Open Invitation?

“Taken ’em? I’ve mended fences.”

A frown marred her smooth forehead. “You do realize that during a steeplechase you’ll be expected to jump over obstacles? Very large obstacles?”

Dan scratched his head. “Yeah. I’ve never figured out that part. Seems dumb to me. Why not just go around ’em?”

“It takes a very good seat and firm hands and lots of practice…”

“I’m not too worried.”

“Riding lessons, English saddle,” Lilia said firmly, writing it down on a monogrammed notepad.

He curled his lip. “You’re not gettin’ me in those bun-hugger pansy pants or a velvet hat.”

She waved a dismissive hand at him and continued to write. “We’ll go see Jean Pierre for some dancing lessons, and then you and I can practice every day… Oh, and we’ll need to schedule a manicure for you.”

“Come again? Did you say ‘manicure’?”

“Yes, Dan, I did. Your nails are ragged and your hands are in bad shape. I’m even going to suggest a paraffin wax treatment.”

“Get outta here,” he exclaimed.

“I beg your pardon?”

“You’re yanking my chain, right? I’m not going to some salon for a—”

“Yes, you are. And we’re also going to schedule you a haircut with Enrique right away. Plus I’ll set you up with some light reading—etiquette books that you’ll need to read and study every night over the next two weeks.”

“I watch ESPN at night, and COPS, and the History channel. Bad movies. True crime shows.”

“Not for the next fourteen days, Dan. Remember Cary Grant. Otherwise you’ll be wasting your money.”

He groaned.

She eyed him sympathetically. “You’re very sweet to do this for your sister, you know. You must love her very much.”

He looked down at the scarred hands that had proudly wielded shovels, hammers and rifles. Hands that had delivered calves and foals, mended fences and steered two-ton trucks. Beer-drinking hands. For Claire, they were shortly to be defiled by a manicure. Ugh.

“My sister was about the one bright spot in my life, growing up. And you know what’s funny? I thought I’d hate her. But I fell in love with that little girl the minute I saw her.”

“You thought you’d hate her? May I ask why?”

Dan sighed. “It’s complicated.”

She nodded and he stood up. “Well, it’s been a long day, Miz Lilia. I think I’d like to go find my hotel room and take a hot shower. Enjoy my last night of television before being brainwashed by Emily Post.”

Her lips twitched. “No such luck. I have reading material to give you right away.” And his elegant little tormentor pulled a fat three-ring binder out of a filing drawer. She handed it to him with a wry smile. “Let the brainwashing begin.”

Dan accepted it with a scowl and picked up his duffel. “It’s been real nice meeting you. I can’t wait to be transformed into a gentleman with a capital G. And I am sorry about destroying your china and your chair.”

“That’s all right. I’ll survive.” She smiled at him. “This won’t be so bad, you know.”

He scrubbed a hand over his bristly jaw and moved toward the door of her office. Then he turned and winked. “If I come in here tomorrow claiming whiplash, will it get me another kiss?”

She stared at him, an odd expression on her face. “No, Mr. Granger, it will not.”

AFTER WALKING HIM out to the front door, Lil stared after the man, watched his jaunty, confident stride and the way he swung the duffel by a couple of fingers on the way out to his rental car. She shouldn’t be ogling him, but she enjoyed the view of his broad shoulders and the quite magnificent male bottom under that dreadful belt.

His stance was cocky and casual. Nothing elegant or cosmopolitan about him. He had two inch-wide strips of hair growing shaggily down his neck in the back, evidence of how long it had been since he’d had a haircut.

He didn’t have a clue how to conduct himself outside of a barn. And she loathed the instant presumption of familiarity that he’d assumed with her.

Yet she found his sheer unselfconsciousness sexy. He was more than comfortable in his own skin, unfettered by convention. A normal man, after wreaking havoc in his etiquette consultant’s office and springing an erection (she even whispered that word mentally) should have run from there, mortified.

This man just took it all in stride and capped it all off by kissing her! He simply refused to accept the fact that he was a…buffoon. An extraordinarily handsome one, but a buffoon nevertheless.

He couldn’t possibly be serious about the matching bride and groom belts, could he?

Granger tossed his carry-on into the passenger side of the rented red Mustang he was driving. His biceps bulged, straining against the short sleeves of his T-shirt. He got into the car himself.

Good Lord. She couldn’t deny that she wanted to see him without his shirt again. She touched her lips, which were still sensitive after being scrubbed by that golden bristle of his.

From behind the windshield, he followed the gesture with his eyes and grinned, his white teeth flashing in the fading sunlight.

Lil dropped her hand as if burned, swung around on one of her kitten-heels and walked back to her office.

Shannon was on the phone and Jane appeared to be gone for the day, so Lil had a few moments to get herself together and think about how to proceed.

Why on earth had she allowed the man to kiss her? She hadn’t kissed anyone since Li Wong, and he’d been out of her life for months now. Kissing Li had been unexciting. He had cold, squishy lips that were always too moist. She’d imagined, toward the end of things between them, that her damp kitchen sponge would provide more of a thrill.

She got more of a charge out of just looking at Dan’s mouth than she’d gotten from touching Li anywhere. Li was smooth, hairless…flaccid. The man did have perfect manners—when one wasn’t rejecting his munificent marriage proposals—and lovely suits, however. He even wrote thank-you notes.

Dan’s bottom lip had a tiny indentation in the middle, a cleft just like the one in his chin. It was wildly sensual-looking, that split. His mouth looked uninhibited, casually wicked, and not squeamish about its destinations. Dan was a man who knew the secret of how to have fun.

Lil was starved for fun. That’s why I let him kiss me.

She scolded herself for it. You are a thirty-year-old business owner who specializes in decorum, Lilia! The age to have had fun was in high school, college—when everyone else your age was having it. This is neither the time nor the place to discover your inner hedonist…

But in high school and college she’d been taking care of a frail, exceedingly proper grandmother in her seventies. Nana Lisbeth had raised Lil apart from her own generation; teaching her embroidery and watercoloring and French while most girls her age played school sports, went to rock concerts and snuck out to bars with fake ID’s.

Nana had been Lil’s entire world except for Jane and Shannon…but now Lisbeth London had been laid to rest beside Sir Henry. Even so, Lil went home to her empty house each night expecting to find her sipping lemon tea sweetened by a half-teaspoon of honey and letting a fresh crumpet go stale on a Royal Doulton plate.

She simply could not believe that she’d never see Nana Lisbeth again, never drop another kiss on her powdery cheek or smell rose-water mixed with the scent of old wool. How had a simple knee-replacement surgery led to a life-threatening infection?

With all that modern medicine could do, when it was someone’s time, it was her time.

Shannon said goodbye to whomever she’d been talking to and Lil heard the click as she replaced the cordless phone in its cradle. Her modern rolling chair squeaked as she stood up. Seconds later she popped her head into Lil’s office.

“So how did things go…” her voice trailed off as she saw the fragments of Lil’s visitor’s chair. “Oh. Not well, I see. My God, what else did he break?”