Free Sinful Seduction by Ann Christopher Page B

Sandro wondered. Could longing? Could frustrated desire?
    Hands shaking, he reached for the desk drawer and pulled it open. Reached inside. And pulled out Skylar’s flower, dried, pressed between the folded note card that had kept it safe when he’d carried it overseas, to the war. He pressed it to his nose, remembering. Yearning.
    That was the thing about Skylar: she was with him. She was always with him.

Chapter 7
    “H ey, hey, hey!” called a voice behind Skylar early the next morning. “What the hell’re you doing there? You trying to get yourself into trouble, or what?”
    Damn. And she’d almost made a clean getaway. Not that she’d hoped to get far with her bad leg, which was merely achy today rather than outright painful, but still.
    Skylar adjusted her scarf a little higher around her neck and turned to see Mickey rolling down the path toward her, arms pumping and eyes glinting. She’d hoped to sneak out for her little walk and back in again before anyone could warn her against it, but so much for that plan.
    “Good morning,” she evaded, flashing him a smile that she hoped looked convincingly innocent. “What a beautiful day.”
    Mickey, who was wearing fingerless gloves along with his black knit cap and puffy jacket, jabbed his index finger at her. “Don’t even try it. I will not be sweet-talked. What the hell are you trying to do to your stitches there? You know I’m not an M.D. Those things could pop any second with you roaming around out here like you’re on a freaking hike. Why can’t you stay put? What’s the matter with you?”
    Wow. Those was a lot of questions. “I’m getting a little exercise. And my leg is fine.”
    “Yeah, well don’t expect me to go fixing you up again when you topple over and crack your thick skull. Just so we’re clear.”
    “I understand. Why don’t you come with me?”
    “The Cap would kill me. I don’t get paid for strolling and chatting.”
    “What, ah, do you get paid for?”
    “Groundskeeping. And whatever else he cooks up for me to do.”
    “Well, the gardens are beautiful. What I can see of them, anyway.”
    He narrowed his eyes at her, looking suspicious. “Thanks.”
    “How did you wind up working here?”
    “The Cap didn’t approve of me trying to drink myself to death after I lost my legs. So he hauled my ass up by the scruff of my neck and put me to work.” He shrugged. “Now I got something to do.”
    “He’d be lost without you. I can tell.”
    Mickey blinked, frowning.
    “So…why don’t I make breakfast this morning?” she suggested.
    “There ain’t nothing to make.”
    “Didn’t you mention you had some milk and eggs in a cooler on ice?”
    “Lady, we ain’t got no power.”
    “Don’t we have fires in the fireplaces? Where’s your sense of adventure?”
    His bottom jaw hit his lap. “What do I look like—a camper?”
    “Okay, well, look. You can sit there and argue with me, or you can show up at chow time. I’ve got a taste for French toast and eggs. Assuming you bachelors have some syrup around here somewhere.”
    He shrugged, his eyes showing a flare of begrudging interest. “I’ll get you some syrup.”
    “Great! I’ll meet you in the kitchen in half an hour.”
    “You got it.” He wheeled around to go, but then snapped his fingers and turned back. “The crews’re getting closer, clearing the trees and whatnot. They should have the roads clear soon. You hear ’em?”
    The relentless buzzing of chainsaws had woken her, even though her room was on the backside of the house. She’d done her best to ignore it. Possibly because she knew that if the roads were being cleared, then her days here were numbered, if not over. And she didn’t want to leave the Hamptons yet.
    She didn’t want to leave Sandro yet.
    “I heard them,” she said, trying to act like this was good news.
    “I thought that would make you happy.”
    With that, Mickey disappeared toward the house, and she continued her slow hobble down