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On Temporary Terms
Janice Maynard
Sometimes keeping things strictly business isn’t an option…There’s a new bachelor in town knocking Abby Hartman off her game. Scotsman Duncan Stewart, her client’s grandson, should be off-limits – but certainly a brief, mind-blowing affair wouldn’t be too terrible…


When keeping things strictly business isn’t an option
Keeping secrets is the only one!
There’s a new bachelor in town, knocking lawyer Abby Hartman off her game. Scotsman Duncan Stewart, her client’s sexy grandson, should be off-limits—but certainly a brief, mind-blowing affair wouldn’t be too terrible. Things heat up...way too fast. And when a family crisis reveals Abby’s true identity, they must choose between keeping their fling temporary or making a permanent merger!
USA TODAY bestselling author JANICE MAYNARD loved books and writing even as a child. But it took multiple rejections before she sold her first manuscript. Since 2002, she has written over forty-five books and novellas. Janice lives in east Tennessee with her husband, Charles. They love hiking, traveling and spending time with family.
You can connect with Janice at
www.janicemaynard.com (http://www.janicemaynard.com)
Twitter.com/janicemaynard (http://www.Twitter.com/janicemaynard)
Facebook.com/janicemaynardreaderpage (http://www.Facebook.com/janicemaynardreaderpage)
Facebook.com/janicesmaynard (http://www.Facebook.com/janicemaynard)
and Instagram.com/janicemaynard (http://www.Instagram.com/janicemaynard).
Also by Janice Maynard (#ua6ff186d-e259-57f9-8317-194b78bc74de)
A Not-So-Innocent Seduction
Baby for Keeps
Christmas in the Billionaire’s Bed
Twins on the Way
Second Chance with the Billionaire
How to Sleep with the Boss
For Baby’s Sake
His Heir, Her Secret
Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
On Temporary Terms
Janice Maynard


www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
ISBN: 978-1-474-07661-6
ON TEMPORARY TERMS
© 2018 Janice Maynard
Published in Great Britain 2018
by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF
All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.
By payment of the required fees, you are granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right and licence to download and install this e-book on your personal computer, tablet computer, smart phone or other electronic reading device only (each a “Licensed Device”) and to access, display and read the text of this e-book on-screen on your Licensed Device. Except to the extent any of these acts shall be permitted pursuant to any mandatory provision of applicable law but no further, no part of this e-book or its text or images may be reproduced, transmitted, distributed, translated, converted or adapted for use on another file format, communicated to the public, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of publisher.
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www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
For everyone whose childhood
was not storybook perfect.
For everyone whose parents were
embarrassing or hurtful or not present at all.
May you find love and acceptance in other
relationships and know that you are not
defined by the difficulties and struggles
of the past. God bless…
Contents
Cover (#u606fc72c-9ea8-5fab-939a-06451d4e474b)
Back Cover Text (#u2297e492-6805-560f-90a6-a47e0b2ffd59)
About the Author (#u4600164d-ee68-56a9-82b8-4f6ebd823779)
Booklist (#ufa1a764c-aeb9-5973-8eaa-1e63c3d9c547)
Title Page (#u5d28c6b0-eeab-5a06-82bd-10fb26964757)
Copyright (#ucf359e7f-b3ba-5444-91d5-d8b615281331)
Dedication (#u8576194d-af19-5b94-8dfa-8bd135956674)
One (#udd3e193f-b493-5659-a494-f35639160a4f)
Two (#u4b79ca0b-5d19-55a6-a4f2-d569be6f5cf4)
Three (#u24ec7eca-b100-5dba-95ab-81ff8e6ea4a2)
Four (#u1c930c21-cf37-5d21-9129-dc76aeda0d7d)
Five (#ud8af50fa-fc4f-5cb4-b890-e2d89f60afd4)
Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Ten (#litres_trial_promo)
Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)
Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)
Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Sixteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Seventeen (#litres_trial_promo)
Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)
Extract (#litres_trial_promo)
Extract (#litres_trial_promo)
About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)
One (#ua6ff186d-e259-57f9-8317-194b78bc74de)
Abby Hartmann liked her job most days. Being a small-town lawyer included more good weeks than bad. But on this particular Saturday morning—the dreaded once-a-month half day—things were definitely looking up. With her palms damp and her heartbeat fluttering, she smoothed her skirt and waved a hand toward the wingbacked chair opposite her large cherry desk. “Have a seat, Mr. Stewart.”
She straightened a few papers and folders, and took a deep breath. The man whose sheer presence shrank the square footage of her office was a commanding figure. Close-cropped dark brown hair. Deep chocolate eyes. A lean, athletic body. And a stillness about him. An intensity. As if at any moment he could leap across the small space separating them, grab her up and kiss her witless. He seemed almost dangerous, which made no sense at all. Maybe it was the quivering physical awareness making her restless.
Her reaction was disconcerting. Just because the guy had a sexy Scottish accent and a seriously hot body was no reason to lose her composure. Besides, no matter how attractive, the Scotsman embodied the rich, entitled male arrogance that set her teeth on edge. She’d met dozens like him, albeit not Scottish. Men who took what they wanted and didn’t mind who they left behind in the dust.
Duncan Stewart seemed uncomfortable as well, but perhaps for a different reason. “I’m not sure why I’m here,” he said. “My grandmother likes to be mysterious at times.”
Abby managed a smile, though she was entirely off her game. “Isobel Stewart is an original, that’s for sure. It’s no big secret. She’s updated her will and wanted me to go over it with you. Do you mind my asking why you’ve decided to relocate from Scotland to North Carolina?”
He raised an eyebrow. “I’d have thought that was obvious. Granny is well past ninety. Grandda has been gone almost a year now. You know my brother, Brody, has a new wife and baby, and they’ve moved back to Skye.”
“I had heard that. Your sister-in-law owned the bookstore down the street, Dog-Eared Pages—right?”
“Aye. Since none of us have been successful in persuading Granny to sell out and leave Candlewick, somebody has to be here to look after her.”
“That’s astonishingly generous on your part, Mr. Stewart. Not many men I know, young or old, would put their lives on hold for their grandmothers.”
* * *
Duncan couldn’t decide if the odd note in the lawyer’s voice was admiration or sarcasm. “I didn’t really have a choice,” he said. His reluctance to play a part in this drama shamed him. Still, he was going to do the right thing. It didn’t mean he was comfortable with the lawyer’s praise. The woman sitting across the desk from him seemed harmless, but he would be in no rush to trust her. He didn’t have a very high opinion of solicitors in general, or of the entire legal profession for that matter. He’d seen too much nastiness during his parents’ divorce.
Abby Hartmann stared at him. “Everyone has choices, Mr. Stewart. In some instances, I might think you were in it for the money, but your grandmother has told me more than I ever needed to know about you and your brother. I’m aware that you’re extremely comfortable financially with or without your share in Stewart Properties.”
Duncan winced. “I’m guessing she also told you our father isn’t getting a dime, and she made it sound like a big deal.”
Abby gave him a small smile and nodded. “She might have mentioned it in passing. I Googled him. Your dad has a dozen thriving art galleries all over Great Britain, right? I doubt he cares about his mother’s money.”
“He and Granny have a complicated relationship. It works best when they both live on different continents.”
The lawyer grimaced, her face shadowed for a moment. “I can certainly understand that.”
Though Duncan had not wanted to come here today, he found himself willing to prolong the conversation for no other reason than to enjoy the lawyer’s company. He’d been expecting a middle-aged woman in a gray suit and glasses with precise opinions and tightly controlled behaviors. What he’d found instead was a barely five-foot-three curvy bombshell.
Maybe he had formed too many opinions of female solicitors from television and movies, but Abby Hartmann broke the mold. According to the diplomas on the wall behind her head, she appeared to be in her late twenties. She was warm and appealing, and nothing about her was rigid. Her hair was chin length and wildly curly, neither red nor blond, but an appealing amalgam of both.
She wore a black knee-length pencil skirt that showcased a rounded ass and beautiful legs that were now hidden beneath her desk. The buttons on her red shirt struggled to contain her stellar breasts. In fact, Duncan had a difficult time keeping his eyes off that tantalizing sight.
He wasn’t a Neanderthal. He respected women. Still, holy hell. Abby Hartmann was stacked. Her attire was not provocative. She had left only the first two buttons of her top undone. A tiny gold cross dangled at the upper slopes of her breasts. But that cleavage...
