Last of the Ravens. Linda Winstead Jones
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that was less than conclusive. “A husband or fiancé?”
“No.” She didn’t ask him why he wanted to know. After the kiss she shouldn’t need to ask. “What about you? Is there a girlfriend out there wondering where you are on a beautiful Sunday afternoon?”
“No,” he responded as simply as she had.
“A Mrs. Korbinian?”
“Not yet,” he said, looking her squarely in the eye.
For some reason that answer brought a hint of color to Miranda’s cheeks. She tried to ease the tension in the room with a laugh that sounded all wrong, as she removed her hat and tossed it onto the couch as if it were a Frisbee. “What’s wrong with us? The ghost thing scares a lot of men away, but you…what’s your excuse, Korbinian? Why are you still single?”
“Maybe one day I’ll tell you.” If he stayed here much longer he wouldn’t be able to leave. He had the best of intentions, but if he stayed in Miranda’s company he’d soon be physically incapable of walking away, and the decision he wrestled with would be made. Bren headed for the door, but he did turn to look back at Miranda. She was a hard woman to leave. “Dinner tomorrow, my place, I’ll pick you up at six.”
He didn’t give her a chance to refuse his offer, but left quickly—while he still could.
Chapter Four
Miranda showered and put on her pajamas early in the evening, determined to get the rest that had brought her to the mountains. She would relax if it killed her! She made soup for supper—chicken noodle soup right out of the can, since real cooking wasn’t what she’d call restful. To be honest she wasn’t all that hungry, but she made herself eat a few spoonfuls.
After soup she sat on the deck for a while, enjoying the spectacle of near and distant vistas, but her eyes were drawn too often to the house at the top of the mountain. Korbinian’s house—in no way could it be called a cabin—had been built with an eye to fitting into the environment, so it didn’t exactly pop out. The roof was a dull, dark green; the deck, which ran the length of the house, seemed almost a part of the wooded landscape. If not for the little bit of light shining through large windows, which surely afforded Bren a stellar view, she could almost think his house was a part of the mountain he wanted to claim entirely as his own.
She couldn’t get a good handle on Brennus Korbinian. Yes, he looked at her like he wanted to eat her up, and they were both unattached and healthy in a world where in so many cases that was good enough for everyone involved. Miranda had never understood the appeal in a one-night-stand, but plenty of women—and men—her age did. If she was ever going to consider a casual sexual relationship, Bren would be perfect.
She understood her attraction to him, but why was he paying her so much attention? Korbinian was successful and good-looking, so he shouldn’t be exactly desperate for female companionship. Lack of social skills aside, he should have women lined up at his door, if that was what he wanted. He didn’t strike her as one of those men who had to conquer every woman they met, as if sex was a game and they thought themselves master players. She’d met guys like that, men who moved in too quickly, got too close, smiled too widely and too intimately. Bren wasn’t like that, not at all. In the beginning he had been anything but friendly, and he was very low on the smarmy meter—even though he had hiked to the cabin naked, which she surely would’ve taken as a warning sign if she didn’t instinctively like him at least a little bit.
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