After Dark

The ex had arrived.

“This isn’t about her,” Davis said, facing Sloan, turning his back on Aidan.

“Oh?” Sloan looked surprised. “You haven’t come to announce your engagement? Invite me to the wedding? Have a quick roll between the sheets before you commit?”

“There’s no wedding.” Sighing, Davis attempted to steer Sloan out of the foyer, but she simply shook her head and crossed her arms over her chest. “Things between Rebecca and I were never quite right,” he said quietly after a quick, embarrassed glance back at Aidan. “I only broke it off with you because I was tired of our long-distance relationship.”

“It was your idea to go work in Atlanta in the first place.”

“What was I supposed to do? Take over my dad’s insurance office? Hang around boring Palmer’s Island all my life?”

Sloan’s eyes flashed dangerously. “Yes.”

“Well, I wasn’t ready to do that.” He rolled his shoulders. “However, things change. I realized I made a mistake.”

“You’ve been gone for months, Davis. It took you quite a while to work out that mistake.”

“It was okay at first. I was happy, and I thought you were probably better off, too. We needed to see other people, find out what else was out there.”

Sloan glanced down, but not quickly enough that Aidan failed to see the hurt in her eyes. “I didn’t.”

“I’m sorry.” He laid his fingers under her chin and lifted her head. “I screwed up.”

“Did she break up with you?”

“No.” He stroked her arm. “Things just kind of…fell apart.”

“Got boring?” she challenged.

Davis shrugged. “I don’t know. I only know I missed you.”

“Convenient that this missing me started after Aidan sold the company.”

“I missed you before that.”

The simple explanation and clear sentiment behind it was hard to argue with. Sloan obviously felt the same, since she didn’t protest.

“I got back to the island last night,” he added, “and couldn’t wait to see you.”

Sloan moved away from him, wandering around the foyer. “I heard.”

“Already?”

“Gossip is the only thing that travels fast in this town. Helen told me this—” She whirled toward him. “Why did you come here? To this house? In another fifteen minutes I would have been back at the library.”

Or in my bed. And Aidan wished like hell he’d taken Sloan’s advice and ignored the door, forcing the intruder to go away.

Again, Davis glanced at Aidan. “I did go to the library. The clerk said you were here with the new owner, who turned out to be Aidan. So I decided to come right over.”

Now that was interesting, Aidan thought. Davis obviously hadn’t rushed over with a housewarming gift. Was it possible Davis considered him a threat to his big, happy reunion plans?

To complicate matters, he and Davis had had some minor wars over business decisions in the past. While he respected the other man’s understanding of sales and dealing with customer issues, his overall marketing strategy was too impulsive and not clearly defined. If not for his family tragedy, Aidan was sure he would have eventually fired Davis.

Was this trip back home another impulse?

Should he share these observations with Sloan? Or was he simply feeling his own level of threat from the easygoing ex?

And why was he getting so worked up about a woman he’d known less than twenty-four hours? Why did he care if she and Davis made up, screwed themselves silly, then settled into cheery, small-town life? Why did he care if Davis got his hands on that luscious body, those lips that—

Hell.

“I’m going back to work,” he said, stalking through the foyer.

“No,” Sloan said, stepping into his path, placing her hand on his chest. “Davis should go.” She glanced at him. “Aidan and I have things to discuss.”

Davis’s gaze moved to Sloan’s hand, then back to her face. “Discuss?”

“About the renovations.”

“I can discuss renovations.”

“Please go, Davis,” she said emphatically.

Davis opened his mouth, no doubt prepared to argue.

“Don’t worry,” Aidan couldn’t resist saying with a fierce look at his former employee. “I’ll take good care of her.”

Davis glared at him. “I just bet you will.” He turned to Sloan. “I’ll call you,” he said in a gentle tone.

One he no doubt practiced on a daily basis.

“Fine,” she said coolly.

Davis let himself out of the house.

“What a mess!” Sloan burst out the moment the door closed, throwing up her hands. “Our relationship was always out of balance. Why that man, of all the others, could always hit me right here—” she tapped her chest “—I’ll never understand.”

“All the others?”