Moving restlessly, he cleared his throat and wished he hadn’t declined the bottle of water she had offered him earlier. “I love my grandmother, Ms. Hartmann. She and my grandfather built Stewart Properties from the ground up. In her eyes, it keeps him alive.”
“Call me Abby, please. She told me your grandfather chose to change his surname to her maiden name in order to keep the Stewart clan name going. That’s pretty extraordinary, don’t you think? Particularly for a man of his generation?”
Duncan shrugged. “They had a grand love affair, one of those you read about in books. He adored her and vice versa. From his point of view, she gave up everything for him—her family, her homeland. I suppose it was his way of saying he wanted her to have something in return.”
“I think it’s lovely.”
“But?”
“I didn’t say but...”
Duncan grinned. “I’m pretty sure I heard a but coming.”
Abby flushed. “I don’t mean to discount your grandparents’ devotion, but I doubt things like that happen anymore. The passionate love affairs. The epic gestures. The decades-long marriages.”
“You’re awfully young for such pessimism, aren’t you?”
“And you don’t know me well enough to make that judgment,” she snapped.
He blinked. The lawyer had a temper. “My apologies. We should get on with the will. I don’t want to take up too much of your time.”
Abby groaned audibly. “Sorry. Hot-button issue. Perhaps we could back up a step or two. And yes, we’ll go over the will, but first, one more question. If your grandmother left Scotland to settle here with your grandfather, how did you wind up a Scotsman?”
“My grandparents had only one child, my father. Dad was always fascinated with his Scottish roots. As soon as he was an adult, he moved to the Highlands and never looked back. Scotland is the only home Brody and I have ever known, except for the occasional visits here to Candlewick.”
“I know about your brother’s boating business in Skye. What did you do there?”
“I was his CFO.” He stopped and sighed. “Still am, I guess. We don’t know how long this hiatus will be. I’ve urged him to replace me permanently. It’s not fair for the business to limp along indefinitely.”
“I’m sorry. This must be a very challenging time for you.”
The genuine kindness in her soft gray eyes warmed him. For the first time in days, he believed he might survive this sea change in his life. “Not as hard as losing Grandda. That shook all of us. He was an amazing man.”
“Yes, he was. I didn’t know him well, but his reputation in Candlewick is impressive. People around here would do most anything for your grandmother. She is beloved, you know.”
“I do know. That’s one reason none of us had the heart to insist she leave. That and the fact that we would have had to pick her up bodily and carry her onto a plane kicking and screaming.”
“Boggles the mind, doesn’t it?”
“You don’t know the half of it. When a cantankerous old Scotswoman sets her mind to something, there’s no choice but to get out of her way.”
“I don’t envy you the task of keeping her in line.” Abby smiled, her eyes alight with humor.
Duncan tried not to notice the way her breasts moved when she shifted in her chair. “Would you have dinner with me one evening?” he asked impulsively.
The lawyer stilled. The air in the room hushed. Even Duncan was momentarily abashed. He was not at all an impulsive kind of man.
Abby gnawed her lip. “I’m not sure that would be ethical.”
Duncan seized on the weakness in her argument and the fact that she hadn’t given him an unequivocal no. “You’re not my lawyer,” he said.
“Perhaps I should have been more clear from the beginning,” she replied, looking rattled and mildly alarmed. “My colleague, Mr. Chester, has been your grandparents’ lawyer for a very long time. But he’s on medical leave at the moment following serious heart surgery. I’ve been charged with handling your grandmother’s affairs in the short term. We have a client who is very interested in purchasing Stewart Properties. It’s a cash offer.”
Duncan’s cynicism kicked in, laced with a big dose of disappointment. Lawyers were snakes, every single one of them. “Not interested.”
Abby’s gaze narrowed. “It’s a very fair offer.”
“I don’t care. I don’t want to hear about it. Granny doesn’t want to sell.”
“I thought youwere looking out for her best interests,” the lawyer said, a bite in her voice.
“I definitely am. So it raises a big red flag for me when her lawyers try to force her to sell a company she loves.”
“Mr. Chester cares about your grandmother’s well-being. We all do.”
“How touching.”
“Are you being intentionally rude and cynical, or does it come naturally to you? I resent having my professional ethics called into question.”
“And I resent people who try to take advantage of an old woman.”
“How does making her extremely wealthy take advantage of her?”
“Granny doesn’t need more money. She has plenty.”
“No one ever has enough money, Mr. Stewart. Trust me.”
Duncan heard something in that remark...something wounded and weary. But he chose not to pursue it at the moment. Despite his entirely logical antipathy toward lawyers and the inescapable notion that he should stay far away from this woman, he circled back to his original proposal. “Have dinner with me,” he said.
“No.”
Duncan frowned. “Think of it as community service. I’m lonely. I don’t know a single person in town other than my ancient grandmother and you. Have pity on me, Abby Hartmann. And call me Duncan. I feel as if we know each other already.”
“Don’t lay it on too thick, Duncan. I’ll think about it. But don’t push me. Besides, why would you want to have dinner with a snake-in-the-grass lawyer? I’m getting very mixed signals from you.”
Duncan held up his hands. “I’ll no’ mention it again. At least not for a few days. And you have a fair point. Now how about that will?”
Abby seemed relieved at the change of subject. Duncan entertained himself by watching her shift back into lawyer mode. She clicked a button on her computer, consulted a notepad, and opened a legal-size folder, muttering to herself charmingly as she did so.
He’d always been attracted to smart women. Something about their unwillingness to put up with crap from men challenged his masculinity and brought out his fighting instincts. Abby was no pushover. Though he was well aware that his arousal was not one-sided, he was not foolish enough to assume that meant an easy conquest.
If he wanted the lushly rounded lawyer in his bed, she would make him work for it. He liked that. A lot...
At last, she slid a second folder across the desk to him and opened it. “Here you go. You’ve seen an earlier version of this. One significant addition is an escape clause, if you will. After twenty-four months, if you’re unhappy and still want to go home, your grandmother has agreed to sell Stewart Properties and accompany you back to Scotland. I’ve flagged the changes and the spots where you’ll add your name. Your brother and grandmother have already signed.”
Duncan frowned. “They have?”
“Yes. Brody needed to do it before he left. Your grandmother came with him.”
“Why did no one tell me?” Duncan had a bad feeling in his gut.
“I’m telling you now.”
Duncan scanned the paragraphs of legal-speak, searching for the alterations that necessitated this visit. His heart pounded. The tiny pink “flags” denoting spots requiring his signature mocked him. Surely he wasn’t reading the document correctly. “I don’t understand,” he said slowly. “Granny told us she was leaving her company to Brody and me fifty-fifty.”
“In light of recent developments—Brody’s marriage, your relocation to America—your grandmother and your brother thought it would be only fair to change the split to eighty-twenty. You’ve given up your career and your life in Scotland. They want to make sure you don’t suffer for that decision.”
“I made the choice willingly,” he insisted. “I didn’t ask for anything in return. This is preposterous. I won’t sign it.”
“Have you met your grandmother?” Abby asked jokingly, her expression sympathetic. “I can assure you she won’t be moved on this point. Besides, you’re not getting a free ride by any means. You’ll earn your money. The company is enormous and complex. I’m told that one of the two managers is moving to the West Coast any day now to be closer to family. Your grandmother wants to be involved, but she is no longer physically capable of an intensive workday. The future success or failure of Stewart Properties will rest on your shoulders.”
“Thanks for the pep talk.”
“We have a saying in this country, Duncan. The buck stops here. Your decision to move to Candlewick and look after your grandmother is not going to be easy. Dealing with elderly people never is. But you’ll have the added stress of running a multimillion-dollar company, give or take a few zeroes.”
“Again, you suck at this.”
She grinned. “My job is to clarify the gray areas.”
“Consider them clarified.” Duncan felt mildly ill. “I have a strong urge to leave it all to Brody.”
“I don’t think he would take it.”
“Great. Just great.”
“Think of it as an adventure.”
He signed the requisite spots and shoved the folder away. “There. It’s done. I hope I can count on you in the weeks and months to come.”
Abby’s soft pink lips, lightly coated in gloss, opened and shut. “For legal advice?”
Duncan sat back in his chair and smiled at her, letting her see, for the very first time, the extent of his male interest. “For everything.”
* * *
Abby went through the rest of her workday in a daze. She fluctuated between excitement that Duncan Stewart had asked her out on a date and the absolute certainty that he had been joking.
