Rochelle Alers - A Time To Keep

His gaze moved over her features with the gentleness of an artist wielding a sable brush over a silk canvas. The unruly curls framed her face in sensual disarray, making her appear utterly wanton. The fitted halter dress displayed the fullness of her breasts and narrowness of her waist before flaring out around her hips and legs. His eyebrows lifted when he saw the color on her toes in a pair of black patent leather sandals was an exact match for her dress: vermilion red.

He smiled at Gwen as he handed her the shopping bag. “Good evening. Here’s a little something to welcome you to the neighborhood.”

Gwen stared up at the tall man in her doorway wearing an off-white, raw silk shirt, tailored black slacks, and Italian-made slip-ons, unable to ignore the tingling in the pit of her stomach. Despite her belief that she didn’t have the time or inclination to indulge in a romantic entanglement, she knew she’d been waiting to see Shiloh again, even before his deputy came by to inform her that his boss would be stopping by. He’d come not as Sheriff Harper, but as Shiloh.

“Why, thank you. But you didn’t have to. Besides, you’ve done enough.” Her hand brushed his as she reached for the bag. A shiver raced up her arm with the slight contact. She knew Shiloh felt it, too, because he jerked his hand away as if he’d been burned.

He angled his head and smiled, wanting to tell Gwen that there were other things he’d wanted to do with her that he hadn’t done with a woman in a long time. He wanted to take her to a place where they could eat, dance, and talk about any and everything.

“I don’t know if you drink, but it’s a bottle of French cognac.”

“Thank you.” Gwen grimaced. “I’ve forgotten my home training. Please come in.”

He stepped into the entryway, noticing the obvious changes immediately. The scent of roses came from a burning pillar anchored in pink sand in a large glass chimney on the handkerchief table flanked by two hall chairs.

“Your place looks very nice. How long did it take the cleaning people to finish?”

Gwen left the shopping bag on the table, then felt the heat from Shiloh’s gaze on her back as she led him into the living room. “I decided not to hire a cleaning company.”

Reaching out, he caught her upper arm and turned her around to face him. “You cleaned this place by yourself?”

Tilting her chin, she gave him a direct stare. “Yes, I did. It’s taken me a while, but I pretty much have everything under control. Right now I’m negotiating with the architectural firm that authenticated the furnishings to have them restore the moldings, ceilings, floors and walls.”

Shiloh shook his head, unable to believe she’d taken on the Herculean project by herself. “What were you trying to do, kill yourself?”

Gwen stared at the fingers gripping her bare arm. “Please let me go, Shiloh.” He complied and his hand fell to his side. “I’m sorry, sugah, but I’m not one of your hothouse Southern belles who wouldn’t think of cleaning her own home because she just might chip a nail.”

Her inflection was so unadulterated Deep South that Shiloh laughed. He wanted to tell Gwen that despite the backbreaking housework her nails were perfect. Cupping her elbow, he led her to a silk-covered sofa with a magnolia blossom print. He sat, and eased her gently down beside him.

“Let’s not fight the Civil War again, Gwen.”

She glared at him. “I would like to think that we would’ve been on the same side during that particular war.”

“We would, ” he said, deadpan. “I didn’t mean to imply that you were so helpless that you couldn’t take care of yourself.” He gave her a sidelong glance. “You strike me as a strong black woman who would be content to live your life with or without a man.”

There was enough sarcasm in his statement to set Gwen’s teeth on edge. “Men usually say that to me whenever I show them the door,” she countered.

Shiloh turned to look at her. “How many have you shown the door?”

“Too many.”

He lifted his left eyebrow. “It could be that you’ve been attracting the wrong kind of men.”

Gwen rolled her eyes, shuddering. “Like a mega magnet.”

He chuckled softly. “Perhaps your luck will change now that you’ve moved here.”

She shook her head. “I’m really not looking for anyone. Finding a partner is not at the top of my to-do list. In fact, it isn’t even on my to-do list.”

“How about an escort?”

Gwen sat up straighter. “What?”

“I’d like you to be my date for the fund-raiser.”

Feeling strangely flattered by his interest in her, Gwen asked, “Wouldn’t that pose a problem for Mrs. Harper?”

Shiloh shrugged a broad shoulder and flashed a smile. “Not in the least. My mother has her own escort for the affair, and I’m sure it wouldn’t sit too well with my brother if my sister-in-law attended the fund-raiser with another man.”

“Are you saying there are no Mrs. Harpers in St. Martin Parish other than your mother and sister-in-law?”

“They’re the only two Mrs. Harpers,” he confirmed.

Gwen hesitated, torn by conflicting emotions. The local hunk of the month had just asked her out, which should’ve flattered her, but she hadn’t made time in her busy schedule for dating. She opened her mouth to decline his offer, then changed her mind. Shiloh had gone above and beyond his role as sheriff to make certain she was safe. What did she have to lose? The fund-raiser was only one date, not a commitment for something more.

“Excuse me, I’ll be right back.” She stood up, Shiloh also rising to his feet, and walked out of the living room. Two minutes later she returned and handed him an envelope.

Vertical lines appeared between his eyes. “What’s this?”

She met his questioning gaze. “It’s a check for the tickets.”

Shiloh’s frown vanished. “I already paid for the tickets.”

“You paid for my ticket believing I would go with you?”

“I paid for your ticket with the hope that you would go with me.”

She’d glimpsed an air of confidence in the man standing only inches away. She didn’t know anything about Shiloh Harper, but liked what he’d shown her: confidence and truthfulness.

“I’ll go with you, but on two conditions.”

“Give it to me straight.”

“I pay for my own ticket.”

A hint of a smile softened his mouth. “Okay.”

“And that you will not treat me as eye candy.”

Lowering his head, Shiloh shook it slowly. “Now, that’s going to pose a problem because—”

“Shiloh!” she chided, interrupting him.

He wagged a finger at her. “Gotcha!”

Gwen grabbed his finger. “I’d never figure you for a tease.”

Shiloh sobered, his gaze betraying his thoughts. He wanted to tell Gwen that she was a tease. Everything about her face, body and intelligence teased and tantalized him.

“Only with you,” he admitted. “Now if this knowledge goes beyond these walls, then my reputation as a tough lawman will be shattered completely.”

“What goes on at Bon Temps stays at Bon Temps. ”

Shiloh wondered if Gwen had knowledge of the gatherings that took place when her namesake owned the property. And for a quick moment he wondered if history would repeat itself. After all, the present-day Gwendolyn had admitted she wanted to remain anonymous.

“Promise?” he asked, lowering his head.

There was a beat of silence before Gwen whispered, “I promise.” She wanted to tell Shiloh that he was too close, his virility too potent, and that she’d been without a man for too long, but the words were locked away in the back of her throat.