Still ranting, Sloan seemed not to hear him. “The downright, outrageous nerve of him, thinking I’d jump for orgasmic joy at the sight of him.”

“Orgasmic?” Even as the idea sent ripples of anticipation through his body, she rolled on.

“I wonder if he expected to have to apologize right away, or if he thought I’d fall onto my back immediately.”

“He acted sincere,” Aidan said, shrugging. “But who knows?”

“A bit slick and convenient, but, I guess, sincere.” She stopped, then waved her hand and continued pacing.

Whether she was brushing aside the slickness or the sincerity, Aidan wasn’t sure. Her anger at Davis was good enough for him. His competitive nature was one of the qualities that had helped him to run his company so effectively.

He’d spent last night resisting Sloan. Was he now going to give in simply to win?

The idea troubled him as much as it excited him.

It had been a long time since he’d been excited.

As the arguments rushed through his head, he watched her move. She’d taken to pacing in circles. His body throbbed, watching her hips sway. When she flipped her hair over her shoulder, he groaned silently, barely resisting the urge to bury his fingers in the silky strands. Imagining those blond locks cascading across his stomach as she moved—

“I’m sorry about all that,” she said as she approached him, startling him out of his fantasy.

“It was—” He made an effort to think about hammering. Well, no, that wasn’t good. He concentrated on the image of sweeping. Sweeping, like her hair would brush across his body, tickling, arousing…“—no problem,” he somehow managed to say.

“I shouldn’t have pulled you into the middle of the argument. I’m sure you felt awkward.”

Since she was close enough now to touch, he concentrated on her face, though he found that equally distracting. “I enjoyed myself mostly. My personal favorite moment was when you mocked him about his pet names for you.”

“Mmm.” She smiled with remembrance. “I was working on the fly, but I thought that had a nice touch of anger and disbelief.”

“It did.”

“May I ask you a question?”

“Why stop now?” he asked, though the sarcasm didn’t have the same heat it might have had last night. That insane, amazing kiss had broken down a barrier he didn’t think he wanted to reconstruct, even if he could.

“Davis worked for you,” she said. “Did you not like him?”

“I did until he started ringing my damn doorbell.”

Her gaze connected with his. Fire lit with blue flames. “His timing was never that great.”

“Never?” He lifted the corners of his mouth and lowered his tone. “There are moments when timing is essential.”

Her gaze dropped to his lips. “There certainly are.”

Ding-dong.

Sloan groaned. “You’ve got to be kidding. If that’s him again, I’m gonna—” She flung open the door. “Oh, hey, Pete.”

Pete Willis, wearing an orange-and-white ball cap, worn jeans and a blue cotton shirt, stood on the porch. As Sloan stepped back, he walked inside, carrying an armload of tools. Despite the fact that he was barely twenty, he was reputed to be the best carpenter in town. So far, Aidan had to agree.

“Hey, Miss Caldwell.” He nodded at Aidan. “I’m a few minutes early, Mr. Kendrick. That all right?”

Hell, no. “Sure,” Aidan said, wondering if he could squeeze in a cold shower before getting back to work. “Why don’t you check out the supplies in the parlor? I’ll be right there.”

He laid his hand on Sloan’s lower back and ushered her onto the porch. “Thanks again for lunch.”

“Anytime.” She lifted her hand as if she might touch him, then let it fall by her side. “Sorry about my personal drama.”

“It’s fine. Thanks for returning the plans.”

She nodded. “I promised I would.” Pausing, she added, “I always keep my promises.”

He didn’t. Though he’d wanted to.

He hadn’t taken care of his family, his greatest responsibility. Was that why he felt such an intense need to be with this woman, even as he felt guilty for being alive at all? Lately he’d barely spoken to anyone, much less made an effort to pursue the company of a woman for conversation, a dinner companion or sex. But there was something about Sloan. Why? What made her so special?

Maybe he was just lonely.

Which had to be what prompted him to ask, “When do you think you’ll need to come back for another inspection?”

“When do you want me back?”

Oh, boy. He didn’t want her to leave. “You’re welcome anytime.”

She raised her eyebrows. “Am I really? How’s Friday night? We could have dinner this time.”

