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“What are you two doing?” Poppy asked.
“Uh, eating,” Sylvie said, though she couldn’t have downed another bite of salad if her life depended on it.
Poppy’s laugh was low and husky, as perfect as her simple red sheath and boxy jacket. Here was a woman who would have fit perfectly into Andrew’s world. Classy with a capital C.
When Josie had told her Poppy was a social worker, Sylvie was disbelieving. Fashion model? Absolutely. Social worker? No way.
Sylvie could easily believe that Benedict, in his dark brown pants, ivory shirt and Italian loafers, had been Andrew’s schoolmate. Right now Ben’s shrewd gray eyes were as curious as his wife’s.
Apparently deciding the best response was a strong offense, Andrew smiled. “Sylvie and I were acquainted when she lived in Boston. We thought it’d be nice to renew our...friendship.”
Blast him for that tiny hesitation that gave an extra punch to the last word. The implication that there had once been more between them was there. That was obvious when her two friends exchanged knowing glances.
Ben looked amused but not particularly surprised. “How fortunate, then, that I ran into you and invited you to the barbecue.”
“I’d planned on looking up Sylvie anyway.” Andrew spoke smoothly. “But it was a surprise to learn we had a common friend.”
Sylvie wasn’t sure Dr. Benedict Campbell, one of Jackson Hole’s leading orthopedic surgeons, considered her a friend, but she wasn’t about to protest.
“A bunch of us meet here each week when the kids are in Sunday school. We have a large table toward the back.” Poppy stepped back to let the waitress slip around her to top off Andrew’s coffee cup.
Sylvie saw Andrew’s gaze follow the gesture to an alcove at the very back of the dining area where a large rectangular table sat, three-quarters full.
“We’ve asked Sylvie to join us many times,” Poppy said pointedly. “She always turns us down. At least now we’re in the building at the same time, so I’d say we’re making progress.”
Sylvie smiled. She liked this social worker. The ones she’d dealt with growing up had always seemed more concerned with their rules and regulations. Poppy seemed to genuinely care about everyone.
“Join us?” Poppy pressed.
“We appreciate the offer,” Andrew said, before Sylvie could politely refuse again, “but we’ve got a lot of catching up to do.”
We? Sylvie’s head began to spin. Had he really said we? As if they were together beyond this lunch. And why was his hand closing over hers, giving it a proprietary squeeze?
No. No. No.
When she attempted to pull her hand back, those strong fingers merely tightened around hers. His hand remained in place until Ben and Poppy said their goodbyes and wandered off to join their friends.
Once their backs were turned, Sylvie jerked hard and finally freed her hand. “What was that about?”
Instead of answering, Andrew calmly lifted the napkin from his lap and placed it on the table. She noticed he’d barely touched his food. “I’m finished eating. How about you?”
“I’m done.” She stared down at the salad, and a rush of emotion swamped her. While she’d cried buckets of tears after leaving Boston, seeing Andrew reminded her how dear he’d once been to her...and how easily she could once again become attached to him.
She would return the ring. There would be no reason then for her to see him again.
“Andrew.” She swallowed hard. “I kept your ring. That was wrong. I apologize.”
For a second he looked confused, as though he’d forgotten about the three-carat flawless diamond. When he finally did react, he waved the words away as if the ring was of no consequence. “I gave it to you. It’s yours.”
“You gave it to me when we made a promise to each other,” Sylvie insisted. “But—”
“I don’t care about the damn ring.” Abruptly, Andrew pushed back his chair with a clatter and stood, tossing several bills on the table. “I do care why you ran out on me. We’ll discuss that at your place.”
People seated around them stared with a curiosity that had Sylvie scrambling to her feet. While she would never live her life according to others’ expectations, she was a business owner—a new business owner—in Jackson Hole and preferred not to encourage idle gossip.
Sylvie forced a smile and an easy tone. “Sounds like a plan.”
On their way out of the café, she tolerated the palm he placed against the small of her back. But once they were outside and standing in front of a closed insurance agent’s office, she whirled.
