A dull flush stained Matthew’s neck. “My, you are an inquisitive little girl, aren’t you? A busy one, too. Not to mention imaginative.”
Hannah refused to be diverted. “It seems to me that you’re being awfully evasive for somebody who has nothing to hide.”
“You didn’t look in my files?”
“I didn’t have time,” Hannah said defiantly. “You and Katie came back into the room before I had a chance.”
Matthew felt inordinately relieved. He was not ready to share the truth about his parentage with anyone, not even Hannah. Especially not Hannah!
“Is the real reason why you came to Clover in your files?” Hannah demanded. “And don’t even try to use that lame story about researching insects for a book!”
“You’re right. That story was lame. But I really am a writer.” When being evasive or lying, always stick as closely to the truth as possible. Matthew followed the course taken by his protagonists in his books. Reveal as much as necessary and as little as possible.
Hannah was regarding him with frank disbelief.
“It’s true,” he insisted. “Among those paperbacks in the bag, didn’t you see three by Galen Eden?”
“I don’t remember. Maybe. I don’t know who that is.”
“You don’t know who Galen Eden is and you haven’t read anything he’s written?” Matthew arched his brows and his mouth quirked into a wry smile. “My overinflated ego is quickly deflating. A few more minutes talking books with you and it’ll be flatter than a burst balloon.”
“Are you trying to say—”
“And doing it poorly, it seems,” Matthew interjected dryly. “My pen name is Galen Eden, after the first names of my father and mother. I’ve written three books, suspense thrillers, which have sold very well, and I’m here in Clover to—” He cleared his throat. It was always tricky when it came time to alter the truth. Or to veer away from it altogether. “To do some research for my next book.”
“And there’s going to be a serial killer in it!” guessed Hannah. Why, it all fitted now, like pieces in a well-cut puzzle. “That’s why you have those non-fiction books—to study psychopathic personalities. And the book about the first families of South Carolina?” She frowned. No, the puzzle wasn’t in place yet after all. “Why are you interested in the Wyndhams?”
“What if my serial killer was from a well-respected, wealthy family with connections and influence everywhere in the state?” improvised Matthew. She’d accurately guessed that he’d planned to write a mystery about a serial murderer, though thus far he’d been unable to develop a plot. His impromptu synopsis was merely an on-the-spot device to divert her, but he was beginning to warm to it. Maybe he had the germ of an idea for a new book! He felt excitement kindling within him. He hadn’t felt a creative spark in months, and now, finally, he felt his imagination lumbering slowly back to life.
“You’re going to model that family after the Wyndhams?” Hannah exclaimed.
“Suppose my fictional family has no idea that their seemingly charming son has a dark, treacherous side? Or maybe they do and are trapped in a conspiracy to cover up for him.”
“Is he threatening them? Has he hurt anyone in their exalted circle?” Hannah speculated eagerly.
“This is turning into a regular brainstorming session.” Matthew smiled at her enthusiasm.
“A Wyndham who is secretly a vicious criminal. Wow!” Hannah grinned mischievously. “Dr. Wyndham and Mr. Hyde. They’ll hate that.”
“The family will be entirely fictitious. The Wyndhams will never know they were my, er, inspiration.”
“But you wanted to see the Wyndham estate to get an idea of where and how such a family might live,” guessed Hannah.
Matthew built on her supposition. “I’m not a very good descriptive writer. I can plot and envision action, but I have trouble picturing places in my mind. It helps if I can see what I’m trying to describe.”
“What will you tell Alexandra Wyndham when you call and ask permission to visit?” Hannah asked. Without asking, she had figured out why he’d written the woman’s name in the book. Alexandra handled the Wyndham family matters, unrelated to business. Anybody would’ve been told so when making inquiries about the family.
“I haven’t come up with what to say to Alexandra.” Matthew shrugged. Truer words have never been spoken. He had no idea what to say to the woman who had given birth to him if and when he actually did call on her. “Any advice? Any ideas?”
