Barbara Boswell - The Engagement Party

Every primitive male instinct within him urged him toward the shapely, petite raven haired beauty in the eye-popping silver minidress and provocative spike-heeled sandals.

It was the sudden splash of cold water on the top of his head—yet another leak!—that jolted him out of the powerful sensual grip she had on him.

Hannah Farley was dangerous, Matthew decided. She used that smile of hers as a weapon. One flash, and bam! The unsuspecting recipient was disoriented, a willing captive to her sultry Southern charms.

Well, not him. Matthew flicked the raindrops from his hair. The smile she’d almost coaxed out of him rapidly turned into a defiant scowl. He was not here to lust after a teasing little flirt who was oh-so-confident of her appeal. He couldn’t allow anything or anyone to divert him, even temporarily, from the vital mission that had brought him to Clover.

He suspected that Hannah Farley could be far more than a temporary distraction. Becoming absorbed in her might easily become a full-time preoccupation. Matthew steeled himself against her allure. She was tempting but not irresistible. He could and would resist.

“Save it, sweetie,” he growled. “What you’re selling, I’m not buying.”

Hannah heaved an exasperated groan. “Are you one of those vain, tiresome men who thinks that any time a woman smiles at him, she’s coming on to him? Well, let me assure you that I am not, Mr. Granger.”

Matthew watched the warmth fade from her gray eyes as they narrowed to slits under her dark brows, watched her smile turn into a frown as fierce as his own. He was appalled that he felt regret, that he wanted to recall his insult and make her smile at him again. Her spell was potent indeed!

That feminine power of hers refueled his determination to send her on her way. Safely out of his way. She’d made it plain that she resented male condescension; therefore it became his weapon of choice.

“I guess it’s time for me to tell you that you’re beautiful when you’re angry.” He taunted her with his tone, with his expression. “The way you toss your hair, the way your eyes flash—baby, you project the image of glamorous anger as well as any soap-opera queen.”

Only his eyes, hot and intent, belied his cocky attitude.

Katie was right there to catch the laptop case before it hit the ground. She had rightly anticipated Hannah’s next move. “Hannah, please, the party,” she prompted under her breath. “It would be so helpful to me if you would go down and—”

“Throw the unruly mob out into the rain?” Matthew suggested. “I’m surprised none of the other tenants has complained about the noise. When I checked into this place, I thought it would provide the quiet I was seeking. Instead, there is a rowdy party going on downstairs with the Hit Parade from Hell playing in the background. Is this a nightly occurrence, Miss Jones? If so—”

“If you wanted a dark, quiet place, why didn’t you check into the city morgue?” Hannah said crossly. “The accommodations there would be ideal for an icy stiff like you.”

Matthew actually laughed. “Touché to you, too, Miss Farley.”

It was Hannah’s turn to be rendered speechless. Matthew Granger was attractive in a severely masculine way when he was angry and upset but he was absolutely charismatic when his dark eyes sparkled with humor and his face was lit with laughter.

Hannah slid a sidelong glance in Katie’s direction. If Katie had been equally floored by Matthew’s charisma, she was covering her reaction well. Katie appeared more concerned with balancing the dripping-wet computer case than gaping breathlessly at the mercurial Matthew Granger.

Which Hannah found herself doing, much to her own disconcertment. She took inventory of his face—and his body. He was not a classically handsome man but he had interesting features. The sharp blade of a nose and hard slash of a mouth were as compelling as his black eyes, arched by black brows. He was lean and muscular and almost vibrating with a restless energy that she instantly understood because she possessed it herself. A need to make things happen. An edginess combined with a daring need for something that hadn’t been found because it had yet to be identified.

“Mr. Granger, if I may, I’ll set the computer down here.” Katie laid it safely down in a dry spot and wiped her hands on the skirt of her light summer dress. “And I’ll get the key to room 206. I’ll be back in a minute.”

“Don’t forget to take your sidekick with you,” Matthew called after her, as Katie fled down the hall.

Hannah folded her arms across her chest. She decided then and there not to do anything to accommodate him. If he wanted her gone, she would stay put. “I won’t conveniently go away, giving you free rein to bully and disparage poor Katie. She obviously needs your business and you’re taking full advantage of that fact.”

“What about you?” taunted Matthew. “According to Katie, you’re a shop owner. Shouldn’t you be patronizing me as a potential customer for your wares—whatever they might be?”

Hannah gave him a dismissive laugh. “I certainly don’t need to cultivate the likes of you.”

“Because you’re a rich girl whose shop is just a diversion until a suitable candidate for your privileged little hand shows up?”

“My shop holds its own, not that it’s any business of yours. And I am definitely not in a rush to marry anyone,” she added, a little too fervently.

“Why not? Every woman I’ve ever known has been burning to find a husband and take that long walk down the aisle, all decked out in white lace and sequins.”

“Good heavens, what kind of women have you been spending time with?”

“Ones with bad taste in wedding attire?”

“Not to mention bad taste in men, if they’re burning to take that long walk down the aisle with you! ”

He grinned. “I didn’t say they all wanted to marry me. I said they all wanted to get married. Just like you do, honey. Let me guess. You want some tall, elegant Southern aristocrat who’ll keep you in the grand style you’ve always been accustomed to. Or maybe a good-looking, fun-loving socialite who glides along on his connections and his boyish charm.”

“Been there. Done that.” Hannah feigned boredom, but she was far from bored. There was a current of sexual tension sizzling between them, which energized her, challenged her, too.

“So you’re a lady with a past? I’m intrigued.”

“Don’t be. You’re not my type.”

“You’re saying I don’t stand a chance with you?” He sounded amused, not insulted.

“Not a chance,” Hannah affirmed. She sashayed by him, deeper into the room, taking care to avoid the water dripping steadily from the various leaks in the ceiling.

On top of the bureau lay a big canvas bag, which was half open and crammed full of notebooks, folders and books, both paperback and hardcover. She peered inside, but before she could glimpse any of the titles, Matthew stalked across the room to stand between her and the bureau, blocking both her view and her access to the bag.

“Do you make a habit of barging into people’s rooms and snooping through their things?” His tone was light but his dark eyes were hard and forbidding.

“What do you have in there that you don’t want me to see?” Hannah asked curiously. When she took a step closer, he sidestepped her, continuing to block her view of the bag and its contents.

“Why do you feel the need to know?” he countered.

“I don’t.” Hannah shrugged. “But you’re awfully defensive about it. Are you one of those creepy perverts who travels with his own personal stash of hard-core pornography?”

“You do have an interesting imagination.” Matthew tried but failed to suppress a grin. “But the answer is no. Sorry if I’ve disappointed you.”