Triplets Found: The Virgin's Makeover / Take a Chance on Me / And Then There Were Three

Or rather with her adolescent hormones raging.

What would she have done if the guy had actually come on to her?

She would have skedaddled like a scaredy cat, no doubt.

But Lissa couldn’t help wondering what Sullivan’s kiss would be like. She had a feeling she might like to let his tongue inside her mouth, but she shrugged off the possibility. A woman like her knew better than to dwell on an impossible dream.

Or to dwell on a handsome bachelor with a playful smile and more than his fair share of pheromones.

Chapter Three

At nine the next morning, Sullivan met Lissa at the vineyard office, a small, wood-paneled room that held file cabinets, a computer and an expansive antique desk. It looked like the usual workplace, but a mauve, overstuffed sofa against the far wall and a kitchenette in the corner suggested Lissa spent a lot of time here.

And so did the little puppy that lay curled up on a doggie bed by the potbellied stove.

Sullivan watched as Lissa made a pot of coffee from beans she’d ground only a moment ago.

As she had yesterday, she wore a plain, loose-fitting blouse and the same style of baggy trousers—this time a drab brown.

Why did she choose such dull colors when green or blue would highlight those expressive eyes?

Her mother and sister dressed stylishly, so he had to assume that Lissa preferred to be nondescript. Was that so she would be taken more seriously in the business world? Maybe. It made sense.

As she worked, he watched her from behind. She’d woven her hair into a long, single braid that hung down her back. He figured the strands might reach her waist, if she let it free.

Lissa turned, facing him. “How do you like your coffee?”

“Sugar,” he said. “No cream.”

He’d expected her to turn around and return to her work, but she didn’t move. She just stood there like a deer in the meadow, head raised, eyes focused on a potential foe.

“What are you looking at?” she asked.

“Nothing.” He hadn’t meant to be gawking. But long hair on women had always fascinated him.

If he and Lissa were dating, and his opinion meant something to her, he’d suggest she wear it loose, over her shoulders and down her back. But they weren’t dating, so he kept his opinion to himself.

Still, he had half a notion to tease her a bit, to see if she would loosen up. He was flirtatious by nature, and the playful banter between a man and a woman came easily to him. But he’d better back off. His relationship with Lissa was strictly business. And he’d be wise to keep it that way.

The coffee began to gurgle and sputter as it dribbled into the pot, and soon, the aroma of a robust brew permeated the room.

Lissa withdrew a crystal sugar bowl and two mugs from the small overhead cupboard, and he watched the braid swish along the curve of her back. Yesterday she’d worn her hair twisted in a knot. Did she prefer it trussed up and out of the way?

Maybe she disliked it long, but was too busy to go to the salon for a cut and style. It didn’t matter, he supposed. But the woman intrigued him for some reason.

Her shyness maybe? Her focus on business and finances? Or maybe because he suspected there was a lot more going on behind those vibrant green eyes than most people knew.

As she handed him a cup of coffee, their fingers brushed, and something passed between them. A soft and gentle awareness, a lingering connection of some kind.

Had that initial little spark of attraction he’d felt for her grown?

If so, he wouldn’t act upon it. Lissa Cartwright was too complex, too real. Too rooted in family and responsibility. When he’d been younger and more naive, she would have been the kind of woman he could have cared for—before he’d learned not to believe in romantic dreams.

She snagged his gaze. “Did anyone ever tell you that you have the most interesting eyes?”

He had interesting eyes? Hell, she was the one with eyes that would stop a man dead in his tracks. But he didn’t want to go there.

“My eyes aren’t anything special,” he said. “They’re just brown—or hazel, I guess.”

“The sunlight is coming through that window.” She nodded to the pane of glass on the east wall. “And it highlights little gold flecks. The color is really unusual.”

Sullivan stiffened. He wasn’t comfortable with her looking at him like that, as if he had something she’d never seen before, as if she thought he was someone special. But he quickly scoffed it off.

She’d only noticed his eye color because of the way the morning sun poured through the window. And she’d merely made a comment, which for some goofy reason, he continued to ponder.

Did his eyes really have gold flecks? If he had a mirror handy, he’d take a peek, just to see what she saw.

“The color is beautiful,” she said, her voice going kind of soft.

“Just in the sunlight.” He cast off her compliment and tried to shift the focus away from himself. “You’re the one with a stunning pair of peepers.”

She cocked her head slightly, as though trying to decipher his words. “Me?”

“What’s the matter? Surely, you’ve had tons of compliments over the years.”

“Mostly from my mom,” she said, cheeks starting to flush. “Although maybe some lady in a grocery store said something once or twice.”

Well, now. See? That’s what happened when a person tried to downplay their looks so no one would notice them. Sometimes it worked.

“You do have pretty eyes,” he told her. “Whether you believe it or not. They’re the color of new leaves.”

Great. Now he was talking like a friggin’ poet.

She thanked him, yet still appeared skeptical.

“By the way,” he added, reneging on his earlier decision to keep his opinion to himself. “You ought to wear green or blue. To bring out the color of your eyes, you know.”

She glanced down at a pair of brown, rubber-soled loafers—shoes that looked a lot like the ones his great-aunt Clara wore. Then she looked up at him with a doe-eyed gaze that reached deep into his chest.

Whoa. That was a little too close for comfort.

He took his mug, then turned and strode toward the sofa—but only because it was on the far side of the room. Away from her, away from the weird stuff he felt whenever she looked at him that way.

Lissa Cartwright was not the kind of woman he pursued. And she was certainly off-limits until his business with the vineyard was over.

From across the room, and from a much safer distance, he turned, took a sip of coffee then asked, “How about a tour of the vineyard?”

“Sure. After we go over the guest list for the dinner party tomorrow night. I’d like you to know who’ll be there ahead of time.” Lissa reached into the top desk drawer, withdrew a sheet of paper and set it upon the oak desktop.