Her Holiday Prince Charming. Christine Flynn
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I’ll check my schedule and Phil can set us up with a day and time next week to go over inventory.”
He set his coffee on the table with a decisive clink and pulled his business card from his pocket. Walking around the table to give it to her, he watched her rise. As she did, his glance slid over what her coat had hidden earlier. The long black turtleneck she wore skimmed her feminine curves, molded the sweet shape of her hips.
She had the body of a dancer. Long, lithe and sexy as hell.
Masking his misgivings about having to deal with her, feeling them mount by the minute, he ignored the vague tightening in his gut. “Do you need help moving in?”
“No. I’m... No,” Rory repeated, hating how flustered she felt. “But thank you.” The last thing she wanted was to impose on this man. Considering what he’d been asked to do for her, she’d be obligated enough to him as it was. “I’d planned to be out Monday, so I’ve already arranged for movers.”
She pushed back her bangs, revealing the pinch of her brow. “You really don’t mind if I take things over before the sale closes?”
“You said you want to be settled before Christmas.” He assumed now that that desire had something to do with putting up a tree. “The earlier you start, the sooner you can be.”
Rory swallowed. Hard.
“Thank you.”
He held out his card. “My office and cell numbers are on here. Call me if something comes up. I’ll leave a key under the rock by the back porch. You’ll get a full set at closing.” His fingers brushed hers. Her skin felt cool to him, soft, and though he was trying not to notice anything in particular about her, he could have sworn he felt her trembling.
Without looking up, she palmed his card and clasped both hands in front of her.
“You’re sure you’re covered on the move?” he asked
“I’m positive. I arranged everything a couple of weeks ago.”
Standing as close as he was, he caught the tremor in her breath as she eased it out. He didn’t doubt she felt overwhelmed with all that was happening for her. Yet she managed to maintain the composure that had her graciously assuring Cornelia that she truly needed nothing else as far as help was concerned. Something about that composure seemed practiced to him, though. It was as if she’d found herself in overwhelming or uncertain situations before and wasn’t about to let anyone see how unsettled she really was.
She wouldn’t look at him again. She seemed to know what he’d seen, and felt totally embarrassed being so exposed. A huge burden was being lifted from her slender shoulders, but she wasn’t letting herself feel the relief of that weight. It appeared that admitting the scope of that relief would be admitting how truly desperate she’d begun to feel. So she just kept it all in, as if that was what she’d become accustomed to doing anyway, and turned to the women.
With a choked little laugh, she said she had no idea how to thank them.
Leaving her to figure it out, he looked to the matriarch running the show, thanked her for the coffee and headed for more familiar territory.
He’d given his word that he’d help. And he would. He never promised anything he didn’t intend to deliver. But when he showed up for the meeting Phil arranged for him with Rory the following Wednesday, he discovered something about his charge that he hadn’t anticipated.
The young widow with the sweet, sharp little boy might have looked as fragile as sea foam, but she had a stubborn streak as wide as Puget Sound.
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