LITMIR.BIZ

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      “I could help you design it.” He wasn’t sure where the words came from. They tumbled from his lips uncensored.

      She stared, her eyes huge. “You would?”

      “Of course. It would be an honor. I feel like my dad’s involvement in creating the castle makes me an honorary Wolff, anyway. And even if you build your own place, you could still live in Charlottesville.”

      A small smile teased her lips. “I may hold you to that.”

      “I’m a man of my word.”

      They looked at each other, Sam itchy and aroused and unused to being locked up in a cozy room with a woman who pushed his buttons so successfully. And God knew what the unpredictable Annalise Wolff was thinking. Probably diabolical ways to smother him in his sleep.

      He would consider seducing her if he wasn’t fairly certain she’d go after his private parts with a butcher knife. Beware a woman scorned. The old adage rang in his ears, though he hadn’t scorned her in the traditional sense. But any softer feelings she felt for him so long ago were clearly dead and buried.

      Annalise wrinkled her nose. “We keep getting sidetracked. Tell me what your grandmother is thinking about colors and fabrics.”

      He leaned forward, handing her several sheets of paper clipped together. When his fingers brushed hers, he felt an unmistakable burst of heat. “She wrote a lot of stuff out for you to go by. I think she trusts you a great deal. She mostly included things she wants kept the same. Other than that, you can do that magic that you do and make Sycamore Farm a showplace.”

      As Annalise read through what he had given her, Sam added more logs to the fire and went back out onto the front porch to assess the situation. It wasn’t good. They were closing in on twelve inches, with no end in sight. He stood there in his shirt sleeves for a moment, feeling the bitter sting of wind and ice crystals on his face.

      The frigid air was almost a relief. His reaction to Annalise Wolff had taken him entirely off guard. The attraction was nothing new. He’d watched her grow from a child into a beautiful, vibrant woman over the years. And even when she had thrown herself at him, he’d been tempted. Really tempted.

      But at no time since then had he ever really entertained the idea of pursuing her. First and foremost because she had such a damned big chip on her shoulder about him rejecting her. And then there was the almost inevitable awkwardness if they tried something and it didn’t work.

      Sam and his dad were welcome visitors at Wolff Castle at least on a monthly basis. What would happen if Sam dated Annalise, slept with her and ended things? The fallout had the potential to disrupt relationships that were years in the making.

      For a brief moment he allowed himself to consider the possibility that he and Annalise might be good together. Really good. Wedding bells and white dress good. He was ready to settle down, more than ready. His own childhood had been decent, but he had always envied the Wolff kids and their invisible but unmistakable bond.

      Sam wanted his own children, whenever they came along, to have siblings, to experience the fun and security of knowing that someone always had your back. The Wolffs had been good to him when he visited with his father over the years. But Sam was older even than Gareth, so he hadn’t really been able to assimilate into the pack.

      As an adult man, he’d forged lasting friendships with all of them. He was particularly close to Jacob and Devlyn. Annalise was the only real holdout, and apparently in her eyes, Sam would always be to blame for their standoff. He was willing to expend the required energy to win her over, but what then? If a romantic liaison went awry, it would be World War III all over again, only this time with no hope of détente.

      Shivering hard, he turned his back on the blizzard and went inside.

      By the time Annalise finished reading through all the notes Sam’s grandmother had made, Sam still had not returned. She added one more log to the blaze and then went to her room to unpack. The antiques spread throughout the house had been lovingly cared for, and it was heartening to know that many of them would be preserved in the newly renovated house.

      After filling the narrow closet and most of the drawers in the dresser and armoire, she folded back the covers and tossed her gown and robe on the bed. The beautiful pieces were silk and not very warm. Perhaps she should have thought through the ramifications of sleeping in a drafty farmhouse in the dead of winter.

      As she passed by the mirror with its wavy, slightly mottled glass, she stopped and stared at her reflection. What did Sam see when he looked at her? Was she still the socially awkward, love-stricken young woman to him?

      Thinking about that dreadful moment in the past was physically painful. It was more than embarrassment. That she could have moved beyond. But the hurt that ran deeper was his criticism. Even as he’d said the words aloud, she had recognized the truth of them. She was too pushy, too oblivious to other people’s feelings at times.

      A more experienced woman would have gauged Sam’s disinterest and backed off. But all Annalise had been able to recognize was her own desperate longing for the young teenage boy she had adored as a child. The adolescent boy who had gone on to become a breathtakingly handsome man.

      “Are you all settled in? Do you need anything?”

      Sam lounged in the doorway, effortlessly charming and charismatic. His head nearly brushed the lintel. All of a sudden, the small, delightful bedroom felt claustrophobic.

      Annalise felt panic creep into her throat. What if he could see how much he still affected her? Even worse, what if he thought she was pathetic? Lusting after a man who was no more than a family friend.

      She cleared her throat. “I think I’ll hit the sack. Good night.”

      He glanced at his watch. “It’s eight-thirty, Annalise.”

      “Oh.” Busted. Had she even brought a book to read? “I don’t suppose there’s internet?”

      He chuckled. “Are you kidding? Gram and Pops are pretty much up with the times, but they flatly refused to get a computer. Even though I begged. It might be a different story now that they’re in Florida. We’ll see. But you’ve got your phone…you should be able to check email as long as the storm isn’t disrupting tower signals.”

      He paused, shifted from one foot to another, then gave her a lopsided grin. “There’s something I could show you…if you’re not too tired. But you’ll definitely need a coat or sweater, because it’s on the third floor.”

      She nodded slowly. “Okay.” Grabbing up a soft suede jacket, she slipped her arms into the sleeves and scooped her hair out of the collar. “I’m ready.”

      Sam didn’t bother with another layer. Apparently he was made of tougher stuff. She followed him up one set of stairs and then another, pausing at a landing as Sam found a key on his key ring and unlocked a rather short door. Ducking to follow him in, she inhaled the scent of history…dust, old paper and the passage of time.

      Sam reached up and pulled the chain to illuminate a single lightbulb suspended from the rafters. The space in which they stood ran half the length of the house. It was bone-chillingly cold, and the storm winds shrieked around the gables of the roof with magnified ferocity.

      Annalise shuffled from one foot to the other, arms wrapped around her waist. “This better be good.”

      The grin Sam cast over his shoulder made her weak in the knees. “Follow me.” He led her down one side of the room to a section of the attic that had obviously once been walled in. “I imagine this might have been used as servant quarters years ago.” Although segments of the wall were nothing more than exposed two-by-fours or whatever the historical equivalent was, part of a single section was still covered in wallpaper. Really old wallpaper.

      Annalise bent forward, trying to get close enough to see in the dim light. “Jiminy Christmas, Sam. Is this original?”

      She felt his presence, big and warm, at her shoulder.

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