That’s three days away. “Okay,” he found himself saying. “Sounds good.” And when did I turn into such a lame idiot? “All I can make is ham sandwiches and spaghetti,” he added in a stronger tone. “If you want something else, you’ll have to make it.”

“Hey.” She stepped so close her breasts brushed his chest. “Don’t go back to being captain of Team Surly just yet. I happen to like spaghetti.”

He was actually encouraging company. The concept had been so foreign over the last few months, he was amazed he was taking the step. He wasn’t going to go crazy and actually get out and socialize, but if he was trying to heal his battered spirit, dinner with a hot blonde might be a promising start.

“Then that’s what we’ll have,” he said.

She angled her head. “You’re not inviting me to dinner just to tick off Davis, are you?”

“No. Of course not.” He grinned. “Though that’s a side benefit.”

She took a step back so suddenly, he grabbed her around her waist. “What? Too honest? Look, I—”

She raised on her toes and pressed her mouth—lightly—to his. “Not at all. You just have a really nice smile.”

THE MEMORY of Aidan’s breathtaking smile followed Sloan around like an arc of sunshine all week long. If the man suddenly got cheerful on her, she might have to give the renovation project to somebody else, someone unsusceptible to his allure, since she would find it impossible to talk in his presence.

Sister Mary Katherine was her first choice. And, even for her, that smile was bound to be an issue.

Besides, she could enjoy Aidan and still do her job objectively. She wanted to see where that wildly hot kiss of theirs would go if it was repeated and uninterrupted. And if he smiled and backed her against the wall, pressing that leanly muscular body to hers, she wouldn’t complain.

Would she?

As she packed her briefcase and prepared to lock up the library for the day, her thoughts turned from her upcoming date to Davis.

He’d been calling, of course, but she was playing it cool with him. Now that the initial shock was past, and her anger had somewhat abated, she’d been dwelling on her devastation and humiliation at his leaving in the first place. She’d thought he’d been The One. The one who’d be her love-of-a-lifetime, the relationship her parents had had.

But he’d left, and she’d sealed off her heart.

Now, he was suddenly back because he’d missed her?

She’d love to know what had really happened between him and that chick he’d been seeing in Atlanta. Maybe she’d left him for somebody else. He’d said she hadn’t broken up with him, but she could have left without notice and sent a note later. That wasn’t a breakup; it was abandonment.

She ought to know.

Mostly, she kept waiting for the other shoe to drop, for him to tell her he wanted something from her. Or, worse, for there to be no shoe at all. For him to dart back to Atlanta, or wherever, leaving his small-town roots behind. Again.

Focusing on Aidan was much more pleasurable.

So without effort, she put aside her worries about Davis and left the library to get ready for her date.

She’d hit Aidan with her LBD the first time they’d met, so she debated between something similar or contrasting. Maybe she should go with jeans, a flowy top and wedge heels. Casual sexy. Or she could go all out with a stop-sign-red dress. Obvious sexy. Or a feminine, springlike dress and straw hat. Picnic sexy.

Or was that too Scarlett O’Hara?

Good grief, romance was complicated.

She settled on the jeans outfit. After gathering her purse and the bread and salad ingredients she’d agreed to bring, she headed toward Aidan’s house. He was supposed to do the spaghetti and provide wine, which she needed, if the nervous fluttering in her stomach was any guide.

When she reached the porch, she noticed there were lighted sconces by the door and that the lower porch railing had been replaced. Obviously, Aidan and Pete had been working hard the last few days.

Batherton House was a typical Charleston-style double house with both first-and second-floor porches that dominated the front of the house. The central hallway separated the house, with rooms on either side. In the days before air conditioning, this allowed for better ventilation. There were some historic homes in downtown Charleston that still didn’t have full central air, but they were museums. Sloan and her fellow committee members were so thrilled to see the house coming alive again, that they certainly weren’t going to argue about an absolutely necessary mechanism for comfort in steamy South Carolina.

Thinking of steamy, she immediately thought of Aidan. A bead of sweat rolled down her back into the waistband of her jeans. She waved her hand in front of her face. Maybe she should have worn the skirt.

After ringing the doorbell, she forced herself to think enticing and positive thoughts and planted a bright smile on her face.

Which faded when Pete opened the door.

