Isabel Sharpe - All I Want...

Her name came off his tongue, traveled across the room and sounded like the best thing she’d ever heard.

“I don’t know what to say.”

He turned and met her eyes, grinned, slow and lazy and sexier than was good for her sanity. “That’s better than no.”

She cleared her throat. Link was home waiting for her. There was no way she could do this to him. “I’m afraid no is all I can say right now.”

“Right now?” He crossed the room back to her and she dropped her eyes, unable to take the hope in his.

She should say or ever. She needed to say it. She had to say it. Or she’d open up such a Pandora’s box she’d never be safe again. Never again feel the world belonged only to Link and her. If she let this man in…

God, she wanted to.

“Maybe…a drink would be okay. Sometime.”

“Not today?”

“No. I can’t. I have to—” She looked at her watch, trying to think of something besides get home to Link and cook his dinner, because that made her sound so dull and slavish. “Go. Somewhere.”

Yeah, quick thinking, Lucy. She was no good at lying. She’d be no good at cheating.

“Okay.” He smiled and touched her shoulder the way a friend might, just a gentle tap. Only it didn’t affect her the way a friend’s touch would. “I’m really looking forward to ‘sometime.’”

She watched him walk away, his smooth, graceful stride so different from Link’s powerful, lumbering step, and sank back into her chair, cheeks on fire. What had she done?

And what was she going to do with the terrible fear that he wasn’t looking forward to “sometime” even half as much as she was?

KRISTA PEERED THROUGH her snow-shrunk windshield, wipers clearing the white fluff away as fast as it could fall. And it was falling fast. Good thing she’d gotten restless and left earlier than she’d planned this afternoon. She was a few miles from the inn and the snow had only been falling for an hour or so, but the radio report indicated travel conditions were going to get worse as the evening wore on.

At least the drive had been lovely. She’d been to Maine quite a few times but never stopped being amazed at the change from the New Hampshire border, across the Piscataqua River, into the peace and green of the appropriately nicknamed Pine Tree State. This time she’d traveled farther north than the usual coastal hotels and shopping meccas. She’d left 95 at Route 201, the Old Canada Road National Scenic Byway, and headed northwest to Skowhegan. Then past. Then after forever, she’d turned onto what was a fairly unpromising-looking little track, which Betty Robinson, the Pine Tree Inn owner, had cheerfully assured her was not going to seem right but was.

If she said so.

Certainly no problems with traffic. Maine was not jammed this time of year as it could be in summer. Ideal for what Krista was after. Off-the-beaten-track romantic holiday getaways.

So far she could see how this could be very romantic. Closer to Skowhegan there had been other choices, one inn in particular had caught her eye online while planning this trip—king-size beds and fireplaces in every room. But she was determined to stay away from the usual destinations, so here she was, miles from a town of any size, bumping through the snow to the Pine Tree Inn, frankly unsure of what to expect….

And wishing she wasn’t alone. Thinking—for no good reason and in spite of having told herself a thousand times to stop—of a pair of hazel eyes recently sighted in a Thai restaurant and wishing they were along for the ride. Then this visit could have been the romantic launch to a new adventure, which maybe this time would have worked out forever.

Or at least longer than a-few-to-several weeks.

Total attraction. Unbelievable attraction. Nearly unbearable attraction.

Wistful sigh.

Had he responded to her amazing charms and inviting smile by walking forward, grabbing her arms, hoisting her to her feet, gazing into her eyes while breath swelled his manly chest and declared he’d never felt such a pull to any woman before and would she please accompany him to the nearest spot where they could get comfortable and privately and immediately naked or he’d go mad from wanting?

Um. No.

He’d missed most of her inviting smile and obviously had no problem dismissing her amazing charms, because after that breath-stealing connection, he couldn’t get away from her fast enough.

Not that it was necessarily about her. Maybe he really was in a crazed hurry to leave, and maybe he regretted walking away from what might have been as much as she regretted him walking.

But then maybe Lucy was right, and Krista was too into the hot bod and the hot chemistry and maybe she should start dating men she wasn’t that attracted to. Men she could feel so-so about while insisting she was in love, hanging on year in and out, after anything they had in common had long since fled screaming from the boredom. Just like Lucy.

Good idea!

Not.

She’d a thousand times rather suffer through one passionate relationship after another exploding into shrapnel than hang on to the safe but mediocre for fear of being alone.

Though just once she’d really like to get it right, without the explosion, at least not so damn soon after the fun started.

Another mile through ever-thickening snow and the road widened into an empty parking area—was she the only guest here?—with tiny cabins barely visible through the white whirl, the closest with a red Office sign hanging beside the door and Christmas lights glowing blurry green along the eaves.

Krista parked and uncramped her fingers from the wheel, stretched and rolled her shoulders. She’d made it. And with the fat flakes falling as fast as possible, not a moment too soon.

Door open, she stepped into the crunching snow, already accumulated to over an inch, and pulled out her overnight bag, glad she’d worn boots just in case. A mug of hot decaf would taste fabulous right now, and she looked forward to a chat with the owners about annual holiday events in the surrounding area, to flesh out her article.

Unfortunately chatting would have to be done another time. A black-and-white Closed sign hung in the office window under an envelope with her name on it taped to the glass and another one above it that read “Smith.” Great. Not only was she the only guest, the place was entirely deserted of staff, too. Who knew if this Smith person would even show up, considering the weather.

Hmm.

She did a slow three-sixty, taking in the darkening sky, the wind picking up.

Romantic? Or creepy?

For a second, the idea of driving back into Skowhegan appealed. Until she realized she’d have to drive through worsening snow, which could become not only an annoyance but a serious hazard on unfamiliar roads. And she’d have wasted the chance to write this article, which could become a humor piece if need be: Romantic-Getaways Author Becomes Stephen King Heroine.

Only, in case the fates were feeling tempted, she was kidding about the horror stuff.

Kidding.

She shivered, grabbed the envelope and ripped it open. Two keys—thank goodness they’d honored that request. She’d locked herself out of too many hotel rooms to count and asked for an extra as a matter of routine now. On each key ring hung a small, rough wooden circle, the cross-section of a tree branch with distinctive white birch bark still clinging in places. The circles had the cabin numbers burned into them. She peered at the first. Cabin six. Frowned at the second. Unless she was mistaken, the other key had a nine on it, though it was hard to tell, the way the wooden disks spun. Someone must have picked them up in a hurry, not realizing one was upside down.

Nice. Though considering the weather, no chance of her coming outside to get locked out in the first place. Not as if there was a lot of nightlife in the area to be explored…except maybe animal.