Hannah tilted her head and frowned thoughtfully. ”Don’t tell her you’re writing a book about crime. Especially not a potential bestselling thriller.”
“Too sensational and sleazy for their refined tastes?”
“Exactly. You can say you’re a writer but don’t mention what kind of books you write. It’s best to stick close to the truth when you’re telling a fib and—”
“Useful advice,” Matthew interrupted drolly. “I’ll have to remember that.”
“Not that I’m a liar or anything,” Hannah defended herself. “But there are times when something a little less than the truth is required.”
“I couldn’t have put it better myself.”
“I’ve got it! You can pretend to be doing research for a serious historical novel.”
“A hagiography about a glorious and beloved old Carolina family?” Matthew suggested dryly.
“The Wyndhams are active members in several historical societies. They’ll probably even like the idea that you’re a writer if history is involved.” Hannah suddenly clapped her hands. “I have an idea! I’ll introduce you to my grandmother—she’ll be delighted to meet a writer—and then I’ll ask Grandmother to ask Alexandra to allow you to visit the Wyndham mansion.”
“And will...Alexandra do as your grandmother asks?”
Hannah nodded confidently. “If Grandmother asks a favor of her, especially such a minor one, Alexandra has no choice but to say yes. You see, Grandmother was a lifelong friend of Alexandra’s parents, and the Wyndhams honor such ties.”
“So she’s well and truly stuck. Good plan!” Matthew took both Hannah’s hands in his. “I appreciate your help, Hannah. I mean it.”
The warmth of his smile and the strength of his hands clasping hers went through her like a heady gulp of potent wine. Within seconds, Hannah felt half drugged with a delicious lassitude. It would be so easy, so natural, to take the few steps necessary to close the gap between them. Then she would be back in his arms, where she’d been before the Polks’ untimely intrusion.
The Polks... The thought of them proved to be as intrusive as their actual presence. And once again, Hannah was grateful for the diversion. All Matthew Granger had to do was look at her or touch her, and her mind seemed to short-circuit, leaving her body in charge.
It was exciting, yet it was unnerving. Every time they were together, things got too hot too fast. And though Hannah walked the walk and talked the talk quite convincingly, she had never been governed by her sexual impulses. Flirting was as far as she went, and it was a game she controlled with ease.
But not with Matthew. With him she was out of control, and while the adventurous rebel within her reveled in the danger, her strong self-protective instincts failed to restrain her. She pulled her hands away and reached for her coffee, clutching the cup as if it were a shield protecting her from the devastating effects of his touch.
“What’s the matter?” Matthew asked huskily. Her abrupt withdrawal rankled. He’d been about to take her into his arms, and he knew damn well she’d wanted him to. Already his body was flooded with heat from simply holding her hands. That brief, innocent contact had fueled the fires that he’d managed to bank after their last physical encounter under the hotel portico. He didn’t know if he had the willpower to bank them again.
“There are still too many things I don’t know about you,” Hannah murmured, keeping her eyes averted from him. It was easier to keep her wits when she wasn’t drowning in his deep dark eyes.
“Such as the inevitable query—am I married?” Matthew drawled. “The answer is no, I am not now nor have ever been married.”
Hannah blushed. “Your marital status doesn’t interest me in the least,” she said coolly.
“Not much,” muttered Matthew. “You’re not the type to have a fling with a married man.”
“Let’s add that I’m not the type to have a fling with you, either.” She lifted her chin haughtily. “In fact, I’m not the type for flings.”
“That’s true. You don’t have flings. You have engagements. Three at last count, I believe.”
Hannah was completely taken aback. “Who told you?”
“Your good friend, Sean, last night at Fitzgerald’s Bar and Grill over pitchers of beer and plates of nachos. I detected a certain sour-grapes attitude in him. Perhaps because he’s never advanced to the coveted position of fiancé?”
“So during a lull in the Polk-bashing, they bashed me!” Hannah was hurt. “I thought they were my friends.”
