N. Walters: The Seduction of Shamus O'Rourke

But it was too late. She was here and her days of being a coward were over.

Grabbing the handle, she turned it, pulling the heavy door open. As she stepped inside, she tried to compose herself as best she could. Tilting her chin up, she squared her shoulders and strode confidently to the receptionist's desk.

The older woman, dressed in a prim, gray suit, gave her a practiced smile. There was no warmth in her eyes. “May I help you?” Her tone implied that someone dressed as shoddily as Cyndi would certainly have no business in these prestigious offices.

The woman was in for a huge surprise. Not only did Cyndi have business here, she was now their biggest client, although that might change in the days ahead.

Narrowing her gaze, she stared back at the receptionist and pulled a name out of her past. It was a name she'd discarded fourteen years ago, a name she'd legally changed and never thought she'd have to use again.

"You can tell Mr. Harris that Cynthia James is here to see him."

Shamus glanced in his rearview mirror, but he didn't see the white Honda behind him. He wasn't surprised. He figured that she'd hang back, not wanting to appear to be following him.

He grinned as he reached out and turned on the radio. Country music blared from the speakers, and he tapped his fingers against the wheel as he pictured Cyndi Marks.

He hadn't had a real good look at her before she'd climbed back into her car, but he figured that she was about five-five, five-six, give or take an inch. The oversized, pullover sweater she was wearing had partially concealed her figure, but Shamus knew women, and from what he'd seen, she had a nicely rounded figure beneath her clothing.

She hadn't believed him when he'd told her that she was beautiful, but what she hadn't realized was that he wasn't just talking about her physical appearance.

Not that she wasn't beautiful in a physical sense, because she was. Her light brown hair barely came to her shoulders and was tousled as if she'd shoved her fingers through it to comb it. Her skin was smooth and clear, her nose slightly tilted upward.

Her eyes were a pale blue, but they appeared troubled, as if she had a lot on her mind. Thin lines radiated out from the corners, a testament to the fact that she was a few years older than him. Shamus thought they gave her face character.

Her lips were full, but she hadn't been wearing lipstick. They were shiny though, as if she was wearing some kind of gloss.

His body responded, his cock stirring, making his jeans slightly uncomfortable. He shifted in his seat to alleviate the pressure. There was something about her physical appearance that appealed to him, but it went much deeper than that.

Shamus trusted his instincts. He'd always been able to see beyond the physical, to see the real person beneath. It worked with both men and women, allowing him to really understand the people around him.

Cyndi Marks was a woman who hadn't had an easy life. It was evident in the shadows in her eyes. This woman had walls around her, large walls, to protect herself from hurt. Which meant that she'd been emotionally wounded a time or two in her lifetime.

She was an intelligent woman. That much was evident from the way she'd gotten back into her car and locked the doors as he'd approached. Some men might have been insulted. He was impressed by her common sense. He'd also noticed that she had her cell phone in her lap with her fingers poised and ready to dial.

There was a real substance to this woman. Maybe that's why he was drawn to her. While he enjoyed dating women his own age, so far he hadn't found the deeper connection he was looking for. That was fine for a casual date, but in a serious relationship, a man wanted more. At least this man did.

He drove into town and continued on down Main Street, waving to people he knew as he went. Turning off onto Peach Street, he drove to the small house near the end, pulling into the driveway. He was home.

Climbing out of his truck, he stood and just stared at the house that had been his home almost all of his life. Once it had been white, now it was a cheerful red with white shutters adorning every window.

He had a lot of wonderful memories of growing up in this house, alongside his brother and sister. Because of the deaths of their parents when they were all still young, they'd grown very close as a family. When he was still a teenager, his sister, Dani, had married Burke Black, and all of them had moved into the farmhouse Burke had purchased just outside of town. On his nineteenth birthday, he'd moved back in and claimed the house as his own. He'd eventually bought it from Dani and lovingly renovated it one room at a time, making it his own.

He'd considered moving more than once. Maybe getting something a bit larger and keeping this place to rent out for extra income. He didn't think he'd be able to bring himself to sell it. Some of the best times of his life had occurred in this home.

Walking up the front steps, he unlocked the door and let himself inside. Unlacing his boots, he yanked them off and laid them on the mat just inside the door. As he stretched his arms over his head, working out the kinks of a hard day's work, he found his thoughts returning to Cyndi Marks. What was she doing? Where would she be staying? And would he see her again?

Only time would tell. Whistling, he bound up the stairs, stripping off his dirty work shirt as he went. A nice, hot shower waited. Then he'd find something to eat.

Cyndi sat in her car and stared at the mansion in front of her. She'd grown up in this place, but it had never felt like home. It was the place she'd slept, the place that still haunted her dreams.

Opening the car door, she slid out. She reached back in and grabbed her purse before she shut the door with a heavy thunk. She was still reeling over the fact that her father, from who she'd been estranged for fourteen years, had left her everything.

Yes, the lawyers had told her that when they'd first contacted her weeks ago to start the paperwork, but she really hadn't grasped just how much money and property it had amounted to until she'd talked to them this afternoon. Seems as if her father had dedicated the last years of his life to making money. Not that it was much different from the way he'd spent his entire life when she thought about it.

Taking a deep breath, she stepped toward the house. It loomed large, like something from a gothic novel. The wind rushed through the trees, sending leaves skittering across the large expanse of the front lawn. The flowers were long dead, the flowerbeds now covered in dried leaves and twigs.

The brick building seemed cold and forbidding as she approached it. Reaching into her purse, she dug out the set of keys that Mr. Harris had given her. Now there was a man too much like her father. He'd subtly let her know that he didn't approve of her casual manner of dress. It wasn't befitting a James. Now that was something she'd heard daily for the first twenty-five years of her life. She'd calmly told him she was no longer a James. He'd pursed his lips so hard, he'd reminded her of a prune.

She made a mental note to start searching for a new attorney tomorrow. There was nothing in the paperwork that said she had to keep using the firm of Harris and Hammond. Likely, neither her father nor his lawyers even considered the fact that she might switch. Well, they were in for an unwelcome surprise.

Sticking the key in the lock, she turned it, hearing the tumble as the bolt drew back. She clasped the handle and pushed, her moist palm slipping on the metal. The door creaked slightly, the sound grating her already frayed nerves.

"Buck up, Cyndi,” she muttered, stepping inside. The foyer was large and formal, its walls painted in a dark burgundy that seemed to suck all the light out of the place. Reaching out, she flicked the switch to turn on the overhead lamp. She was thankful the lawyers had seen to keeping the heat and electricity on at the house.