Fortunately, she had dinner plans with her best friend, Lara Finch. The two of them met at Abby’s house and rode together the twenty miles to Claremont. There were places to eat in Candlewick, charming mom-and-pop establishments, plus the usual pizza joints, but for privacy and a change of scenery, it was nice to make the extra effort.
Over chicken crepes, Lara quizzed her. “Something’s up, Abby girl. Your face is all red, and you’ve barely said a word since we got here.”
“I talked in the car.”
“Correction,” Lara said. “I talked in the car. You did a lot of listening.”
“You’re the designated driver. I’ve had a glass of wine. That’s why my neck is hot, and I’m flushed.”
“Abby!” Lara gave her a look that said she wasn’t going to be put off.
“Oh, fine. If you must know, I met a guy today.”
Lara put down her fork, leaned back in her chair and stared. Speechless.
Abby winced. “It’s not that unusual, is it?”
“The last time you mentioned a man to me was sometime around the turn of the century.”
“We didn’t even know each other at the turn of the century,” Abby pointed out dryly.
Lara picked up her fork again and waved it in the air. “I was using poetic license to make a point. This mystery man must be something special. Please tell me he has a brother. I’m currently in a bit of a dry spell myself.”
“He does,” Abby said. “But unfortunately for you, he’s already married.”
“Bummer.”
“Yeah.” Abby debated how much to say. If she admitted the full extent of how meeting Duncan Stewart had affected her, Lara would never let it go. “Do you know Isobel Stewart?”
“Of course. Everyone knows Miss Izzy. She has several accounts at the bank.”
Lara was a loan officer at the local financial institution, a position with a great deal of responsibility and authority in a small town. She, like Abby, found Candlewick’s pool of eligible men to be lamentably small. Not only that, but a lot of guys were put off by Lara’s cool demeanor and elegant looks. Abby’s friend had the proverbial heart of gold, but she had been known to freeze a man in his tracks if he stepped over an invisible line.
“Well, this was Miss Izzy’s grandson.”
“Brody?”
“No. He’s the one who just got married.”
“To the bookstore lady...”
“Right.”
“So there’s a brother number two?”
“Oh, yeah.”
“It’s the accent, isn’t it? I’ll bet even if he had two heads and warts, women would fall all over him.”
“Are you saying I’m shallow?”
“Don’t be defensive. Tell me why he’s so adorable and irresistible that my dearest friend is in a dither.”
“I don’t even know what that means.”
“A dither. A state of flustered excitement or fear.”
Well, poop. That was Abby’s exact state. “There was something about him, Lara. An intensity. Or maybe an air of danger. I’m not sure I can explain it. He was very masculine.”
Lara’s eyes rounded. She fanned herself with her napkin and took a sip of water. “So what are we going to do to make sure this very dangerously masculine man notices you?”
Abby tried not to smirk. “Not really an issue. He’s already asked me out.”
Her friend with the runway-model body and the ash-blond hair and the sapphire eyes goggled. “Seriously? It was the boobs, wasn’t it? Lord, what I wouldn’t give to have those boobs for twenty-four hours. They’re guy magnets.”
“I don’t think he was even serious,” Abby admitted, voicing her worst fears. “He’s lonely, and by his own admission, he doesn’t know anybody in town.”
“There must have been more to it than that or you wouldn’t be acting so jittery.”
Abby’s cheeks flamed hotter. “He flirted with me almost from the beginning, and then he asked me out. But he also insulted my profession and questioned my motives. I didn’t know what to say.”
“So what did you say?”
“I told him I had to think about it.”
“Ah. That’s good. Make him work for it.”
“Lara! That’s not what I meant. I’m not sure my dating him is ethical. I’ve worked too hard to get where I am in my career...to make sure everyone knows that I’m not like my father.”
“Oh, good grief. You’re not representing him in a court of law. Besides, isn’t Miss Izzy technically your boss’s client?”
“Yes, but—”
Lara interrupted with a triumphant grin. “Problem solved. Now for the important question. Do you have any good undies, and what are you going to wear when you finally put him out of his misery?”
Two (#ua6ff186d-e259-57f9-8317-194b78bc74de)
Abby chose to wait a week before contacting Duncan Stewart. That would give her time to decide if she really wanted to go out with him. If she realized in the interim that he had only been playing with her, then she wouldn’t have embarrassed herself for nothing.
She planned to call him the following Saturday morning. The Friday night before, Lara was at her house for a battle-of-the-Chrises movie night. It was an old game they played. Tonight would be Chris Pine versus Chris Hemsworth.
While they popped popcorn in the kitchen, Lara rummaged in the fridge. “Has your dad harassed you lately?” she asked, popping the tab on a soda and taking a sip before hopping up on the butcher block countertop and dangling her legs.
Abby grimaced. “No, thank God. He’s been suspiciously quiet. Almost too quiet. Makes me nervous.”
“Mom wanted me to make sure you know you’re invited to our place for Thanksgiving.”
“That’s a long time from now,” Abby said, her throat tight.
“Not all that long. My mom loves you. Our whole family loves you. It’s not your fault that your father has gone off the deep end.”
Abby dumped the popcorn into two bowls and sighed. “It feels like my fault. Maybe I should have tried harder to get him medical help. I don’t know if he has diagnosable medical issues or if he’s just a deeply disturbed jerk.”
“I shouldn’t have brought it up,” Lara said, her expression rueful. “But I can’t bear to see you go through the holidays again like you did last year. That was hell. You’re like my sister, Abbs. And you deserve better.” She hopped down and grabbed a bowl. “Enough gloomy talk. Let’s eat. Don’t forget the cheesecake I brought.”
“Do cheesecake and popcorn really go together?”
“Cheesecake goes with everything,” Lara said.
An hour and a half later, when the first movie credits rolled, Abby was already yawning. “Sorry,” she muttered. “I didn’t sleep much last night.”
Lara kicked her foot. “Dreaming about the luscious Scotsman?”
“Not exactly. He hasn’t contacted me, you know.”
“If I’m not mistaken, you told him to give you time to think about it.”
“I did.”
“So what’s the problem?”
“I don’t know if I want to go out with him.”
“Liar.”
“Excuse me!” Abby said, affronted.
“Of course you want to go out with him. But you’re scared.”
“Oh.” That much was true. “I’m fifteen pounds overweight, Lara.”
“Not every guy wants a stick figure. He liked what he saw. And besides, you’re a beautiful woman, whether you believe it or not.”
Easy for Lara to say. She was the epitome of the perfect female. If she weren’t so wonderful, Abby would be compelled to hate her on sight. “Well, it’s a moot point, because he hasn’t gotten back to me, and I honestly don’t think I have the guts to call him.”
“Let’s look at this objectively, honey. How often do new men wander into town?”
“Almost never.”
“And when they do, how often are they young, hot and available?”
“Almost never.”
“And when one of them is young, hot and available, how often is he the decent type who loves his grandma and is willing to sacrifice his own happiness for hers?”
“You’re making him sound like a cross between Robin Hood and James Bond. I’m pretty sure Duncan Stewart just wants to get laid.”
“That’s what all men want. It wouldn’t hurt you either.”
“Lara!”
“You’re staring down the barrel at thirty. Then it’ll be thirty-five and forty. All the good men will be gone. You’ve got a live one on the hook, Abby. Don’t toss him back.”
“That’s the most sexually regressive, ridiculous speech I’ve ever heard.”
“You know I’m right.”
“I don’t see you fishing.”
“Maybe if I had a charming Scotsman asking me out, I would be.”
“I don’t know. He’s arrogant and rich and snarky. Probably hasn’t had to work for anything in his life.”
“Text him. Right now. Tell him yes.”
“You’re bullying me.”
“Correction. I’m encouraging you. There’s a difference.”
Abby picked up her cell phone, her stomach churning. “I don’t know what to say.”
“Do it, Abby.”
Without warning, her cell phone dinged. She was so startled, she almost dropped it. The words on the screen left no doubt about the sender.
Have I given ye enough time, lass? Dinner Tuesday? Pick you up at 6?
“It’s him, Lara.” She held out the phone. “He must have been serious.”
Lara read the text and beamed. “Of course he was serious. The man has good taste. Text him back. Hurry.”
Hands shaking, Abby pecked out a reply...
Two conditions. We don’t call it a date. And you let me tell you about the offer on your grandmother’s business...
She hit Send and sighed. “I’m not finishing the rest of that dessert. Do you think I can lose ten pounds by Tuesday?”
Lara handed her a fork. “Eat the damn cheesecake. You’re perfect just the way you are. If Duncan Stewart doesn’t agree, he’s an idiot.”
