to sleep?
Hours later the sun poured through the dusty windows.
Olivia awoke, disoriented at first, to find herself wrapped in her wool blanket, instead of her familiar quilt. Her face flushed with heat when her gaze landed on her roommate. Drew was asleep. He lay flat on his back. With the morning light pouring through the window, Olivia took in his broad shoulders, his broad muscled chest covered with coarse dark hair.
Black stubble covered his chin. His facial features were perfectly aligned, almost too beautiful for a man, except for the strength in his square jaw. In sleep he looked younger, more vulnerable, but his brow was wrinkled in a frown, as if his dreams brought him no peace.
Hastily Olivia looked away, aware that she’d invaded some private area. Somehow she knew he wouldn’t appreciate the intrusion.
At the sight of her small overnight case on the table, Olivia rose, picked up the case and tiptoed from the room. The night before, she’d discovered a utilitarian bathroom. She flipped on a light switch, pleased to note that Drew must have turned on the generator, which meant there was hot water.
Olivia showered in the small metal cubicle, then dressed in the clothes she’d worn yesterday to impress her lawyer with her maturity. She needn’t have bothered. He’d advised her to find a husband, adding, “A pretty little thing like you shouldn’t have a problem.” Like most men, he refused to look past the feminine package.
Admittedly she was guilty of using that package to her advantage on occasion, but she had no respect for men she could manipulate, which was one more reason to appreciate Drew Pierce. She knew he was attracted to her, but he seemed equally determined not to do act on it. Olivia slowly buttoned her shirt.
She couldn’t deny the obvious—Drew Pierce could be the solution to all her problems. Since he was “just passing through” as he put it, she wondered if he’d be willing to stick around Henderson long enough to attach his name to a marriage certificate.
There was no provision in the will stating they had to live together. In six months the marriage could be annulled. No strings and no one would get hurt.
She wondered if Drew could be bought, then recoiled at the idea of even asking him to marry her. But what if? What if she asked and what if he said yes? She trembled. Would she be willing to pay the price?
In her heart, the part of her that always remained carefully guarded, Olivia knew that marriage should be a permanent bond, but things didn’t always work out as they should.
From what she knew about Drew’s past, she doubted if he had many romantic illusions that might get in the way, or many scruples, for that matter. But then, what did she know about him? His critics were harsh, but she sensed there was more to him than gossip revealed.
Perhaps it was unwise, but she couldn’t deny that something in Drew aroused her sympathy. Her stepfather had been a cop. She’d had enough exposure to the criminal justice system to know that it broke some men. She wondered how Drew had survived it. Had it left him hurt and wounded in some way? Did that account for his long silences, his lack of warmth?
Olivia turned away, uncomfortable with the thought, and headed into the kitchen. She reached for a pot and started to hum….
Drew awoke abruptly.
He wasn’t sure what had disturbed him. But his first thought was that this was day four. His fourth day of freedom! With his eyes closed, he could hear the blessed sound of silence. It was interrupted by the sound of a woman’s soft humming.
Drew frowned, recalling his present situation—all the inconveniences, delays and disruptions—and they all had to do with Olivia DeAngelis. He could hear her puttering around the kitchen, opening cupboards, rattling pots and pans. When a teakettle whistled, he almost jumped out of his skin.
With a groan, Drew pulled on a pair of jeans and a shirt. Not in the mood to face Olivia’s early-morning chirpiness, he slipped out the front door.
The storm had cleared the air. The air was cool and crisp and dry. The breeze felt good. Drew raised his gaze to the treetops scraping a brilliant blue sky. The sun filtered through, setting the maple leaves on fire. Nature’s celebration.
But autumn was all illusion, a time when nature signaled the end of a green growing season with bright gaudy displays of color, a time when life seemed exaggerated and desperate. As each day narrowed, there were clear signs that winter was on its way. It could be beautiful, but brutal, if you were unprepared…if you were alone. And Drew had forfeited every close tie.
Olivia interrupted his downward mood. “Good morning.” She’d come outside bearing gifts—a steaming mug of coffee.
“Morning,” he said, taking her in at a glance. A calf-length green skirt had replaced her tight black jeans—which was a relief. But when she moved, the skirt “swished” and he was lost again, enchanted by her intrinsic femininity. The coffee was strong. He took a bracing swallow.
“Do you need sugar?”
“No.” His voice sounded husky.
She smiled. “That’s just as well. There isn’t any. Apart from that,” she said, as if he had a burning desire to know each domestic detail, “the kitchen’s pretty well stocked. I found some coffee and powdered milk.”
He lifted his cup. “So I see.”
“There are some canned goods. I checked the expiration dates and they’re all safe. I was going to make pancakes for breakfast, but there aren’t any eggs. There is such a thing as powdered eggs, but I suppose that would be expecting too much.” She laughed, her eyes bright and alive. She was so alive. “How do you feel about canned hash or baked beans for breakfast?”
More choices.
Drew took another gulp of coffee. “Hash sounds good.”
“Tuna casserole for lunch?”
He nodded, but didn’t dare ask what went into that besides the tuna. She continued to chatter.
When she ran out of menu items, she started on Drew. “So what do you do—for work, I mean?”
He said dryly, “Let’s just say I’m between jobs at the moment.” Had he actually ever held down a real job, one that wasn’t manufactured for him, one that he cared about?
Olivia chuckled. “Any particular field?”
He shrugged. “Not really.” He had a college degree in forestry gathering dust somewhere, not that it amounted to much. “How about you? What do you do?”
Unconsciously provocative, with the breeze playing with the hem of her skirt, she stared at him with her wide-spaced gray eyes. Her eyelashes were long and lush, fanning her flushed cheeks. “I’m a hooker.”
Drew choked on his coffee, gulping in air when he finally recovered his voice. “What did you say?”
Clearly pleased to have captured his full attention, she repeated, “I’m a hooker. I hook rugs. You know, cut and dyed, originally designed, handcrafted wool rugs?” She laughed at his expression. “I have an art degree, which doesn’t earn much in this part of Maine. I’m not cut out for the starving artist-in-a-garret route, so I had to find something practical to do. I do all kinds of needlecrafts, as well.”
“And that pays the bills?”
“Yes.” A mischievous dimple played around her pursed mouth. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to shock you.” The little witch didn’t look sorry at all; in fact, she looked downright smug.
“You didn’t shock me,” he said, trying not to laugh.
Her gray eyes twinkled. “Oh, yes, I did.”
He considered kissing that sassy mouth, then thought better of it. “You do know that kind of talk could land you in a hell of a lot of trouble in certain circles.”
The fact that she felt safe with