Sam shrugged, allowing cynicism to slash through his tone. "Apparently some people in this world actually want to get married. Go figure."

His comment hit the mark. Annie’s baby blues widened a fraction, mirroring an anguish that struck like a blow. When would he learn? Her pain had always been his own, magnified by some quirk of fate. He released his breath in a gusty sigh. "Aw, hell, honey. I’m sorry."

"Forget it. I deserved it." Her voice dropped. "I deserve that and more."

"Why?" The question was torn from him and he clenched his hands so he wouldn’t touch her. If he took her in his arms again, she wouldn’t escape. He’d drop her to the overgrown grass and make her his in the most permanent way possible. "Can’t you just tell me that much?"

For an instant he thought she’d reply. Then she turned abruptly and faced the house. "We’d better get on with this. Aunt Myrtle will wonder what’s taking so long. And there’s been enough speculation on that point, don’t you think?" She didn’t wait for a response, but pointed to the roof on the north side. "You had some damage there. A tree came down on it during Hurricane Bonnie."

It took a full minute for him to release his anger and regain a small measure of calm. "Let’s go in and take a look."

She silently followed as he climbed the porch steps and shoved open the front door. "All the doors and casings have warped over the years," she warned. "They’ll need to be trimmed up and rehung. I guess you can take care of it easily enough if you’re staying. Of course, you’ll also need to have the power turned on. The water, too. But that shouldn’t take much more than a day or two to arrange."

He gave a noncommittal response, knowing full well it wasn’t what she wanted to hear. He still hadn’t answered that all important question. Was he sticking around? Or had he returned for a short visit—just long enough to take his revenge before returning to Wall Street? Since he didn’t know the answer to that himself, it was a bit difficult to satisfy her curiosity.

He waited a minute for his eyes to adjust to the dim interior, then examined the foyer in surprise. "Looks clean."

"I stir myself every so often to come in and give the place a good going over."

"That must set people to talking." He rocked back on his heels, slanting her an amused glance. "Or is that only to be expected of Saint Annie?"

She shoved her hands into the pockets of her sundress...but not before he’d seen them clench in white-knuckled fists. Interesting that she resisted the label others on the island would be only too happy to accept. "I can’t help what people think," she informed him. "I don’t come over here to please them."

Then why did she? "We had some good times here. Do you think about that when you drop by?"

He must have hit another nerve. She walked determinedly toward the staircase, carefully avoiding his gaze. "Why don’t we go to the attic first so you can check out the damage up there?"

She didn’t wait for him to respond, but started up the steps. Temptation beckoned and he followed, admiring the graceful sway of her pert backside and the jaunty bounce of sunlit curls tumbling down the length of her spine. Her dress molded briefly to long slender legs and thighs, teasing him with a glimpse of what was hidden beneath, before billowing modestly outward. He found it ironic that a simple calf-length sundress could stir a more potent reaction than the slinky bits of nothing commonly worn by the women he dated.

The final stairs leading from the second story to the attic were narrow and steep, and it was hotter than Hades in the cramped area beneath the rafters. One side had been boarded over, the tiny square window sealed in plastic. She crossed to the opposite end, to the only other window and tried to force it open.

When she didn’t succeed, Sam came up behind, no doubt crowding her if the rigid line of her spine was any indication. "Here. Let me."

She stepped aside, though probably not as far as she’d like since the steep pitch of the roof prevented her from entirely escaping physical contact. Her hair clung to the nape of her neck in damp ringlets and the upper slopes of her breasts glowed with the soft sheen of perspiration. She smelled of summer warmth and salt-tainted earth underscored by a delicate woman’s fragrance. It was a unique scent he knew well, one he’d carried in the deep recesses of his memory for seven long years.

Giving the casing a hard whack, he forced the swollen wood to loosen. The window swung open and a soft breath of humidity-laden air swept into the stuffy interior. Annie closed her eyes and tilted back her head, easing the loosened bodice of her dress away from her chest. The sultry breeze kissed the dew from her skin, while sunlight slipped through the bodice of her dress turning it almost transparent. He caught tantalizing glimpses of her sweetly rounded breasts, the rosy centers a delicate blush of color against the thin cotton barrier. Sam could only stare, certain he’d carry the image of this moment for the rest of his life.

Slowly her lashes drifted upward, her eyes shadowed within the dusky gloom of the attic—shadowed, too, by memories still ripe enough to add sweetness to the bitter tang of a love long lost. For an instant her lips parted as though hungering for another kiss. It would be so easy to draw her into his arms, to give her the physical surcease she craved. But he didn’t want to win that way. He wanted more. He wanted it all. Body and soul. Only when she surrendered emotionally, as well as physically, would he be appeased.

"What did you have to show me, Annie?"

Her breath hitched in the heavy air, awareness swift to return. She released the neckline of her dress and pressed her hand protectively to the exposed cleft between her breasts. It was such an utterly feminine gesture, one made by countless women through the ages when confronted by a masculine threat. He didn’t know whether to be amused, insulted or reassured. He caught her fingers in his and drew them away from body. He could hear the frantic give and take of her breath, see the rapid rise and fall of her breasts. It would be so easy to take the next step.

Annie was ripe for ruining.

This book was:

 

Winner of 2000 Greater Detroit RWA Booksellers Best Award, Traditional Category.

 

From the book:

 

SHOTGUN BRIDEGROOM

by Day Leclaire

White Weddings Promotion

Harlequin Romance #3564–August ’99

ISBN:  0-373-03564-0

 

"Run out of town seven years ago, a gorgeous tycoon returns home to reclaim the love of his life, a beautiful teacher who jilted him on their wedding day. Can she walk away from him once again, or will he become a SHOTGUN BRIDEGROOM? Favorite author Day Leclaire gives readers another remarkable tale of love and romance touched with humor, appealing characters and a unique premise." Shannon Short, Romantic Times Magazine

Copyright © 1999 by Day Leclaire.  ® and ™ are trademarks of the publisher.  This edition published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.  For more romance information surf to: http://www.eharlequin.com