* * *
Duncan had fallen into a routine of sorts. It wasn’t familiar, and it wasn’t home, but for the moment, it was workable. His grandmother liked to sleep later in her old age. Since Duncan was up early every day, he headed into town and opened up the office before anyone else arrived. He liked having a chance to look over things unobserved.
He was definitely the new kid on the block. All the staff had been cordial and helpful, but he guessed they were wondering if anyone would be getting the ax. That wasn’t his plan at all. Stewart Properties appeared to be thriving. It was up to him to make sure that success continued.
The company comprised two equally profitable arms—mountain cabin construction and mountain cabin rentals. Isobel and Geoffrey had capitalized on a tourist market in its infancy decades ago, and had built their reputation bit by bit. The main office had been located in Candlewick since the beginning, but satellite offices operated in Asheville and several other spots within a hundred-mile radius.
In a little over a week’s time, Duncan had learned the basics of daily operations. He had already spotted the invaluable employees and the ones who might be potential problems. Because his training and degrees were in finance, he wasn’t concerned about the accounting practices. Where he would have to pay attention was in the actual design and building modules.
Because his grandmother was determined to maintain her involvement in the day-to-day operations, he went back up the mountain each morning around eleven and picked her up at the palatial wood-and-stone home she and her husband had built for themselves. It was far too big for an elderly widow. It was even too big with Duncan in the house. But Isobel wanted to stay, so the status quo remained.
After a shared lunch in town, Duncan deferred to Isobel’s decisions and insights about the various company decisions. Her mind was as sharp as it ever had been. Her stamina, however, was less reliable. Some days, she made it until closing time at five. Other times, someone was drafted to take her home at three.
This particular Tuesday was a good day. Duncan and Isobel had spent several hours going over potential new architectural plans for a series of cabins to be built on land they had recently acquired. Other, somewhat dated, house plans were being culled.
At last, Isobel closed the final folder and tapped it with a gnarled finger. “These new ones are going to be very popular. You mark my words.”
Duncan scrubbed his hands across his scalp and yawned, standing up when she did. “I believe you, Granny. You’re the boss.”
Isobel reached for his hand and pressed it to her cheek. “Thank you, my boy. Thank you for everything you’ve done for an old woman. It means more to me than you’ll ever know.”
He hugged her, glad she couldn’t see how much he had struggled with the decision to uproot his life. “I love you, Granny. You looked after Brody and me when we were lost boys after Mom and Dad divorced. I owe you for that, even if for nothing else. Besides, I’m enjoying myself.”
And it was true. He was. He hadn’t expected to, not at all, so the rush of adrenaline in the midst of new challenges was a bonus.
When they released each other and stepped back, he grinned. “I suppose I should tell you. I have a date tonight. Don’t wait up for me.”
The old woman’s eyes sparkled, and she chortled with glee. “Do tell, boy. Anybody I know?”
“Abby Hartmann? She’s at the law firm where you sent me to sign the new will.”
“Ah, yes. Abby.” Isobel’s brows narrowed. “Abby is a nice young woman.”
“Why do I get the impression you don’t approve?”
“Abby hasn’t had an easy life. She deserves to be treated well.”
“I wasna’ planning on beating her, Granny.”
“Don’t be sassy, boy. You know what I mean. I’d not want you to trifle with her affections.”
“She strikes me as an extremely savvy young woman. I think she can handle herself.”
“Maybe so. Will you bring her by the house so I can say hello?”
“Next time perhaps. Let’s see how tonight goes.”
Isobel’s eyes gleamed. “So you’re not entirely sure of yourself. That’s a good thing.”
“Whose side are you on?” he complained.
“I’ll always be in your corner, Duncan, but we women have to stick together.”
Several hours later, Duncan parked in front of Abby’s neat, bungalow-style white frame house and studied the property. She lived on a quiet side street only two blocks off the town square. Her handkerchief-sized yard was neatly manicured, and her windows gleamed in the early evening sun.
Since the moment Abby accepted his invitation Friday night, they had texted back and forth a time or two. He found himself eager to see her again, surprisingly so. Perhaps he needed a break from work or a distraction from his complicated new life. Or maybe he simply wanted to determine if the gut-level attraction he experienced in her office was still there.
Her conditions for accepting his invitation had angered him at first. But after some consideration, he decided, what the hell? Abby could talk about this mystery buyer all she wanted. It wasn’t going to change the bottom line.
When she opened the door at his knock, he caught his breath. Her smile was tentative, but everything else about her was no-holds-barred. The glorious hair. Her long-sleeved hunter green silk dress that hugged her hourglass figure from shoulders to knees. Black stiletto heels that gave her an additional few inches of height.
“You look beautiful,” he said gruffly. “I’m very glad you decided to say yes.”
“Me, too. Let me grab my purse.”
They chatted about inconsequential topics on the drive to Claremont, both of them on their best behavior. The drive was just long enough to break the ice. Duncan had chosen an upscale special-occasion restaurant that specialized in French cuisine.
When he helped Abby out of the car, his hand beneath her elbow, the punch of desire left him breathless. He’d been celibate out of necessity during this transition from Scotland to North Carolina, but whatever he felt for the petite lawyer was more than a sexual dry spell. She fascinated him.
Over dinner, he quizzed her about her life. “So tell me about your childhood. Did you always want to be a lawyer? I thought most girls went the princess route at first.”
Abby laughed as he had wanted her to. Her long-lashed eyes reminded him of a kitten he’d had as a boy. He’d named her Smoke, and she had followed him everywhere.
The waiter interrupted momentarily. Afterward, Abby answered his question. “To be honest, I was obsessed with the idea of international studies. I wanted to go to college abroad, anything to get away from my hometown. But I was pragmatic, even as a kid. I knew we didn’t have the finances to swing that. My mom died when I was three, so my dad raised me on his own. Money was always tight.”
“Law school isn’t cheap.”
“No. I was very lucky. Mr. Chester Sr., who was your grandparents’ original lawyer, had a long-standing tradition of mentoring students at the local high school. When he died, his son continued the program. I was fortunate enough to get an internship at the law firm during my senior year in high school. I realized that I liked the work. After four years at a state university, Mr. Chester helped me with law school applications, and I was accepted at Wake Forest. When I finished, they offered me a job here in Candlewick.”
“Didn’t you have aspirations to head for the big city and make your mark?”
Abby’s smile slipped. He couldn’t quite read her expression. “I think we all imagine what it would be like to start over someplace new. For me, the pluses of staying put outweighed any negatives. I haven’t regretted my decisions. How about you, Duncan? What was your life like back in Scotland?”
He shrugged, even now feeling the bittersweet pull of all he had left behind. “Ye’ve heard of the Isle of Skye, I suppose. It’s truly as beautiful as they say. Water and sky and everything in between.”
“You miss it. I hear it in your voice.”
“Aye. But I’m a grown man. I can handle a bit of disappointment.”
“How did you wind up working with your brother?”
“Brody started the boating business, both commercial fishing and tourist craft, when he was in his twenties. When I finished university, he begged me to join him and handle the financial stuff. We’ve had a good partnership over the years.”
“You told me that day in my office that he’s holding the job for you.”
“He wants to. I don’t think it makes sense. Granny is healthy as a horse. She could live for another decade. And I hope she does.”
He was shocked when Abby smiled at him and reached across the table to take one of his hands in hers. Her fingers were soft and warm. “I think you’re a very sweet man, Duncan Stewart.”
“I’m not sweet.” He bristled.
She stroked her thumb across his knuckles. “It’s a compliment.”
“Didn’t sound like one.” He lifted his free hand, the one Abby wasn’t holding, and summoned the waitress. “May we see a dessert menu, please?”
“Oh, not for me,” Abby said, her smile dimming.
“They’re famous for their bread pudding. I read about it on Yelp.”
“You’ll have to eat it. I’m too full.”
“Nonsense. You only had a salad and a tiny chicken breast. I can’t eat dessert alone.”
Now Abby looked genuinely upset. She let go of his hand, leaving him bereft. “No dessert,” she said firmly. “I’m dieting.”
He ordered one for himself anyway and frowned. “Why in God’s name are you dieting, lass? You’re perfect.”
* * *
Abby stared at him, waiting for the punch line...searching for the calculation in his eyes, the attempt to butter her up with compliments to lure her into bed. She saw none of that. Instead, Duncan seemed genuinely baffled and irritated by her insistence on refusing dessert.
