in Atlanta. Returning to his roots was a step backward.
Not to mention her daddy still had vague ideas about reinstituting the firing squad for the sin of Davis hurting and humiliating his precious daughter.
She said good-bye to Helen and Courtney, then headed to the main desk to actually start doing her job. She reorganized the entire medieval research area, dusted seventeenth-century fiction and helped two students find the history of bacteria and antibiotics for the science fair.
But the whole time, she thought of Helen’s news.
Davis is here.
He could be standing on the front steps even now. He might have left her a message—she checked her cell phone six times. He could drop by her condo at any moment.
Davis, with his charming smile, sandy-blond hair and cheerful elegance was a polar opposite to dark and brooding Aidan Kendrick. Was that why she was so attracted to Aidan? Was she subconsciously leaning toward a man totally unlike the one who’d broken her heart and left her beloved island for more excitement and another woman?
At eleven-thirty, one of the Junior League volunteers arrived, so Sloan quickly made copies of Aidan’s plans, then headed toward the café. There, she took Mabel’s advice and ordered two blue plate specials—country-fried steak with sawmill gravy, collard greens, creamed corn and hot yeast rolls. And, of course, sweet tea.
Hey, it wasn’t part of the low-carb, low-fat diet, but it was comforting.
As she pulled into the driveway at Aidan’s, she checked her cell phone again—though it hadn’t rung. If Davis was here, why hadn’t he called?
Her mind half on historical society business and half on Davis, she wasn’t paying too much attention to the door she’d knocked on.
Until it opened.
Aidan stood in the opening. Luscious and beautiful, even with his fierce scowl.
The stubble on his face was slightly thicker. She wanted to stroke it as much as she wanted to see that magnificent jaw clean-shaven. He wore a snug navy T-shirt, showing off his lean torso and leanly muscled arms, and she couldn’t help but wonder about the heat and feel of the skin the shirt covered.
“I’m trying to work here,” he said rudely.
Her gaze darted up to his. Wow, oh, wow. He did have those intense eyes. Davis’s eyes were a nice, safe, sort-of-boring brown.
Then the scent of Mabel’s special hit her.
“I brought lunch. Like I said.” Sloan held up the bag. “You have time for a break now?”
His eyes flashed with irritation. “No.”
In her other hand, she held up his original plans. “I’m also returning these.”
He took the rolled-up plans and considered her. “That does smell good.”
Okay, note to self—don’t attempt to seduce the hot, new guy with perfume.
She smiled. “Uh-huh.”
He sighed and stepped back, allowing her to enter.
“I’m assuming you have candles and wine at the ready,” she said breezily—if sarcastically—as she walked inside.
“I don’t.”
“No?” She turned, giving him a purposefully surprised look. “I told you that I’d bring you lunch today, so I assumed you’d be expecting me.” She paused. “Or at least grateful that I showed up to feed you.”
He remained silent. A muscle along his jaw pulsed. Finally, he extended his arm toward the hallway leading to the kitchen. “So feed me.”
Her first instinct was to dump Mabel’s special gravy over his head, but she resisted the urge and reminded herself that she wasn’t much for accepting help, either.
She was her father’s daughter, and she could handle anything that came her way. With her mother gone, surrounded by lawmen, the sisters at the Catholic school where she attended were her primary female influences. So, she’d developed the strength and ruthless nature of men and the compassion and sense of community responsibility that taught her to work, not take handouts.
Without commenting, she pulled the plastic food containers from the bag. “I brought napkins and utensils. I wasn’t sure if you had them.”
“I have forks and paper towels.”
“Metal forks?”
“Plastic.”
“Naturally.” She finished laying out the meal and tried to pretend her pulse wasn’t vibrating simply from the sound of his voice. “I must say, Mr. Kendrick, this is by far the fanciest date I’ve been on in months.”
“This isn’t a date.”
She dropped into a chair and looked up to see him scowling at her, as usual. “You’re telling me.” Smiling, she patted the chair next to her. “You’re hungry. Have a seat.”
He hesitated.
She met his gaze. “I’m not going to keep asking.”
He sat.
They ate in silence for several minutes. “This is good,” he said, somehow sounding impressed and reluctant at the same time. “I was starving.”
“You can’t do the work you want without rest and fuel.”
“Is that a speech?”
She paused and looked over at him as she sipped her tea. “Are speeches usually one-liners?”
“I guess not.”
“Then, no, that wasn’t a speech.”
After several more minutes passed, she rose, folding her napkin, dumping her empty plate into the large, gray plastic can he’d so artfully set near the back door. When she turned back, he was standing behind her.
All six-foot-three amazing inches of him.
She drew a quick breath. Her gaze jumped to his. “Your eyes are bloodshot.”
“Up too late last night.”
Since his body heat was making her head spin, she simply took his plate from him and dumped it into the trash.
When she turned back, he was close.
Really close.
“Thank you,” he said, his gaze roving her face.
“You’re welcome.”
He scowled. “I thought about you half the night.”
Her stomach quivered. “That’s a bad thing?”
“Yes.”
This negative attitude toward her was really starting to be annoying. Unrequited lust wasn’t familiar territory for her. And though Aidan obviously wasn’t totally immune to her, her ego was taking a pretty serious hit. Why was she bringing him lunch, trying to make conversation, sympathizing with his pain and, in general, being nice, when his only genuine smile probably came the moment the door shut behind her?
She lifted her chin. “Well, that’s just f—”
His lips captured hers, silencing her in a flash. Her heart jumped in her chest, and she was pretty sure she let out a moan of longing, then she angled her head and sank into him.
He didn’t hesitate to tangle his tongue with hers. He tasted of the lemon he drank with his tea. He smelled of sawdust and spicy sandalwood.
She clutched his T-shirt in her fist, grasping to get closer, to absorb him into her. She wanted to feel his bare, sleek skin against hers, to have that intense gaze focused on her, to feel his muscles harden beneath her…to have him tremble and gasp along with her.
His hands, braced