well. Even, white teeth flashed against tanned skin. Deep lines bracketed his wide, sensual mouth, and small attractive creases appeared at the corners of his dark eyes. The transformation was mesmerizing. Dangerously so, she realized.
“Well…aren’t you going to invite me in?” he asked finally.
Georgia had plenty of practice facing down intimidating men, but the moment her gaze locked with her adversary’s, she felt an egg-sized lump lodge in her throat.
“Of course, come in,” she replied in a shaky voice.
As he stepped into the foyer, she silently scolded herself for letting his looks affect her. But then again, she’d been taken by surprise.
In all that Will had said about his brother, he’d never mentioned that Jackson was so damn good-looking. Not the polished and predictable looks of a catalogue model, but the rough-around-the-edges kind, that made Georgia’s breath catch in her throat and set her pulse racing. As she busied herself, latching the door, she secretly watched him stroll into the living room. Black as a raven’s wing, his rain-soaked hair was smoothed back from his forehead, emphasizing the strong lines of his face, lean cheeks, a square jaw and a blunt chin.
He badly needed a shave, she noticed, and his thin white shirt was wet through, clinging to the lines of his muscular chest and broad shoulders. A colorful silk tie—the expensive designer type—hung undone from his collar. Probably ruined, she reflected. Though she was sure with his money he’d never miss it.
Damp, bedraggled and mud splattered, he was still the most attractive man who had crossed her path in ages. But she pulled her gaze away with conscious effort.
Get a grip, gal, she coached herself. This guy’s the enemy.
Besides, his personality clearly negated the attractive packaging. He was her adversary, and she had to play her part. Wonderful Will—who might even be her brother-in-law by now, if all had gone as planned—and her own beloved sister, Faith, were counting on her. She had to ignore Jackson Bradshaw’s good looks and remind herself that he was bent on destroying her sister’s precious chance for happiness with the man she loved.
And for no justifiable reason, as far as Georgia could see.
Will had told her a story about Jackson’s past, how he’d been spurned in his early twenties by his first love, a young woman he hoped to marry. But as the story went, Jackson’s father did not approve of the girl. Convinced she was only after the Bradshaw fortune, he met with her secretly, persuaded her to break off with Jackson and paid her a large lump sum to disappear. Coupled with the early loss of their mother, Will claimed the experience had burned his brother so badly he’d never again trust a woman in a romantic relationship. And unfortunately, not only were any women he met suspect, but women that Will met, as well.
Well, it was a sad story, indeed, Georgia reflected as she walked toward Jackson. But we all have sad stories to tell, she thought. She knew that only too well. One bad experience was no excuse to ruin other people’s lives.
He faced her squarely as she stood in the arched entrance way to the room. “All right, where is he?”
“I have no idea who you’re speaking about,” Georgia claimed with a wide-eyed stare.
“Of course you do, damn it! Don’t give me those big eyes and fluttering lashes. I’m immune to your charms, Ms. Price, plentiful as they may be,” he promised her. “I flew two thousand miles from New York, drove three hours from the airport to this god-forsaken nowhereville, got lost five times on the road and walked the last mile in the pouring rain!” His voice had started off at a reasonable tone, but rose with each breath so that his speech now crescendoed at shouting level, his face an angry scowl. “Now, you tell Will to get out here this instant! I’m tired of playing games.”
Georgia stared at him for a moment, speechless. Then she laughed, politely covering her mouth with her hand. Perhaps it was a nervous reaction to his tirade. Or some defensive reflex meant to show him she was not cowed by his anger.
But it really was funny if you thought about it, she realized. Jackson Bradshaw was truly a man on a mission. You could see it from the obsessed gleam in his coal-black eyes. He truly believed he’d arrived just in the nick of time to prevent her from marrying Will Bradshaw. Who he also believed was cowering in some dark corner of her house.
“I don’t appreciate your amusement at my expense, Ms. Price,” he said sternly.
“Please, call me Georgia,” she suggested politely. “We are on shouting terms and all.”
“All right, Georgia,” he agreed through gritted teeth. “Now you are either going to tell Will to come out and face the music, or I’ll search this place from cellar to attic.”
“Help yourself.” She waved her arm airily. “But it won’t do you any good. Will isn’t here.”
He quickly glanced around the room, as if expecting his brother to step out from behind the couch or a curtain. Then he looked back at Georgia, glaring at her, obviously considering his next move.
“Maybe that is true,” he said finally, rubbing his jaw with hand. “I doubt that even my brother would stay in hiding this long while his fair damsel faced the dragon alone.”
Georgia watched him as he paced around the room, peered out the window at the wretched weather and then dropped the curtain back in place. Gee, she’d never been called a fair damsel before. It was a little corny…but cute.
“So, why isn’t he here?” Jackson persisted. “Are you two superstitious? No letting the groom view the bride before she walks down the aisle and all that?”
“I’m not the least bit superstitious,” she said honestly. “But Will is. Funny thing for a scientist, isn’t it?”
“Very amusing,” he replied blandly. “Where is he? You might as well tell me now and save us both a lot of trouble,” he warned.
“I don’t know,” she answered simply. When he stared at her in disbelief, she shrugged. “Honestly.”
He started to say something, then pursed his lips and sighed. She wondered if he was giving up or just getting a second wind.
She watched him warily as he gazed around the room, as if seeing it for the first time. She saw his expression turn to an appraising, scornful look. It was a look that spoke volumes to Georgia—he was wealthy and a snob. He’d never known anything but the very best life had to offer—raised on a huge estate in Connecticut, a Park Avenue apartment, private schools and Ivy League colleges, etcetera. She on the other hand, was raised in a backwater town just like Sweetwater, had left home pregnant and unwed at age seventeen and barely finished high school.
After years of scraping by at menial jobs, she had her own home and business now, an achievement that she was proud of.
But still, while Georgia had always found her home quite comfortable and had decorated it to her taste, she could understand how it must look to a man of his reputed wealth. She gazed around as he did, seeing the place from his eyes. The swayback couch, of 1890s vintage, was actually valuable—if she ever had the extra money to refinish the wood trim and repair the tear in the burgundy satin upholstery that was now cleverly camouflaged by a hand-knit afghan. The rocker, with its careworn velvet cushions, was in need of repair as well. She’d nursed Noah in that rocker, it held such fond memories.
The Oriental-style area rug that covered the polished wood floor had seen better days. But Georgia had other, more pressing financial priorities at the moment than finding a replacement. Paying the utilities bills, for instance. Besides, she was waiting for a suitable rug to pass through her hands at her shop. How could she force herself to pay retail prices, when sooner or later she’d come across the perfect replacement for free?
“You collect antiques, I see,” he said finally.
“Some pieces are antiques. Some are just…old,” she admitted. “I got most of the things through my business. I have a shop in town,” she explained. “It’s