She tried again. “You’re tall and lean, Duncan. For women like me who are short and chu—”
He reached across the table and put his hand over her mouth. “Don’t you dare say it. My God, girl. Are the men in this country blind and stupid? I’ve spent every minute of this evening wondering how long it will be until I get to see your naked curvy body pressed up against mine. And you’re worried about dessert?”
The waitress arrived with a decadent bread pudding topped off with real whipped cream. She set the plate on the table with fresh napkins and two spoons and walked away. In the ensuing silence, Abby felt her face turn red. Embarrassment mixed with sexual tension.
Duncan, his expression inscrutable, picked up a spoon and scooped out a bite of caramel-laced, whipped-cream-topped perfection. “Open your mouth, lass. I’ve an urge to feed you, since I can’t do anything else at the moment.”
Abby’s lips parted even as her knees pressed together. The way Duncan Stewart was looking at her ought to be illegal.
He lifted the spoon to her mouth. “Wider,” he said hoarsely.
She obeyed and moaned when he spooned the dessert between her lips. The flavors exploded onto her tongue. She chewed and swallowed, light-headed. Duncan watched her like a hungry hawk studying a mouse. “Do you like it?” he asked. His voice was sandpaper, the accent almost buried beneath rough desire.
“Yes.” The word stuck in her throat. “Do you want some?”
“Only if you feed it to me.”
Abby recognized the sexual challenge for what it was. Never in her life had she found herself in such a position. Duncan Stewart had turned a simple meal into sexual foreplay, and now he demanded an equal partner.
“I don’t sleep with a man on the first date,” she said desperately, reminding herself of all the reasons she made that rule.
“Understood. Besides, this isn’t a date—remember?” He growled his response, restless, agitated. “I’ll settle for dessert. Now, lass. Before it gets cold.”
The way Abby felt, she was never going to be cold again. With trembling fingers, she retrieved the spoon and scooped a bite for Duncan. He watched her intently.
“Stop that,” she complained.
“Stop what?” His complacent smile was suspect.
“Stop imagining me naked.”
“Is that what I was doing? I didn’t know you were a mind reader.”
“Open your mouth, Duncan.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Why had she never realized how erotic it could be to feed a man dessert? When Duncan’s sharp white teeth barely missed her finger as he snagged the pudding, she shuddered. “Is that enough?” She sat back in her chair and took a hasty drink of water, almost choking.
The man laughed at her, damn him.
“I’m still hungry,” he said.
“Feed yourself.”
“If you’re not going to sleep with me tonight, I thought we could at least sublimate.”
“Do they teach you that line in wicked, sexy Scotsman school?”
Three (#ua6ff186d-e259-57f9-8317-194b78bc74de)
Duncan chuckled, though his sex was hard as stone and he wanted to howl at the notion he couldn’t have her tonight. “I have no idea. I’ve no’ been particularly successful with the ladies over the years. Too busy with work, I suppose.”
“Oh, please.”
“’Tis true,” he insisted. “There haven’t been as many women as you might think. Brody was always the one with the easy banter and the sunny personality. I spent a lot of time alone. I liked walking the moors and tinkering with boat engines and whatnot. Women were complicated and sometimes, frankly, too much work.”
“So why me?”
At first he thought she was flirting, begging for a compliment. But on second glance, he saw the uncertainty beneath the question, and it squeezed his heart. “Ah, heavens, Abby, ye’re poetry wrapped in a woman’s body. I walked into your office and it was like being punched in the chest. I could have taken you then and there. I can’t explain it. Perhaps you think I’m daft.”
She stared at him, eyes huge. She gnawed her bottom lip. “It’s not natural for a man your age to have to live with his grandmother. You’re a long way from where you belong. I think you’re probably homesick and horny. It’s skewed your thinking. I’ve never driven anyone sexually insane.”
“Surely you’ve heard of chemistry, sweet lass.”
The doubt on her face made him determined to tamp down his own lust until he could convince her of his sincerity.
“Is that what this is?” she asked.
“Maybe. Or a bit of fairy magic. We Scots are staunch believers in fairies, you know.”
Abby smiled wryly. “Here’s the thing, Duncan. I like you. Mostly. And let’s be honest. You’re a very sexy, appealing man. But this sounds like a really bad idea.”
“Why is that?”
“If we end up in bed together, I risk becoming the latest gossipy tidbit in Candlewick. I’ve worked too hard to prove myself in a career that’s extremely important to me.”
“So we’ll fly under the radar. Secret love affairs can be very hot.”
“I think you’re missing the point,” she sputtered, mortification painting her cheeks crimson.
“I know what I want, Abby. If you’re honest, I think you want it, too.” Her resistance made him push all the harder. “But if I’m wrong, all you have to do is say no, and I’ll leave you alone.”
The long silence that followed made him regret his noble pronouncement.
At last, Abby spoke, her expression troubled. “If we do this, you and I would definitely be temporary. Short and secret would be the name of the game. I don’t want the whole world to know when it’s over. So if they never know when it starts, we dodge that issue.”
Some of his jubilant mood faded. “I’ve never gone into a relationship already planning its demise,” he groused.
“Lawyers are all about endings and beginnings. It’s what we do. Life flows more smoothly when expectations are clear and everyone signs on the dotted line, metaphorically speaking, of course.”
He pretended to wipe his brow. “Whew. I thought you were about to make me sign a contract before I undress you.”
“I thought about it,” she said.
“You’re joking.” He raised an eyebrow, searching her features for the truth.
Abby’s grimace was self-mocking. “You know...lights out. Nothing too kinky at first.”
“Define at first.”
He was delighted when her choked laughter told him she understood his naughty question.
Abby glanced at her watch. “This has been lovely, but I do have work tomorrow.”
“Of course.” He paid the check, and they made their way to the car. Though it was only early September, in the mountains, the nights cooled rapidly after the sun went down.
His companion was quiet...too quiet. He would give a lot to know what she was thinking. She hadn’t once mentioned the prospective buyer for Stewart Properties. He was relieved, but the omission worried him. He hated secrets. Did the sexy lawyer have some wicked plan in mind to wait until he was weak with wanting and then try to coerce him into selling? He didn’t know her well enough to trust her.
It wasn’t hubris on his part to believe he could coax her into bed tonight if he pressed the issue. Sexual arousal hummed between them like a breathless, tangible force, incubated and nourished by circumstance. The faint scent of feminine perfume in the air. Her slightly off-key humming to the songs on the radio. The pair of sexy high heels that tumbled to the floor of the car when Abby kicked them off and curled her legs beneath her for the ride back to Candlewick.
Duncan gripped the steering wheel, white-knuckled. The road home was strewn with dark, convenient pull-offs where a man could drag a woman against him and undress her and dive deep to slake his hunger.
He wanted Abby with a wild, urgent passion that rattled him and made him restless. His own reckless urges gave him pause. She asked for time. Time would be his friend. All he had to do was cultivate a modicum of patience.
God help him, perhaps he could do it.
On Abby’s front porch, he curled an arm around her waist and eased her into the shadows for a good-night kiss. She made no pretense of protest.
As kisses went, it was world-class. They jumped straight over getting to know you and ploughed into where have you been all my life? Abby was short and he was tall, so the logistics were tricky. Abby solved their dilemma by hopping up onto the door stoop.
Now he could run his hands from her shoulders to her narrow waist to the sensational curves of her bottom. The thin fabric of her green silky dress was no barrier at all. “Ye’re a stunning woman, Abby Hartmann,” he muttered. “I’m glad we met.” He nipped the side of her neck with his teeth and grinned when she made a little squeak in the back of her throat and nuzzled closer.
“Me, too,” she said. “Thank you for dinner.”
“So polite,” he teased.
“It’s what we do here in the South. But don’t mistake nice manners for being a pushover.”
“Understood.” He had never felt such an odd mixture of lust and tenderness toward a woman. “I’ll feed you again tomorrow night,” he said. “Six still work?”
Abby pulled back and ran her hands through her hair, visibly flustered, even in the semidarkness. Her porch light was off, but the streetlight out at the road gave them a hint of illumination. “I have book club tomorrow night,” she said. She rummaged in her small purse, extracted a key and unlocked the door.
“Thursday?”
“Dinner with friends.”
He ground his teeth until his jaw ached. “Friday?”
She turned, linked her arms around his neck and kissed him square on the mouth, her magnificent breasts pressed firmly against his chest. “Friday would be perfect. But only if you take me by the house to see your grandmother beforehand and let me tell her about the buyer Mr. Chester has in the wings.”