“They are.” Matthew moved closer. His hands actually ached from wanting to touch her. “But I think they’re a little in awe of you. My new best friend, Blaine, said you were the most beautiful girl in Clover and then went on to rhapsodize about your perfect teeth. He’s proud to be your dentist.”
Hannah laughed in spite of herself.
“So what about all those engagements, Hannah?”
She shrugged. “I got engaged three different times to three different Mr. Wrongs. I wasn’t their idea of Miss Right, either. I guess that about sums it up.”
“No melodramatic tales of broken hearts and love gone wrong?”
“Is that the past you’ve invented for me? Sorry to disappoint you, but I’m not a heartbreaker who casts off fiancés the way a dog shakes off fleas.”
“Just as I’m not a cat burglar in town for a, uh, a caper.”
“What about the gun?” Hannah asked. Her hand trembled. “You haven’t explained that away yet.”
“I wish I could come up with a story as inventive as yours, honey. The gun isn’t a Saturday night special. It’s a World War I vintage German Luger that belonged to my father. He and I used to go target shooting together, and when I heard there’s a shooting range a half-hour drive from Clover, I decided to bring the Luger along and get in some practice. I almost forgot it and stuck it into the pocket of my suit jacket at the last minute.”
“I don’t like guns,” Hannah said tightly.
“Duly noted.” He reached out to stroke her cheek with gentle fingers. “I won’t take you target shooting with me.”
They stared at each other for a long moment. “Why all the secrecy about your writing?” she asked quietly.
“I didn’t feel like dealing with the questions and comments people sometimes make when they find out what I do. Offering plot lines, asking me to read their own or a relative’s manuscripts. All that gets distracting. I want to concentrate my time and energy on what I came here to do.” His fingers curved around her jaw. “Are you going to blow my cover, angel face?”
“Not if you don’t want me to.” Hannah covered his hand with her own. She liked the idea of sharing his secret. It created an intimacy between them, a sense of exclusivity, and she wanted that, she acknowledged achingly.
“Thank you.” He leaned forward, his dark eyes flaring with a passion that made her shiver with anticipation.
Hannah stared at the fine sensual lines of his mouth and felt a syrupy warmth flow through her. He was not a criminal and he was going to kiss her. At that moment, nothing else mattered.
Matthew drew her to him, his gaze tracking downward from her luscious mouth to her breasts straining against the bodice of her sundress. They were full and round, the nipples already peaked and prominent beneath the soft violet cotton. He couldn’t stop himself from running his thumb over the outline of the rigid crest.
His touch electrified Hannah. She whimpered softly and breathed his name. It was an intensely private time, one that might have led anywhere.
Except that the door to the shop opened, and two sportily dressed couples in their thirties hurried inside. Hannah and Matthew sprang apart.
“It’s really starting to pour!” one of the women announced. “Are we ever glad we made it in here before we got completely soaked!”
Matthew wasn’t. He wished they would’ve taken refuge somewhere, anywhere else. Those explosive, seductive moments with Hannah left his body rigid and aching for sex—and something more. For the first time in months, he’d felt a connection with another person, one so strong it was primal in intensity.
He experienced a sense of loss as he watched Hannah move away from him to welcome the prospective customers. Who probably wouldn’t even buy a thing, he thought disgustedly. They would hang around until the rain lessened and then leave empty-handed, wasting time he and Hannah could’ve spent alone together.
He watched Hannah engage the couple in conversation, probing their tastes, offering information on the items that attracted their attention. She concentrated on the women, sharing likes and dislikes, listening attentively to their replies. The men, Matthew noted, trailed dutifully after their wives, while casting covert admiring glances at Hannah. She occasionally smiled at them or directed a comment their way.
Matthew remembered Blaine Spencer’s observation. “Every guy in town has been slavering over Hannah Farley for years.” Apparently, vacationing husbands weren’t immune to her beauty, either. Matthew knew he wasn’t. He was falling hard and fast for her, and it worried him.
