Anne Winston - Seducing The Proper Miss Miller

“You are sadly repressed,” she told herself, thinking of how limited her experiences with men were compared to most other twenty-six-year-olds she knew. “Well, not just repressed,” she amended. “Also too doggone busy to think about men.”

Her gaze drifted back to the window and she absently appraised the torso still in full view, while her mind drifted. Did this man do carpentry work, as well? Perhaps when she got the preschool project off the ground, he could put up some sturdy shelves and cupboards that the children couldn’t accidentally pull over onto themselves. There were so many safety precautions to take when considering working with young children....

In her head Chloe could see the interior of the unused rooms in the church basement, cleaned and decorated with tiny tables and chairs, the walls hung with early learning materials and shelves full of toys for little hands to explore.

There would be a rug for story time, she thought as her gaze traced the crisp line of curls that arrowed from the woodworker’s chest down into his jeans. She followed the curls back up his chest, and over a roughhewn, stubbled jaw that was nearly all she could see of his face beneath the battered cap—

Oh, glory, he was watching her!

Chloe tore her gaze from the window and attacked the typewriter keys. She could feel a blazing heat suffusing her face. Serves you right, she told herself sternly, ogling the poor man. He’s probably as embarrassed as you are.

After a minute she risked another glance toward the window.

The workman had climbed down a rung or two. An unruly mess of golden-streaked curls over which he had jammed a baseball cap hid his face from full view but he was looking straight at her, and before Chloe could react again, he raised a hand and gave her a cocky salute, white teeth flashing as he laughed aloud. The sound penetrated the glass, reaching her burning ears as she ignored the wave and applied herself to the keyboard with unnecessary vigor.

She would not look at him again, she promised herself.

But she couldn’t prevent her mind from replaying, in vivid color, the sight of him framed in her window. She didn’t know his name, at least not his first name, but she assumed he was the “Shippen” of Shippen Carving and Restoration on the contract he’d submitted.

He was rumored to be wild and undisciplined, the local bad boy. Though she couldn’t recall hearing anything specific, the look on the parishioners’ faces when they’d learned who had been hired to do the exterior repairs had said a lot. Miss Euphorbia Bates, who helped fold bulletins for the Sunday services, had frowned darkly when she’d heard. “A devil, that one. I bet there wasn’t a girl he ever wanted who said no to him.”

Chloe took notes once a month for the congregation’s meeting of the elders. Her father, the pastor, had looked apoplectic when Mr. Shippen’s name was proposed. “He’s a defiler of young women,” he’d pronounced in ominous tones.

“God will judge each of us, so there’s no need for us to judge each other,” said Benton Hastings, the elder who was in charge of getting bids for the job. “This young man is a skilled woodworker with a reputation for fair business dealings.”

“God works in mysterious ways,” piped up Nelda Biller. “Perhaps we can be an instrument of salvation.” Nelda had a way of spouting predictable Christian platitudes, and before she could get on a roll, Benton Hastings jumped back into the pause. “Shall we put it to a vote?”

Shippen Carving and Restoration had gotten the church job despite the dark mutterings of its pastor. What in the world, she wondered, could her father have meant?

She was shaken back to the present by the sound of the office door opening. Instantly she began to type again, fixing a pleasant smile on her face. “Good morning, may I help...you?” The question trailed off in the sudden silence, and Chloe’s fingers stilled on the keyboard when she saw who had entered the office.

It was Shippen, the Shirtless Wonder, now decently covered with a T-shirt. He’d taken off his cap and with her first clear glance at his face, Chloe nearly jumped out of her seat in shock.

It was him.

Oh, this was terrible. She’d wondered about him for three years, ever since one impetuous evening of rebellion had brought her into closer contact with him than she had liked, but she never expected to see him again. Geiserville might be a small place, but she moved in an even smaller circle within it, composed largely of her father’s parish. She was hardly likely to run into a wild playboy unless she went hunting him.

Which she certainly never would do. He had no scruples and fewer morals. Exactly the type of man she would avoid at all costs.

“Hi. I’m Thad Shippen. I’m the face that goes with the body outside your window.” His voice was smooth and clearly amused. He was smiling at her with warm masculine interest that she couldn’t miss, but what struck her forcefully was that there wasn’t a glimmer of recognition in his eyes.

He didn’t remember her!

Well, this certainly wasn’t the time to remind him.

She looked up at him again, feeling a hot flush spread from her neck to her hairline. She couldn’t sustain the eye contact, and settled for a spot just to the left of his head. Her face felt redder than ever, but she forced the pleasant smile into place again, pretending this was just an ordinary meeting. “I’m Chloe Miller. If you need anything let me know, and I’ll try to find it.”

“Anything?”

She glanced at him again, startled by the innuendo, and saw that he was smiling, a knowing kind of smile that made every cell in her body stand up and take notice. He looked amused, and his eyes crinkled at the corners as his smile grew wider.

His eyes were beautiful, the kind of eyes one of her friends called bedroom eyes. Chloe always noticed people’s eyes. In this case she could have been blind, and still those eyes would have made an impact. They were blue, the striking unusual sky color so rarely seen, an incredibly intense blue made even more so by the tanned skin of his face. It had been dark when she’d met him, and she’d never seen him in daylight, never been subjected to the full force of that blue gaze. The eyes held an intimate smile beneath their droopy lids that made her want to smile back, but she suppressed the urge and ignored his lazy grin.

“Was there something you needed in the office?”

He nodded, still smiling. “May I use your telephone?”

“Of course. Come around the counter.” She beckoned him around to her desk and set the telephone within his reach.

Thad Shippen settled one hip comfortably on the corner of her desk and picked up the telephone. His jeans were nearly white with age, stained and ragged. The fabric stretched taut over his thighs. Through a hole along one seam she could see a wedge of tanned skin and blond curl. Hastily she averted her eyes from that leg. Her stomach was tied in enough knots to satisfy a scoutmaster.

Would he recognize her? She devoutly hoped not. The memory of the night she’d met him still embarrassed her. If he brought it up, she’d just die.

While he dialed and spoke to someone at the local builders’ supply store down on Main Street, she studied him covertly. He didn’t have movie-star-handsome features, but his straight nose and the aggressively squared jaw formed a definitely masculine face. His lower lip was full and sensual, its upper mate thin and clearly defined in a manner that curled up the corners of his mouth in repose and left him looking as if he were always just a wee bit amused at the world. When combined with a high brow that invited a woman’s soothing hand and those sleepy, come-hither eyes, he was a dangerous package. She could see why it was rumored that no girl ever turned him down.