Duncan lost it for a good ninety seconds, maybe a full two minutes. He forgot where he was. He forgot he had decided to be a gentleman. He even forgot he was in a semipublic setting.
He was angry and aroused, a dangerous combo. Abby’s lips were addictive. She looked so charming and innocent in person, but she tasted like sin. He wanted to strip her bare and take her up against the front door. Her hands played restlessly with his belt at the back of his waist. His erection was buried in the softness of her stomach. There was no hiding the state of his body. She had to know.
But she didn’t back away, and she didn’t seem to mind.
At last, and to his eternal embarrassment, Abby was the one to drag them back from the edge. “I have to go inside, Duncan.”
She said it apologetically, stroking his cheek with one hand as if she could pacify the raging beast inside him.
He shuddered and dragged in a great lungful of air in an attempt to find control. “Of course.” He stole one last, hurried kiss. At least he meant it to be hurried. In the end, he lingered, coaxing her lips apart with the tip of his tongue and stroking the inside of her mouth until they both breathed raggedly.
Finally, he cupped her face in his hands and kissed her nose. “Stop seducing me, woman.”
“I’m not,” she protested.
He dared to cup one of her breasts through two layers of smooth cloth. The weight of her firm, rounded flesh nestled in his palm. The pert, firm nipple begged for the touch of his thumb. “Aye, lass,” he said. “Aye, ye are.”
* * *
Abby escaped into the house with her virtue intact, but it was a close call. She slammed the door, locked it and peered through the curtains to make sure the tall, handsome Scotsman made his way back to his car.
Her knees trembled and her mouth was dry. She was such a fraud. From the beginning, she had known that going out with Duncan Stewart was a bad idea. She had rationalized to herself that getting on good terms with him could mean an opportunity to press the case for selling his grandmother’s business.
And yet as the evening unfolded, Abby had let herself be sidetracked by the warmth of the Scotsman’s wicked smile. This was exactly the kind of thing that made mixing business with pleasure problematic. She was supposed to be initiating contact with Duncan’s grandmother and explaining why selling Stewart Properties could be in Miss Isobel’s best interests. Instead, Abby had forgotten her mission, endangered her stellar reputation in the law office and danced perilously close to becoming Duncan’s temporary fling.
* * *
The following day on her lunch hour, she and Lara munched apples and did their customary two-mile walk. Lara, being Lara, didn’t bother to hide her eagerness for details. “Spill it, Abby. Give me every juicy tidbit. My vicarious love life is all I have at the moment.”
Abby swallowed the last bite of fruit and tossed the core in a public trash receptacle as they rounded the corner and headed away from downtown. “I had fun.”
“That’s it?”
“He’s interesting...well traveled, well-read. A gentleman.”
“Well, that sounds boring as hell.”
“No, it doesn’t. You’re just being mean. It was nice to spend time with a man who can carry on a conversation.” She didn’t mention the whole dessert thing. Even now she couldn’t think about the bread pudding incident without getting aroused and flustered.
“So no sex?” Lara eyed her with an expression that was equal parts resignation and disappointment.
They finished the third circuit of the block and turned back toward their respective places of employment. “You know me, Lara. I’m not impulsive, especially when it comes to intimacy.”
“You went out with a client. That’s a start.”
Abby stopped in the middle of the sidewalk, her heart pumping, and stared at her friend. “I thought you said my dating him was okay?”
Lara’s smile was smug. “It’s not up to me, now is it? At least tell me he kissed you good night.”
Abby shoved her hands in the pockets of her black dress pants and started walking again. “Yes. So?”
“Are we talking a polite peck on the cheek?”
“Not exactly.”
“You’re such a tease.”
Lara grabbed her arm, but Abby evaded the hold and kept walking. “I have an appointment in fifteen minutes. Gotta get back.”
“Well, shoot.” Lara glanced at her watch and realized what time it was. “This conversation isn’t over.” She raised her voice to be heard as Abby headed in the opposite direction.
Abby gave her a wave over the shoulder. “See you tonight.”
Fortunately for Abby, Lara was more circumspect during their once-a-month book club meeting that evening. The dozen women in the group ranged in age from Lara and Abby’s twenty-something to eighty-one. This week, they were meeting in a back room at the pizza shop.
Over cheesy slices of thick-crust pepperoni, the conversation zipped and zinged from one topic to the next before settling on the plot of the novel they were supposed to have read. Abby had finished most of it. The heroine died of a terrible disease two chapters from the end, so she had lost interest.
Lara loved stirring up controversy and discussion. While Abby’s friend debated whether or not the hero’s character was supposed to symbolize lost dreams, Abby surreptitiously fished her cell phone from her purse and checked for messages. She hadn’t heard a peep from Duncan since he left her last night. Maybe her insistence on talking to Miss Izzy had scared him off.
He seemed pretty mad when she suggested it, but then again, not so mad that he hadn’t kissed her until her toes curled and her limbs turned to water. The man knew how to kiss.
If he’d changed his mind about the second date, it was probably a good thing.
When the waitress came to do drink refills, Lara lowered her voice and leaned in. “Whatcha doin’, kiddo? This is supposed to be a work-free zone.”
“It’s not work,” Abby said. “I was only checking to see if I had a text from Duncan. He asked me out again for Friday night, but I made him mad, so he may be done with me.”
“What did you do that was so terrible?”
“I told him I would only go out with him a second time if he would take me to see Miss Izzy beforehand and let me tell her about the offer we have for her property.”
Lara sat back in her seat and pursed her lips. The conversation ebbed and flowed around them. “I’m impressed. Playing hardball.”
“It’s not that,” Abby whispered. “But Mr. Chester asked me to take care of one thing while he’s on leave, one simple thing. All I need to do is tell Miss Izzy about the offer. If she’s really dead set against selling, all she has to do is say no. I will have fulfilled my obligation, and that will be the end of it. I don’t know why Duncan is making such a big deal about it.”
“I’ll bet I do.”
“How could you possibly know what that Scotsman is thinking?”
“He didn’t really want to move here, right?”
“Correct.”
“And if Miss Izzy accepts the offer being brokered by your law firm, Stewart Properties changes hands and Duncan is off the hook. The poor man probably feels guilty, because deep down, he wants you to convince his grandmother to sell out. But that makes him a bad person, so it’s easier to keep you away from her.”
“Well, it’s a moot point because I don’t think his dinner invitation is still on the table.”
Lara reached for a breadstick and dunked it in homemade marinara sauce. “The man wants you, Abby. He’ll figure out a way to have you and appease his conscience at the same time. You wait and see.”
Four (#ua6ff186d-e259-57f9-8317-194b78bc74de)
By Thursday evening, Abby’s spirits hit rock bottom, and her opinion of Lara’s romantic advice fell lower still. Forty-eight hours had passed and not a single word from Duncan Stewart. The man kissed her as if she had been the only oasis in a trackless desert, and then he had simply walked away.
She almost opted out of dinner with friends. It was difficult to fake a good mood when all she wanted to do was watch romantic comedies and mope around her small house. In the end, she went, but only because the outing took her mind off Duncan and the affair that never was.
No matter how many times she told herself it was for the best—that it was completely inappropriate for her to date the grandson of one of Mr. Chester’s influential clients—she didn’t believe it in her heart. How long had it been since a man was really interested her? Almost never?
Duncan Stewart might ruin her for other men, but that was a risk she was prepared to take. Even knowing he would be in Candlewick a limited amount of time, maybe only two years (and that their affair would likely be far shorter than that), was not a negative.
He fascinated her. For once in her neatly planned life, she wanted to make the rash, dangerous choice. She wanted Duncan.
When dinner wound to an end, she decided to leave her car at the restaurant and walk the relatively short distance home. She’d had several glasses of wine, so she didn’t want to take any chances that she might not be in full control. The night was crisp with a hint of autumn, but not cold. Other people were out and about on the streets even at this hour.
Crime was virtually nonexistent in Candlewick. Some people compared their little town to the fictional Mayberry.In many cases, that description wasn’t far off.
By the time she made it to her street and up the block to her own sidewalk, it was late. Sleepy, and still caught up in wondering about Duncan, she didn’t spot the intruder at first. Then something moved in the shadows, and she sucked in a sharp breath.
Frozen with fear and in quick succession disgust, she called out to the shadowy figure. “What are you doing here, Daddy?” She stayed where she was out at the road, not wanting him to follow her into the house.
