payment is taken care of. He prepaid four weeks but said you might need to stay over. It’s not a problem at all. I blocked out the room for two months.” Amy fusses in the drawers of the cabinet.
The front door opens. I glance over my shoulder to catch a heartbreak of a man walking in. Sunlight from the huge windows illuminates the golden streaks in his tousled hair. His tight white tee, baring evidence of his day’s work, stretches over a plane of abs that look like an impossible drawing. His faded jeans are filled with the promise of breathtaking nights. I gasp in a breath and avert my eyes. He looks like a mortal sin I want to commit over and over again.
“Hey, Alex.” Amy calls out. His footsteps on the wood floor pause.
“Amy. Ma’am.”
I can’t resist a second glimpse, confirming I’m truly in hell.
He nods in my direction. “How’re y’all doing?”
His slow Texas twang twists its way between my legs. I’m dying. I’m supposed to focus on writing my debut novel. My uncle sent me to get away from all the distractions. He’s given me a gift I can’t repay and already I’m distracted by this dream man. Who looks vaguely familiar.
“This is Sonja Redding. She’s staying with us for a few weeks.”
He grunts his acknowledgement, and I flinch at the name my uncle selected. He said I had to use a cover. Seems ridiculous now. I turn to face the person who could derail my entire reason for being in Colorado. “Hi, Alex.”
His gaze travels up and down my body, but he’s got a deer in the headlights vibe. All shock and avoidance. Never had that reaction.
“Since you’re going up, could you show her to the Columbine room?” Amy hands me a key with a blue flower tag.
“Yes, ma’am.” He points at me. “That your bag?”
Yes, that is my vag. I blink. Bag. He said bag. “I can get it.”
“No, ma’am.” He snatches the case and takes it hostage in a tight grip, heading for the stairs. My bag in one hand and a tool belt in the other.
I’m halfway up the stairs, mesmerized by the muscles in his legs and ass. I have to say something. “You work construction?”
“Yes, ma’am. And you?” He asks without looking back. He tops the stairs and heads down the wide welcoming hallway dotted with closed doors on either side.
I give him the story I’m supposed to, although why my uncle doesn’t want to take credit for such a generous gift is a mystery. “I’m a writer. My agent booked this place for me so I can finish a novel. I should have had it done months ago. He says it’s to remove distractions.”
He glances back. I dart my gaze away from his ass. So busted. He stops in front of the door marked Columbine and steps aside. I use the key Amy gave me to open it wide in invitation. I haven’t been here a minute and already I’m avoiding my purpose to pursue a man. What is wrong with me?
The room is lovely and inviting. A pale lavender more blue than pink. A huge bed done in white linens with big fluffy pillows and an accent throw that matches the walls. It’s the kind of bed to spend all day in, naked with someone sexy.
“Anything else?”
His voice jolts me from my mini-fantasy and my cheeks heat. “I, uh, have a bigger bag in the car…” and so many more things I’d like to do to him despite the fact I’m supposed to be focusing on my future.
