The Secret Heiress. Bethany Campbell

had no rational reason for attaching any importance to the thing, except it had been given as a friendly gesture. And the Aborigine culture fascinated him; it seemed rich and mysterious. He’d spent a lot of time in Kentucky reading about more exotic cultures than his own. And now, at last, he was seeing them first hand.

      He got out of the Jeep and retraced his path to the back door. He looked three times, but saw no sign of the necklace. He pulled the bell, and an instant later Marie Lafayette appeared, wiping her hands on a dish towel she’d pinned round her waist for an apron.

      She didn’t seem taken aback to see him, and smiled her cheery smile. She looked like a woman almost totally sure of herself. “Oh, Mr. Preston. Can I help you? Mrs. Lipton’s not here, but she should be back in a minute. Would you like to step inside where it’s cool?”

      She swung open the door and he entered, glad to escape the heat. He said, “Sorry to bother you. I was driving back and I missed a—a kind of charm someone gave me. I thought maybe I’d lost it here.”

      For a moment she looked strangely blank. But then her face lit up, and he realized for the first time that she was not merely pretty, she was exquisite. Her thick cap of hair shone like spun gold in the artificial light. She wore no makeup except pink lip gloss, but she didn’t need makeup. She was stunning without it. And those dimples. Good Lord.

      She reached into the pocket of her slacks and drew out the charm. “Is this it?”

      She must have seen by his expression that it was and held it out on her palm. “I thought it was yours. I meant to tell Mrs. Lipton, but she was involved in something else.”

      Her smile flickered away as he took it from her, his fingertips brushing the smoothness of her palm.

      But that too-brief smile made his heart quicken with pleasure. It had been a smile that hinted at mystery and complexities. And her eyes, he suddenly realized, were the most startling and pure green he’d ever seen. Men must fall at her feet like flies. What was such a woman doing, working in a kitchen?

      “Thank you,” he managed to say, wondering why he seemed to have something stuck in his throat. “I—I don’t really know much about it, but a blacksmith gave it to me, and…”

      She looked up, listening, and he realized he didn’t have an end for the sentence.

      “And?” she questioned.

      “I hated to lose it,” he finished lamely. “In this age of plastic and—”

      “Mass manufacturing?” she supplied.

      “Exactly,” he said, trying not to get lost in those depthless green eyes. “That’s it.”

      Maybe she wasn’t as poised as she seemed. Almost subliminally he sensed emotions coursing through her, emotions she guarded carefully.

      “The string wore through.” She pointed at the frayed edges. “Odd. It looks good and stout.” Her voice was low and soft, her accent delightful.

      He forced some words out. “I hope I didn’t interrupt you.”

      “No,” she said, with a nonchalant shrug. “I’m just making potato salad.”

      “Potato salad,” he repeated.

      “I was looking for the mayonnaise,” she said. His gaze must have been too intent because she glanced away.

      “Mayonnaise,” he echoed. Good Lord. I’m talking like a parrot, and I was the captain of the college debating team. What’s wrong with me?

      But her bearing was almost carefree. Almost. “Yes. None in the fridge. I thought there must be some in the cabinet. I couldn’t find a kitchen stool to see on the top shelf.”

      She was petite, almost tiny, beside him. He cleared his throat and said, “I’m tall. I’ll like if you look,” he offered. “I mean, I’ll look if you like.”

      “That’s very kind of you.”

      He peered at the row of top cupboards. He went to the nearest, opened the door, looked on the top shelf, and behind eight jars of mustard found four quarts of mayonnaise. He pulled one down. “Do you need more?”

      “Oh, no. Thank you. That’s plenty.”

      He handed it to her, careful not to touch her this time. He realized he still had the charm in his hand.

      She licked her lips, and the tip of her tongue was daintily pointed and daintily pink. He felt carnal stirrings. She set aside the jar and murmured, “Maybe you should buy a thong.”

      “A thong?” he asked, picturing her in a thong, her arms crossed modestly across her breasts. It was a most arousing image and not the sort that often popped into his head. He was usually a man of stern self-control.

      “Leather,” she corrected. “A strip of leather for the bird.”

      “Yeah,” he nodded. “Leather. The very thing. Thank you.”

      “Thank you,” she replied.

      “I’d better be going,” he said. “Um. See you later.”

      “Yes. Perhaps.” She gave him an unreadable smile.

      He made his way out the door and into the Jeep. He got onto the road again and felt the blood roaring in his ears.

      What the hell had gone wrong with him back there? When he’d seen her earlier this morning, he’d thought she was singularly pretty, but this time—she’d affected him as few women ever had. Why?

      Because you got a closer look at her, he told himself. You looked into those green, green eyes for the first time. And she had such a unique air about her. You touched her. You were alone with her.

      He’d slipped the charm into the front pocket of his jeans, and it seemed to spread the heat of desire through his groin. He smacked himself in the forehead with the heel of his palm. Why did she make him react this way?

      But he knew why, and had known, perhaps unconsciously, from the moment he’d seen her again.

      She somehow reminded him of Kellie Maguire, whom he’d loved all those years ago. The girl who’d been so strong of purpose, but turned out to be so vulnerable.

      Marie was small, like Kellie, and beautiful, but in a completely different way. He remembered her at the Scepter, speaking foreign languages fluently, working so gracefully and with such sparkle—and defending herself like a champion. And yet there was vulnerability there, he could feel it, and it brought out an almost fiercely protective urge in him.

      Again he seemed to hear Kellie’s voice. “I don’t know how you did it, Preston. It’s broad daylight. But maybe you just found the door into the moon. Glimpse of the future, Mr. Serioso?”