A Precious Inheritance. Paula Roe

      “Why not?” He tempered that statement with a smile.

      She swallowed. “What if I say no?”

      He slid his hands into his coat pockets. “Do you want to say no?”

      Maybe that manuscript wasn’t completely lost to her after all. And if one party invitation was all it took to definitively find out, then she’d consider it a good deal.

      “Okay. Saturday night.”

      “Great.” He reached past her for the door handle and suddenly her personal space became way too cramped. She took a step back just for the room and air to breathe easier.

      Yet his perfectly handsome face, now flush with male satisfaction, made her heart pound against her ribs.

      “Thanks for the coffee.”

      “You’re welcome,” she replied, picking at a loose thread on her sleeve just so she’d stop staring at him.

      I blame you, Mrs. Knopf. Her ninth-grade art teacher had encouraged a healthy appreciation of a well-put-together face, of shadow, form and color and it had stuck, even though Vanessa had long since made peace with her basic art skills.

      “I’ll pick you up at seven-thirty.”

      “Oh.” She blinked. “I thought I could just meet you there.”

      “You’re not out of my way.”

      I doubt it was on the tip of her tongue, but she swallowed it back. It would save on gas. She shrugged. “Okay.” Then she glanced past his shoulder. “Is it raining?”

      Chase turned, his profile in stark relief against the porch light and the dark night. “It is.” He turned up his collar, dug his hands in his pockets and gave her a small smile. “Sleep well, Vanessa.”

      She nodded, ostensibly crossing her arms to ward off the chill. But her goosebumping skin had more to do with the way Chase’s mouth had formed that little farewell—soft, almost intimate—followed by a small grin that had her wishing for more.