He hadn’t been himself since arriving in Clover. The deception, the false pretenses under which he was here—it was all so unlike him. And so was chasing after a young woman who, until a short while ago, had believed him to be a criminal! Had it been the risky thrill of potential danger that attracted her to him?
The thought troubled him. He knew that Hannah Kaye Farley was accustomed to men throwing themselves at her. Any woman who was beautiful, sexy and rich was able to pick and choose among many suitors. But unlike quite a few of the beautiful, sexy and rich women he’d met, Hannah actually had a personality. She was charming and feisty, which only increased her allure.
But she wanted him. At least she had until now. Would she lose interest in him now that she knew he was a solid citizen rather than a glamorous rogue? She was not at all impressed by his success as a writer; she’d never even heard of his books till he had told her about them, and even then she hadn’t expressed a desire to read one.
And didn’t her three broken engagements seem to indicate a rather short attention span when it came to men? Sort of a Relationship Deficit Disorder. RDD? If such a term didn’t exist, it probably soon would, with reams of talk-show guests and self-proclaimed therapists discussing the symptoms.
Matthew scowled, annoyed at his own ruminations. Was this really him, Matthew Granger, moping around an antique shop, wondering and worrying if Hannah Farley liked him? How humiliating! How ridiculous! He was a thirty-two-year-old experienced man of the world, not an infatuated fourteen-year-old!
He was feeling belligerent and ill-used when Hannah returned to the cash register with the two couples, who each carried several items. They couldn’t seem to stop exclaiming over their lucky finds. When Hannah rang up the totals, Matthew was astonished at the sum.
“They had no intention of buying anything when they walked through that door,” he murmured as the couples left, their purchases wrapped well to protect them from the rain. He stared at Hannah, awed. “You can really sell!”
She smiled, pleased with the sale and with Matthew’s astonished acknowledgement of her prowess. “I enjoy it. It’s a challenge. Some shop owners sit back and don’t even glance at their customers. They let them wander around the shop and walk out without even trying to make a sale. I don’t understand that. I like to talk to people, figure out what they like and what I have that would appeal to them. To make a match.” Her gray eyes sparkled. “It’s like a game. And when I find thi
ngs to sell to people who didn’t even know they wanted them, well, I win.”
“And you enjoy winning.” He felt a tidal wave of sensual hunger rise up in him and fought the urge to pull her into his arms and kiss her until she was weak and soft and clinging to him. The way she’d been each time he’d kissed her before.
“Of course.” She arched her dark brows, her smile one of sultry challenge. “Who doesn’t?”
Matthew’s mouth was dry. He knew he had it bad when simply one of her smiles had a throbbing, visceral effect on him. “You’re a dangerous woman, Hannah Farley.”
And he would do well to remember that. Especially at this particular time in his life when the uncertainties of his newly discovered past were wreaking havoc on his equilibrium. He had to make a conscious effort to tame the lust that intensified every time he looked at her; he had to prove to himself that he wasn’t so captivated by her that he couldn’t master his desire.
He quickly calculated a plan, one that kept him firmly in control. He would make use of Hannah Farley socially—her acquaintance with his birth mother was an invaluable aid to his quest—and sexually, if she let him. And oh, how he hoped she would let him! But he would not become emotionally entrapped by her. He intended to leave Clover as romantically unencumbered as when he’d arrived.
Hannah was watching him. She saw the range of emotions play across his face. His intensity excited her. And though they were in the shop with the possibility of more customers entering at any time, she had to be closer to him. She wanted him to kiss her, right here, right now.
She sauntered over and stopped in front of him, so close that their bodies were almost touching. Tilting her head, she gazed up at him through her thick dark lashes. “Matthew?”
She was flirting with him, teasing him. Challenging him to make his move. She expected him to grab her. Matthew clenched his jaw so tightly his teeth were grinding together, but he didn’t lay a hand on her. He would prove that he was strong enough to resist little Miss Irresistible.
The Engagement Party Page 10