She glanced at her watch, though she knew it was just after seven o’clock. “Ah…hey, Pete,” she said, looking over his shoulder and hoping to see Aidan.

But she didn’t.

Pete stepped back, inviting her inside. “Hey, Miss Caldwell. I was closer to the door, so Mr. Kendrick asked me to answer it.”

She adjusted the grocery bag on her hip. “Oh.”

She was so insignificant as a date that not only was he not ready for her arrival, he also had his handyman playing butler? Why did she always manage to find the insensitive—

“Sorry, I’m not ready,” Aidan said, walking quickly toward her from the other end of the hall and wiping his hands on a cloth. “Pete and I were finishing up and lost track of time.” He took the bag from her hands.

His face glistened with sweat; his dark hair curled across his forehead. Stubble shadowed his jaw. He looked, as always, alluring, strong and delicious.

Her annoyance vanished.

Was that weak? Probably.

“I’m going,” Pete said. “I’ll get my stuff.” He grinned. “I have a hot date myself.”

When he wandered into the parlor, Sloan asked Aidan, “Between us, am I the hot date, or are you?”

“Definitely you. I’m sweaty.”

“I could start making the salad while you shower.”

Leaning toward her, he smiled that amazing smile, his eyes lighting with sensual sparks. “Or you could join me.”

4

SLOAN let her gaze glide over the planes of Aidan’s body.

Tempting?

Definitely.

Still, that luscious package came with a whole lotta baggage.

“That’s quite presumptuous of you, Mr. Kendrick,” she said, though she slid the tip of her finger down his broad chest as she spoke. “I think I’ll make the salad instead.”

She took the bag back from him and headed toward the kitchen. Behind her, she heard the murmurs of Aidan’s and Pete’s voices.

As she grew closer, the scent of spaghetti sauce washed over her. Clearly, Aidan had been doing something besides hammering all day.

She set her bag on the counter, then crossed to the stove, lifting off the stock-pot lid and inhaling deeply. She recognized lots of oregano, basil and garlic. A man who knew his history and his sauces was pretty much irresistible.

As she pulled lettuce, tomatoes and cucumbers from the grocery bag, she also noted that her name and phone numbers were still hanging on the fridge door and found it oddly comforting that he’d saved them. Smiling, she pulled out the wide-rimmed wooden bowl she’d brought along with the food.

“You brought a bowl?”

She glanced over her shoulder as Aidan approached. “And silverware and wineglasses. Your provisions are sparse, as I recall.”

“Were sparse.” He opened a drawer beside her, revealing brand-new silverware. “Already been through the dishwasher and everything. Plus…” He swung open a cabinet beside the sink. “New dishes. The ceramic kind. And wineglasses.” He reached into another cabinet and pulled out two, setting them on the counter.

She batted her lashes. “All for little ol’ me?”

“Yes.”

He looked so pleased with himself, her breath caught. If the man was going to start being charming, she was in big trouble.

You’re already in big trouble.

“Sorry I wasn’t ready when you got here,” he said, moving closer. “We were on a roll today.”

She swallowed as her heart rate picked up speed. “The banister to the stairs is up.”

His silver eyes flashed with pleasure. “You noticed.”

“Of course. It’s beautiful.”

“It makes a difference. The other railing was rickety, possibly dangerous, and now it looks finished.”

“And welcoming,” she said.

He drew his brows together. “Welcoming, huh? You don’t think people will want to come over and look at it, do you?”

Charm was clearly a brief and impulsive state for him. The man was warily unsociable in the extreme. “Gee, wouldn’t that be horrible?”

“Yes.” His gaze searched hers. “Really, it’s only your opinion that matters.”

Seriously? She smiled. Maybe she was making an impression. Maybe—

“Because of your connection to the historical committee,” he added.

Then again, maybe not. “Of course.”

Yet he’d invited her to dinner. He was obviously attracted to her. He was certainly interested in her. Whether he liked her—or anybody else—was another subject entirely.

He’d been through a traumatic time lately. Parents’ deaths. Violent crime. Media frenzy. They were bound to throw even the strongest off stride. And she suspected Aidan was the one who usually threw others off balance.

As did she.