The large hulking shadow turned into an old man under the harsh glare of the streetlight. Once upon a time her father had been handsome and dapper. Even now—when he wanted to—he could clean himself up, get a haircut and present to the world a reasonable facsimile of a sophisticated adult.
Unfortunately, his demons—both mental and pharmaceutical—now controlled him to such a degree that most days he was a broken-down shamble of a man.
“I wanted to see my baby, but I couldn’t get in the house,” he said. The words were slurred. When he moved closer, she smelled alcohol on his breath.
Abby clutched her purse more tightly in her arms. “Well, you’ve seen me. I need to get to bed. It’s late.” She took a breath. “The reason you couldn’t get in is because I changed all my locks.”
He held out his hand, his expression half cagey, half pitiful. “You’re doin’ mighty well in that lawyer job of yours. How ’bout giving your old man a loan? I’m running a little short this month.”
Don’t engage. Don’t engage. Don’t engage. The mantra had preserved her emotional health and sanity on more than one occasion. “I have to go,” she said. No matter how unfounded, waves of guilt battered her self-esteem. It was not even the middle of the month. He received several pension checks, one from the government and a couple of others from his few stable periods of employment. There was no reason in the world for him to be out of money.
Even if he was, it wasn’t her responsibility. She turned her back on him and took a step. But Howard Lander was not giving up.
He scuttled up beside her. “A hundred, Abby girl. That’s all. And I’ll pay you back, I swear.”
Fury rose inside her chest in a choking cloud. Good parents provided a loving, nurturing environment for their children to succeed. Not only did Abby’s father not support her as a teen and young adult, he had actually harmed her and nearly derailed her academic successes.
“If you don’t stay away from me,” she said, her throat raw with tears, “I’m going to take out a restraining order against you.”
The old man stumbled and gaped, genuine puzzlement in his half-vacant expression. “Why would you say that?”
Abby laughed, though she wanted to sob. “Every time you come inside my house, you steal from me, Dad. Money, jewelry, prescription drugs. Did you somehow think I never noticed?”
Even in his addled state, he didn’t bother to deny her accusation. “I’ve had a few hard times. No reason for a man’s daughter to be cold and cruel.”
“I can’t do this anymore, Daddy. If you won’t leave me alone, I swear I’ll move to the other side of the country. It’s embarrassing enough that the whole town knows what kind of man you are.”
He’d been a door-to-door salesman back when that was still a thing. A combination of charm and dogged persistence had given him moderate success. In between bouts of selling encyclopedias and household items, he’d chased one get-rich-quick scheme after another, always convinced that his fortune was just around the next corner.
By the time Abby was eight, Howard Lander stopped wasting his money on babysitters, instead choosing to leave her at home alone after school and on the weekends. Fortunately, she had been mature for her age and not prone to wild stunts that might have endangered her life or burned down their home.
For Abby, high school graduation brought a moment of release, of freedom. College and grad school had been some of the happiest years of her life. Coming home to Candlewick and working for the Chesters’ law firm, on the other hand, had been a mixed blessing.
Her father stood, shoulders hunched, staring at the ground. “I never meant to harm anyone. I’ve made my share of mistakes, but I had good intentions.”
Sadly, that part was probably true. There was no malice in the old man. Only unfounded optimism, a total misunderstanding of finances and an ability to con people out of their money one way or another.
“Good night.” Abby made herself walk away, but her father was in one of his more stubborn moods, fueled by alcoholic courage.
“You owe me,” he shouted. “I could have given you up for adoption when your mother died, but I didn’t. That’s worth something. Wouldn’t look too good for you if I start telling everyone how badly you treat the only parent you’ve ever known.”
The callous, calculating threat put another crack in her shattered heart. She had paid for her meal that night with cash. The change was in her pocket. Seven dollars and thirty-two cents. She fished it out and shoved it at him. “Take it and go. I don’t want to see you here ever again.”
She ran up the walk and into the house, slamming the door and bolting it behind her. The tears came in earnest, blurring her vision and knotting her stomach. The bedroom was too far. She fell onto the sofa, buried her face in the cushions and cried until her bones ached.
Every time she tangled with her father now, she felt dirty. She had worked so hard to make something of herself...to lead a decent, normal life. Yet always, her past hung over her head, reminding her that she might forever be tainted by his dishonesty.
At ten, she dragged herself down the hall to take a shower. Looking in the mirror was a mistake. Her eyes were bloodshot and puffy, and smeared mascara made her resemble a rabid panda. It was a good thing Duncan Stewart couldn’t see her now.
As if she had summoned him somehow with her thoughts, her phone dinged. She picked it up and read the text.
We never made a plan for tomorrow night, did we?
They hadn’t. She had agreed to see him again only if she could speak with Miss Izzy first about the prospective buyer. She gripped the phone, torn about how to answer. She knew that dating Duncan Stewart was a dead end and a bad idea. Ethics aside, they had nothing in common. He was wealthy and had lived a life of relative ease.
She was sure he’d never had to worry about having the electricity or the water turned off because the bills hadn’t been paid in three months. And she was equally positive he had never been forced to eat boxed macaroni and cheese five nights in a row because it was the only thing in the pantry a kid could microwave easily. Or the only food available, period.
Wistfully, she did the grown-up thing.
I don’t think it’s a good idea for us to see each other socially, Duncan. Too many layers of complications.
Thirty seconds passed. Then sixty. At last, the phone dinged.
What about that kiss?
Despite her low mood, she smiled.
What about it?
Don’t be coy, Abby. We’re both adults. I want you. You want me.
She tried to be incensed by his careless arrogance, but damn it, the man was right.
Not all itches have to be scratched.
You don’t know me very well yet, but here’s the thing, lass. I rarely take no for an answer.
Neither do I! She threw in a few emojis for good measure.
Fine. I’ll take you to see Granny before dinner. But don’t be surprised when she says no to your buyer.
And if she says yes????
Abby could almost feel the frustrated male silence on the other end. Maybe Lara was right. Maybe Duncan was conflicted about letting Abby get to his grandmother, because if the offer was good enough, he’d be off the hook and headed home to Scotland.
At last, he answered. I’ll pick you up at five thirty. We’ll have hors d’oeuvres with her, and you can make your pitch. But no bullying or hard-sell tactics. If she says no, you drop the subject. Period.
You’re an arrogant ass, Duncan Stewart.
Aye, but you like me anyway...
She turned off the phone and tossed it in a drawer, as if it had the power to regenerate and bite her.
Duncan was dangerous to her peace of mind for many reasons. Clearly, he knew women well enough to recognize mutual interest when he witnessed it. Abby could protest ’til the cows came home that this relationship was a terrible idea. All Duncan had to do was kiss her until she forgot the many reasons why she should stay away from him.
* * *
Friday was an exercise in torture for Duncan. Every time he saw his granny’s smiling face, he felt guilty. Tonight, he was going to let a lawyer with her own nest-feathering agenda get close to his grandmother, just so he could find his way into that lawyer’s bed.
Any way you sliced it, that made him scum.
In the moments when he wasn’t thinking about Abby, he pondered the escape clause in the will. He had come here to America, fully expecting his grandmother to live for another decade or more. It was possible. The women in her genealogy had all closed in on the centennial mark, several of them passing it. Granny Isobel could very well celebrate her hundredth birthday here in Candlewick. She was in good health and of sound mind.
To hear that his indenture had an escape clause troubled him. Without it, he had no choice but to dive headfirst into Stewart Properties and make a new life for himself. But knowing there was a carrot dangling out there—the chance to go home to Scotland in two years—meant that he would always be marking time. In many ways, the possibility of reprieve made things worse.
In a difficult situation, a man needed to hunker down and make the best of his fate. How effective would Duncan be if he were always looking wistfully over his shoulder from whence he had come?
Somehow, he made it through the day. Granny Isobel was beside herself at the prospect of company. She had ordered a trio of fancy appetizers from a local caterer, along with a selection of wines to have on hand for Abby’s visit.
One of the receptionists took Isobel home at three so she could nap in preparation for her visitor. Duncan stayed at the office until the very last minute, going over spreadsheets and trying his damnedest to wrap his head around the ambitious construction schedule planned for the upcoming two quarters.
The business’s forward motion had slowed in the year since his grandfather’s death. First Brody, and now Duncan, had helped Isobel get the company back on track. It relieved Duncan more than a little to know that auditors would be coming in soon. If there were any problems, he wanted to know about them.