“What kind of game are you playing? What do you want from me?”
He raked a hand through his hair, blew out a breath, but didn’t immediately answer.
“I’ll give you back the ring. Then this will be done.” She flipped open the flap of her purse, but once again he stopped her.
“Not here.” He took her arm and began striding down the sidewalk, his jaw set in a hard line. “At your shop.”
Had he always been this dictatorial? She pulled her eyebrows together and struggled to match his long strides. Andrew had always been decisive, no doubt about that. But she saw an arrogance here that she didn’t much care for.
Of course, what did it matter? In short order he’d be out of her life, this time for good.
He stopped abruptly, steadying her when she stumbled. “On second thought, this might be better done at your home. Where do you live?”
Sylvie blinked, her head spinning as if she was seated on an out-of-control Tilt-A-Whirl.
“Your home address.” Impatience sounded in his suddenly gruff voice. “What is it?”
Her heart began to beat wildly. Something in his tone, in the set of his jaw, brought memories from her childhood flooding back. She wanted to run, but her feet wouldn’t cooperate.
As if he sensed her distress, his eyes softened. “This is more difficult than I want it to be.”
His deep voice was suddenly as smooth and placid as Lake Jenny on a summer day.
“I live in the back of my shop.” Sylvie began to stride with purposeful steps in the direction of her business. The sooner she gave him the ring and answered his questions, the sooner he would go.
Andrew caught up with her but made no move to touch her. Instead he simply fell into step beside her. “Do you like living and working in the same location?”
“It has its advantages.”
They walked in silence for another minute.
“The cost of housing in Jackson Hole is sky-high,” she said when the silence continued. “I didn’t realize that when I moved here.”
“How’d you pick here?” His tone was conversational, as if he, too, was determined to avoid the uncomfortable silence.
“I’d been here before.” She lifted a shoulder in a slight shrug. “I remembered it as a magical, beautiful place.”
There was the barest flicker in his eyes. Sylvie might have missed it if she hadn’t been looking right at him. He’d made the connection. Remembered that she’d come here with him. They’d taken the trip on a whim, shortly after they started dating. He taught her to ski and how to throw a proper snowball.
It was during that trip to Wyoming that she’d fallen in love with Jackson Hole and with him.
Silence descended again. This time neither of them made the effort to break it.
He stepped to the side when she reached the cobalt blue door of the Mad Batter and pulled out her key. Sylvie still wasn’t certain why she’d brought him here, why she hadn’t simply insisted they conclude their business on the street.
You owe him.
“Spartan digs.”
She turned at the sound of the voice and realized that Andrew had stepped inside what she referred to as “the order room.” Not much larger than a deck of cards, it contained a small round table and two chairs.
“What happens if you have more than one visitor?” Even as he spoke she saw his gaze checking out the gleaming vinyl floor in a black-and-white checkerboard pattern and the cherry-red cushions on the chairs. Bright spots of color in an otherwise unimpressive area.
“Someone has to stand.” Sylvie flashed a quick smile. “Plus, it seems to motivate the customer to decide quickly on what they want.”
“Where are the ovens?”
It appeared Andrew expected a tour. Well, that wouldn’t take long. Not when the entire space she rented was smaller than his walk-in closet.
She stepped inside the kitchen, unable to stop the flush of pride at the sight of the commercial ovens and stainless countertops. Even the air smelled clean. And it was all hers. Hers and the First National Bank of Jackson’s.
“Impressive.” He sounded as if he really meant it. “You mentioned you live here, too. Where’s your apartment?”
“Apartment is much too glamorous a term for where I live.” Sylvie gave a little laugh as he followed her through yet another door.
Inside the postage-stamp-sized room sat a twin bed—sans headboard—pushed against a wall. The only other furniture was a microwave on a stand and a straight-backed chair that had clearly seen better days.
She swept a hand to encompass the small area. “Home, sweet home.”
Though he was obviously trying to hide his shock, he wasn’t pulling it off.
Andrew cleared his throat. “This is...all of it?”
