Paula Roe - A Precious Inheritance

“Not everything has to be about money.” At the look on Chase’s face, she added quickly, “Oh, wow, that came out so wrong. I didn’t mean… Did you think I…? Ewww.”

You weren’t thinking ewww two days ago, though, were you?

Obviously, he was disgusted by that thought too, because his expression tightened and he rose abruptly. “I’ve got to be going.”

She nodded, her face warm. “I’ll see you out.”

Vanessa honed in on his broad back as she followed down the stairs, gazing at the efficient haircut closely cropped at the nape. The skin was smooth and tanned beneath his collar—a jogger’s tan?

Great. Now she had an image of him running in a clingy, damp T-shirt, his pumped-up arms and legs gliding him effortlessly through Central Park.

Then he was at the last step and she was back in the real world.

Should she shake his hand? Thank him for coming? No, that wouldn’t be right. Say something, she urged herself as he reached the bottom then slowly turned back to her standing on the last step.

She was nearly eye to eye with him. A disconcerting thought.

“What are you doing Saturday night?”

She wrinkled her brow. “What’s on Saturday night?”

“The Library of Congress is having a thing and I’m on the guest list.”

“A thing?”

“A formal event. To celebrate some Egyptian display.”

“The Tombs of the Missing Pharaohs exhibit?” She crossed her arms, pulling her shirtsleeves over her hands as the cold began to seep in.

“That’s the one.”

“Aren’t you leaving your RSVP a bit late?”

“I’m a donor—I get a bit of leeway.”

“Right.”

After a moment’s silence, he said, “I’m asking you to be my plus one, Vanessa.”

She blinked. She had not seen that one coming.

“But…”

“But what?”

“Well…” She felt warmth heat her neck again. “I said ‘ewww.’”

One commanding eyebrow went up. “I’ve had much worse, believe me.”

“And honestly, I didn’t mean it like that.”

“Okay.”

“Really. I mean, you’re an attractive guy. A very attractive guy and I’m…” She trailed off, swallowing thickly as Chase’s lips quirked. Okay. I should stop now.

“So,” he said, thankfully glossing over her uncharacteristic loss of control. “Saturday? Just think of it as an extended apology. There’ll be food, champagne, culture, adult conversation.” His mouth curved again, giving her a tempting sample of devastating charm. “Have I sold you yet?”

“I…” She glanced back down up the stairs, her mind spinning at the sudden turn of events. Her immediate response was to say no. She should say no. Her world and Chase’s were miles apart. She’d been a part of that world—albeit not at Chase’s high end—and had turned her back on it. But deep inside, a gentle insistent tug had started and just wouldn’t ease up.

“I’d have to get a sitter,” she warned, finally stepping down and walking over to the front door.

“Of course.”

She added, “Why are you asking me?”

“Why not?” He tempered that statement with a smile.

She swallowed. “What if I say no?”

He slid his hands into his coat pockets. “Do you want to say no?”

Maybe that manuscript wasn’t completely lost to her after all. And if one party invitation was all it took to definitively find out, then she’d consider it a good deal.

“Okay. Saturday night.”

“Great.” He reached past her for the door handle and suddenly her personal space became way too cramped. She took a step back just for the room and air to breathe easier.

Yet his perfectly handsome face, now flush with male satisfaction, made her heart pound against her ribs.

“Thanks for the coffee.”

“You’re welcome,” she replied, picking at a loose thread on her sleeve just so she’d stop staring at him.

I blame you, Mrs. Knopf. Her ninth-grade art teacher had encouraged a healthy appreciation of a well-put-together face, of shadow, form and color and it had stuck, even though Vanessa had long since made peace with her basic art skills.

“I’ll pick you up at seven-thirty.”

“Oh.” She blinked. “I thought I could just meet you there.”

“You’re not out of my way.”

I doubt it was on the tip of her tongue, but she swallowed it back. It would save on gas. She shrugged. “Okay.” Then she glanced past his shoulder. “Is it raining?”

Chase turned, his profile in stark relief against the porch light and the dark night. “It is.” He turned up his collar, dug his hands in his pockets and gave her a small smile. “Sleep well, Vanessa.”

She nodded, ostensibly crossing her arms to ward off the chill. But her goosebumping skin had more to do with the way Chase’s mouth had formed that little farewell—soft, almost intimate—followed by a small grin that had her wishing for more.

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