At five, he called his grandmother to see if she needed anything else to go with the food. She professed to have it all under control. He grinned to himself. In his grandparents’ heyday, they had thrown wildly lavish parties up on top of the mountain. Invitations to the big house were highly coveted. He’d heard more than one story about dancing until dawn and draining multiple cases of champagne and good Scottish whisky.
At five twenty, he locked up the office and headed out to pick up Abby.
When he bounded up her steps and knocked, she answered the door wearing a smile, black dress pants and a soft berry-pink cashmere sweater that clung to her ample curves. He scooped her up and kissed her, careful not to smudge her rosy lip gloss.
Abby was stiff in his embrace at first, but then she sighed and kissed him back. “You’re an outrageous man. I don’t know why I don’t smack you.”
He pulled back and grinned at her. “I’m guessing you have to be on your best behavior until you accomplish your damned objective. But I warn you, it’s a fool’s errand. Granny won’t sell.”
“If you’re really so worried about me talking to her, I could take you to meet the prospective buyer one day next week. You wouldn’t have to tell Isobel right away.”
“Oh, no,” he said, grimacing. “I don’t do secrets. They never end well. If we’re doing this, we’ll be upfront about your agenda.”
“Mr. Chester asked me to present the offer. I’m not responsible for the outcome.”
“If you say so.” He kept an arm around her waist as they walked out to the car. “Granny is beside herself with excitement that you’re coming. I suppose I hadn’t realized how much she has missed Brody and Cate and the baby since they left. With just me around, the house has been too quiet.”
“Maybe I could have lunch with her one day.”
He gave her a sideways frown. “Are you suggesting that idea as a lawyer or as a decent human being?”
“The two aren’t mutually exclusive,” Abby said, glaring at him.
He helped her into the car and closed her door. Even when she was mad at him, he felt a sexual pull. That reality didn’t bode well for his peace of mind.
When he was behind the wheel with the engine running, he apologized. “I’m sorry. No more cheap shots about your profession today, I promise.”
She grinned wryly. “Only today?”
He shrugged, feeling lighthearted and pumped about the evening to come. “I’ll take the rest of the calendar under consideration, I swear.”
The trip up the mountain was quick. When they arrived, Abby stepped out of the car and stared at his grandparents’ house in admiration. “I’d forgotten how beautiful it is up here. I’ve never been inside, though.”
“Some of the exterior upkeep has been let go. Brody and I put a lot of sweat equity into cutting back bushes and fixing gutters...things like that. For a long time after Grandda died, Granny couldn’t bring herself to stay here with him gone. But now that she’s back, she’s happy again. This house was something they built together, just like the business.”
After unlocking the front door, he stood aside for Abby to enter. He tossed his keys into a carved wooden bowl on a table in the foyer and motioned for Abby to follow him. Raising his voice, he called out. “Granny. We’re here.”
He’d half expected his grandmother to be hovering by the front door, ready to greet her guest. “She’s probably in the kitchen.”
“I love all the artwork,” Abby said. “Everything is warm and welcoming, but so very unique.”
“Aye,” Duncan replied, half-distracted. “They collected paintings and sculptures from all over the world. Granny. Where are you?” He rounded the corner into the kitchen, and his heart stopped. A small figure lay crumpled in the center of the floor.
“Granny!” He fell to his knees, his heart pounding. “God, Granny. Call 9-1-1,” he yelled, though Abby was at his elbow, her eyes wide, her expression aghast.
While Abby fumbled with her cell phone and punched in the numbers, Duncan took his grandmother’s hands and chafed them. “Talk to me, Granny. Open your eyes.” Abby finished her brief conversation. “Get me a wet cloth,” he said. “The drawer by the sink.”
Moments later, she crouched at his side and handed him a damp square of cotton. Duncan placed it on his grandmother’s forehead. Her lips were blue. His heart slugged in his chest. CPR. He needed to do CPR. He’d had the training. Instinct kicked in. He began the sequence of compressions and breaths. Counting. Pushing. Praying.
Abby took one of Isobel’s frails wrists and held it.
Duncan shot her a wild-eyed glance. “Anything?”
“No.” Tears welled in Abby’s eyes but didn’t fall.
“Damn it.” He repeated the CPR sequence again. And again. Until his chest ached and his arms ached and his heart was broken. “I just talked to her half an hour ago.” This couldn’t be happening. It wasn’t real.
Abby put her arms around him from behind and laid her cheek against his. “I think she’s dead, Duncan,” she whispered. “I’m sorry. I’m so very sorry.”
Five (#ua6ff186d-e259-57f9-8317-194b78bc74de)
Abby hadn’t realized she could hurt so badly for a man she had known for such a short time. The two hours that followed were nothing less than a nightmare. A parade passed through the house... EMTs and ambulance drivers and Isobel’s personal physician and eventually a representative from the local funeral home. At long last, the elderly woman’s tiny, cold body was zipped into a dreadful black bag and loaded into the back of a hearse.
If she’d had a choice, Abby wouldn’t have chosen to witness that last part, but Duncan wouldn’t leave his grandmother and Abby wouldn’t leave Duncan. Somewhere along the way, he had withdrawn inside himself. He spoke when necessary. He thanked everyone who helped. He made decisions. He signed papers. But the man who had picked her up at her home earlier that evening was gone.
At last, they were alone. The sprawling house echoed with silence and tragedy.
“You should eat something,” Abby said quietly. “Let me fix you a plate.”
He didn’t respond. She wasn’t even sure he heard her.
They had been standing at the front of the house watching as the vehicle bearing his grandmother’s body drove away. Quietly, Abby closed and locked the door and took Duncan’s arm. “Let’s go to the kitchen,” she said. “I’ll make us some coffee.”
As soon as they entered the room, she winced. It was impossible not to remember seeing the small, sad body lying forlorn and alone in the middle of the floor. The doctor believed Isobel likely suffered a massive cardiac event and had died instantly without suffering.
Abby had searched Duncan’s face to see if this news brought him comfort. Nothing in his anguished expression told her that was the case.
Now, as Duncan stood irresolute, she eased him toward a chair. “Sit,” she said firmly, as she would with a child. She bustled about the unfamiliar kitchen, finding plates and cups and silverware. By the time the coffee brewed, she had scooped out small portions of the appetizers that were to have been Isobel’s contribution to the evening’s social hour. Baked Brie with raspberry jam. Fresh minced tomato and mozzarella on bruschetta. Mushrooms stuffed with sausage and ricotta.
She put a plate in front of Duncan and laid her hand on his shoulder. “Try to eat something,” she said. He stared at the food, but he didn’t see it. That was painfully obvious.
Her heart breaking for him, she poured two cups of steaming coffee, carried them to the table and sat down beside him. She took his hand in both of hers, worried that his long fingers were cold. “Talk to me, Duncan,” she said quietly. “Talk to me.”
He blinked as if waking from a dream. “She was with me at the office this afternoon. She was fine. I talked to her on the phone after five. She was fine. How could this happen?”
“Miss Izzy was an old woman. I guess her heart gave out.”
“I should have been here.”
She heard the reproach in his voice. She understood it. But it stung, even so. Duncan was hurting, and he needed a place to direct his pain.
“You heard the doctor. He thinks she died instantly.”
Duncan’s eyes flashed. “But she shouldn’t have died alone.”
There was nothing to say to that.
Abby picked up a fork and forced down a few bites of food, though she didn’t really feel like eating at all. She was hoping that Duncan would follow her example by rote. After a few moments, he did. He cleared half of what was on his plate, drank one whole cup of coffee and poured himself a second one. Then he paced the kitchen, his agitation increasing by the moment.
Abby was at a loss. “Should we call your brother and your father?” she asked.
He glanced at his watch. “They’ll all be asleep by now. No need to wake them. Granny was very specific about her funeral arrangements. The entire family came en masse for Grandda’s services. She was honored and glad to have us here. But she insisted that when her time came, no one was to come back to the States. She wanted to be cremated and have her ashes spread on top of the mountain.”
Suddenly, Duncan walked out of the kitchen. She followed him. His mood was volatile, so she was worried. Down the hall, he opened the door to his grandmother’s bedroom and stood there. Not entering. Only looking. Her bed was neatly made. The novel she had been reading earlier, perhaps before napping, lay facedown on the mattress.
Abby slipped an arm around his waist, trying without words to offer comfort where there was none. A minute passed. Then another.
Duncan was immovable, a statue in a house that had become a mausoleum. When he finally spoke, his words were barely audible. “Do you think she knew how reluctant I was to come here and stay? That I didn’t really want to learn the business? That my heart wasn’t in it?”

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