“No, there’s more.”
The tight stiffness in his shoulders eased. He smiled. “I knew this couldn’t be all.”
“There’s a three-quarter bath through there.” She gestured with her head through yet another door. “So you see, it isn’t quite as small as it appears.”
Confusion blanketed his face. He cocked his head and stared. “Why do you live like this?”
“The rent in Jackson Hole is crazy.” He wanted honesty? She’d give him honesty. “Besides, small has its advantages. This spot is warm and dry and...cozy.”
And beats sleeping in the van, she added silently.
His lips quirked up in a reluctant smile. “You always did have an optimistic nature.”
Sylvie blinked. She couldn’t recall anyone ever telling her that before. Was it true? Or was it just one more thing Andrew had seen in her that simply wasn’t there?
She suddenly was conscious of just how tiny a space surrounded them and that she and Andrew were alone in this cozy space.
So close that she inhaled the scent of him. The cologne he wore was subtle and expensive. From day one, the enticing fragrance had the power to make her insides quiver. But how he smelled was only a very small part of what had drawn her to him.
The way he looked would have captured any single woman’s interest. She loved the way his hair glimmered, looking as soft as mink’s fur in the fluorescent lighting. She remembered how it had felt to slide her fingers through the thick strands. Maybe because he always looked so impeccable, she’d made it a point to mess up the stylish cut when they made love.
Naked, in bed, with his hair all tousled and a hint of a five o’clock shadow, he hadn’t looked like a doctor or the heir to the third-largest sporting-goods company in the United States.
During those glorious times, it had felt as if they were on equal footing. It had been easy to forget all the ways they were different.
Too easy.
“Sylvie.”
His voice was low and husky, filled with an emotion that brought a warmth to the single word.
She looked up and realized Andrew was right. There. Less than a foot separated them. He stood so close she could see the dark perimeter that surrounded the smooth gray of those gorgeous eyes framed with long, thick lashes. So close the scent of his cologne teased her nostrils, transporting her back to a time when they were happy and everything seemed possible.
“I told myself I wouldn’t do this,” he muttered.
Her heart was pounding so hard Sylvie felt light-headed. She inclined her head in the merest of movements. “Do what?”
The words sounded breathy, which was exactly how she felt at that moment...breathless.
“This.” He jerked her to him and covered her mouth with his.
* * *
When Andrew thought of his best attributes, well disciplined came immediately to mind. He’d been a sensible child and had grown up to be a sensible adult. In the important matters of his life, he prided himself on carefully weighing the pros and cons of various options before making a decision.
Then he’d met Sylvie Thorne, and sensible no longer seemed to be a word in his vocabulary.
He pulled her up against the length of his body as he ravished her mouth. It was as if he’d been in a desert the past three months and had finally found water.
Warning flags popped up one after the other in his head, but Andrew paid no heed. The need rushing through his body was too strong to deny.
He’d intended for the kiss to be brief. Unfinished business tied up nice and tight. But once his mouth had found hers, Andrew forgot how to think. He reveled in the familiar feel of her slender body with the small breasts pressed against him. When that full, sweet mouth opened to his probing tongue, Andrew breathed a prayer of thanks.
It was as if ninety-five days had melted away and all he knew, all he wanted to know, was in his arms. Everything seemed right in his world now.
When her hands stole around his neck and her fingers slipped into his hair, desire exploded like fireworks over the Charles River.
Her moan, a low sound of want and need, only further fueled the fire burning in his blood. Andrew continued to kiss her, sweet, gentle kisses at first, then long, passionate ones that soon had his heart hammering against his chest wall.
The taste of her was so familiar that he forgot all that separated them and let himself simply go with the moment. He slipped his hand under her shirt and stroked the smooth warm skin of her back. They continued to kiss until he felt drugged with emotion.
Easing his hands up her sides, he stopped just under her breasts. When she wiggled slightly in frustration, he cupped the small mounds and then teased the nipples to hard peaks with his thumbs.
Her head fell back. As she moaned with pleasure, satisfaction rippled through him.
