Free Sinful Attraction by Ann Christopher Page B

the fieldstone fireplace looked like a perfect place for roasting a whole bison. Weathered leather sofas and chairs, interspersed with rough-hewn tables, benches and more chairs, sat upon Native American rugs. Ethnic hangings, photographs and carvings clung to the walls. Antlers were a crucial component of the decor, from the wrought-iron chandelier hanging over the seating area, which sported a curly set of ram antlers, to a ten-pointed version from some sort of antelope or deer, to the impressive longhorn set adorning the painting above the mantel.
    Claudia craned her neck, trying to take it all in.
    Off in the gleaming granite kitchen, which was a football-field length away on the other side of the great room, pots steamed atop gas flames, and a woman of indeterminate age added spices to something that smelled savory and delicious. Claudia didn’t want to act like an uncouth idiot and shout a greeting to her across the vast space, so she raised a hand in a wave.
    The woman nodded, then raised a wooden spoon and ducked her head to taste her creation.
    One of the men whistled with appreciation.
    “Great place,” Marcus said.
    “We get that a lot around here,” Summer said with pride.
    “Hang on.” Claudia ventured to the edge of the vast rug just inside the door, her attention snagged as she took a closer look at the moody black-and-white mantel photograph. “Is that an Ansel Adams?”
    “Freeze!” Summer barked.
    Claudia jumped with surprise, one booted foot hovering over the polished hickory floors, and looked wildly around, half expecting to see a dangerous creature like, say, a rattlesnake approaching. Marcus, acting quickly, grabbed her arm to keep her from losing her balance.
    “What is it?” Claudia cried, getting both feet back onto the rug.
    “We don’t wear shoes inside the house,” Summer admonished as though the rules inside Judah Cross’s house were well-known facts drilled into every kindergarten child in America. She had, Claudia noticed, already ditched her awful pink shoes, which were now sitting on a corner of the rug. “We don’t want to track any impurities into Judah’s haven, do we?”
    Claudia, who tracked impurities into her own New York haven on a daily basis, blinked. “No?”
    “No!” Smiling with that bottomless enthusiasm that Claudia was beginning to find a bit tiresome, Summer pointed them to a bench and set of cubbies next to the front door. “So we have a surprise for you—slippers!”
    Each cubby sported a label with one of their names written in the kind of flawless calligraphy that Claudia normally saw on high-end wedding invitations. Inside her cubby was a pair of admittedly expensive sheepskin moccasins with fluffy shearling liners.
    The slippers were pink.
    Looking sadly down at her favorite Stuart Weitzman riding boots, which she’d had for years but had specially polished for this trip West, Claudia stifled her sigh. She tried to smile her thanks for the slippers and plunked herself down on the bench to put them on.
    Marcus and Cooper sat on either side of her, sandwiching her between broad shoulders, long legs and testosterone.
    “Wonderful! You’ll love them! They’re so comfortable!” Summer clapped her hands with a delight that Claudia frankly couldn’t understand. Jimmy Choos? Yeah, Claudia would clap for those. Fuzzy slippers? Not so much. “And what about your juice orders? We have wheatgrass, kale or chlorophyll.”
    Claudia recoiled but focused on keeping her face horror-free.
    Cooper made a soft sound of disgust in the back of his throat.
    “Do you have anything that’s not...green?” Marcus asked pleasantly. “I’m partial to orange when it comes to juice.”
    “Oh, we don’t have orange.” Summer crinkled her nose and waved a dismissive hand. “That doesn’t have any cleansing properties. I’ll just bring a sampling of several for all of you. You’ll love it. Trust me. I’ll be right back!”
    With that, she bustled off across the