He was a loner. If not before, certainly now. And she was very socialable. Between her dad, her friends, her work and her committees, she was rarely alone.

But she liked being alone with him.

She had no desire to go to a crowded restaurant or music-blasting club. She was content with spaghetti at his kitchen table.

Maybe they weren’t so far apart after all. But was that a good thing?

She fought for a casual tone. “So I’ll start on the salad while you take your shower.”

“Okay.” His gaze roved her face for a second before he said, “I haven’t done this in a while.”

“Showered or eaten?”

He laughed. Actually, laughed. Her body went hot and tingly.

Oh, boy. She was in big, big trouble.

“Had a date,” he said lightly, while she scrambled to remember the dark, angry man she’d met less than a week ago.

“I bet it comes back to you.”

His lips tipped up at the corners. “I hope so.”

After he left, she began assembling the salad—and thinking hard about the step they were taking.

It’s a simple date. What’s the big deal?

Simple. Of course. Yet it didn’t feel uncomplicated or straightforward.

She still sensed his pain, forced right beneath the surface, hovering there and waiting for a chance to spring. And while part of her wanted to know the real story behind the speculation about him, part of her didn’t care. She sort of wanted him to talk about his family and what had driven him to change his life so drastically, but in some ways it didn’t matter. She wanted to know who he was now. She wanted to live only in the moment.

The sexual tension between them was palpable. If that kiss the other day was any kind of guide, their chemistry was incredible. Did she really want to complicate things with deep conversations about suppressed feelings?

No. She really didn’t. Chemistry was welcome. Heat was enough.

Besides, with Davis back in town, she had drama and emotional confusion all on her own.

By the time Aidan returned, she’d opened and poured the wine. And crammed her worries into the back of her mind.

“The sauce is ready,” he announced. “All we have to do is boil the pasta.”

“Good. I’m starving.” She handed him a glass of wine, her pulse skipping a beat. He smelled of musk, oak and sandalwood, and his hair was still damp, jet-black waves brushing his forehead. “When did you have time to make sauce today?”

“I took a break around three.” He leaned against the counter next to her. “Are you impressed by my talents in the kitchen?”

She sipped wine to ease her dry throat. She was sure he had talents in lots of areas. “Very.”

He raised his glass to her. “You like the wine?”

“It doesn’t have the burn of whiskey.”

“Subtlety is better sometimes.” He glanced at the liquor bottle, sitting several inches away. “Wine suits my mood better tonight.”

Did that mean he was going to stop scowling at her? Did that mean the pain of whatever was driving him to whiskey the other night had eased?

Did she really want answers to either of those questions?

“Show me what you did today,” she said lightly, once again ignoring any thoughts that led to complex conversations and hidden emotions.

As they headed out of the kitchen, he asked, “Is this my official visit for the week?”

“I think this is about my third visit this week. I’m already breaking my word to not become a nuisance.”

He captured her hand and squeezed. “You’re not. I like having you here.”

She stopped and stared at him. “You do?”

He frowned, looking as surprised by his admittance as she felt. “Sure.”

“I thought you wanted to brood alone in your dark and scary castle.”

Tugging her hand, he led her into the foyer. “You’ll have me as the lead in a gothic novel pretty soon.”

“Pretty soon? I’m already there, Mr. Williams.”

“Williams?”

“As in Tennessee. If we’re going to talk gothic, we have to stay in the South.”

“Fine by me.” Standing in the doorway to the dining room, he smiled at her. “I figured it was time to let some light into my dark and scary castle.”

As he spoke, he flipped the wall switch, and the chandelier now dominating the center of the ceiling exploded with light.

She’d been distracted when she arrived, which was the only rational explanation for not noticing the fixture before. Dozens of candles with crystal tips simulating flames rested on curved pipes finished in burnished copper. The facets of light flickered so realistically, she wouldn’t have been surprised to hold her hand toward them and feel heat. The entire room glowed with soft, romantic light.

“Wow,” she managed to say.

“It would have been real candles or gas lights back then, of course,” Aidan said. “So I commissioned an artist in New Orleans to replicate the effect.”

Still staring up, Sloan walked around to look at the chandelier from other angles. “The detail is amazing.” It would look fantastic on the historical society brochures.