Free Lone Star Wedding by Sandra Steffen Page A

show that romance isn’t exclusively for the young.”
    He waited until they were halfway up the stairs to say, “I’m not opposed to romance. I’d be happy to prove it to you.”
    â€œYou’re too kind.”
    Following her to the top, he said, “That’s the first time I’ve ever been accused of that.”
    He sensed her small smile, but she seemed to know better than to reply. She unlocked a heavy steel door, which swung in on silent hinges. Together, they stepped into a small sitting room. She flipped a switch, and the room was bathed in soft light.
    Glancing around, Parker wondered why he was amazed when the room was exactly what he should have expected.Once again, it wasn’t the colors that made it uniquely feminine, but the style. The off-white carpet was soft beneath his feet, the beige overstuffed sofa with its gracefully curved back and all those lace-covered pillows could have only been purchased by a woman.
    â€œWould you like something to drink, Parker?” she asked, opening a window and turning on a ceiling fan. “I’m afraid my only concession to liquor is cooking sherry and Chianti, a gift from a former client. But I have lemonade in the refrigerator.”
    â€œNothing for me,” he said, watching as she strode to an antique writing desk and punched the button on her answering machine. She listened to the beginning of each message, then fast-forwarded to the next. Wondering who she was hoping to hear from, he wandered to a unit of shelves across the room.
    Her reading material ranged from coffee-table books to recent bestsellers, to Kafka, which further proved that Hannah Cassidy was a study in contrasts. Beige and lace. Kafka and an entire book devoted to comics. Cooking sherry and Chianti. A brown tweed pantsuit and that body.
    â€œHow long have you lived here?” he asked.
    â€œFour years.”
    â€œIt suits you.”
    â€œAdrienne swears it needs a little pink. Preferably bright pink.”
    He thought she sounded preoccupied. “Bright pink isn’t your style, is it, Hannah?”
    Hannah turned slowly. Her messages droned in the background. She barely heard. Parker was standing across the small room, one hand in his pocket, his feet spread a comfortable distance apart, his head tilted slightly. The lamp in the corner cast shadows behind him, deepening the cleft in his chin. She couldn’t see the color of his eyesfrom where she stood, but the sensual intent came through loud and clear.
    Fumbling behind her, she turned off the answering machine. She’d just spoken to every neighbor she’d happened to see. How could she suddenly be at a loss for something to say to Parker?
    There was something deliberate in the step he took in her direction, something just as deliberate in his smile. “What’s your favorite color, Hannah? No. Let me guess. It’s brown.”
    She smiled. She couldn’t help it. He thought he was so intuitive. “Nobody’s favorite color is brown, but you’re close. Actually, I like anything in the brown family. Honey, beige, tan, cocoa, cinnamon, coffee, terra-cotta.”
    â€œWarm colors for a warm woman.”
    He walked closer, his stride as smooth as that last line.
    She wasn’t afraid of him. She knew on an instinctive level that he wouldn’t take advantage of her. Still, to insure that he didn’t get the wrong idea, she held up one hand in a halting gesture.
    He took her hand in his. Before she could do more than gasp, she toppled into his arms.
    He covered her lips with his as if he knew exactly what he was doing, and was enjoying it immensely. She could have fought the kiss, but the way he held her, as if she was delicate and special and a rare gift, was difficult to resist.
    Impossible to resist.
    She closed her eyes. Giving in to the delicious sensations pouring through her, she parted her lips and kissed him in return. She took a deep breath the