The Right Twin

“I don’t know…This area is generally reserved for employees. You know how it is. I don’t like my employees mingling with guests.”

“Fair enough,” he said, sitting anyway, crossing his legs so that his left ankle rested atop his right knee. He’d changed from the suit and tie he’d worn to dinner into faded jeans and a retro black Rolling Stones T-shirt. “But, you know, seeing how I helped with all those towels this morning, I think that qualifies me for back-porch privileges.”

“I think you’d be right. But if you want a raise, forget it. Some of those towels had to be refolded.”

“Ouch.”

“Hey, I am the boss. If folks see me going easy on you, they may want the same special treatment.”

“That means I already am getting special treatment?” He dodged when she tossed a floral throw pillow in his direction. “You are so getting reported for employee abuse.”

The size of her grin said she didn’t care.

Neither did he.

He should have been back in his room, making sense of the hasty notes he’d discreetly scribbled for Hale during dinner. But where was the fun in that? So far, his brother was right in that giving Sadie her five-spoon review was a no-brainer, leaving Heath with plenty of time to better acquaint himself with the brains and beauty behind the inn’s perfection.

“Fan of Mick?” she asked, nodding toward his shirt.

Shrugging, he said, “More old-school than new.”

“Me, too.”

A few minutes’ companionable silence was disturbed only by chirping crickets and an owl’s lonely call.

There were lots of things Heath wanted to ask Sadie Connelly, but should he? After all, he’d already worked out the fact that he wasn’t over Tess. What good would it do him to get to know Sadie better when he still had so much to figure out about himself?

“I know what you do for a living,” she said, her voice quiet in the chilly night air, “but what do you dream about?”

Forehead wrinkled, Heath said, “I don’t get the question.”

“Come on, play with me. Everyone has dreams. Since you’re in computers, do you want to be the next Bill Gates, for example?”

“No,” Heath answered truthfully.

“Then what do you want?” Leaning forward, Sarah rested her elbows on her knees. The pose unwittingly thrust certain womanly parts of her anatomy up and out, making it hard for Heath to focus on those dusky martini-olive eyes of hers instead of the plunging vee neckline of her white blouse.

What did he want?

At the moment, he wanted a fantastic night with Sadie Connelly. Hot and wild. No strings. Because when strings broke, he was the one who got hurt.

Come on, his conscience ragged. What happened with Tess was a one-time deal.

Yeah, he fought back, but that one time, I gave her my heart and soul. I wanted to have kids. Set up housekeeping. Buy a dependable car.

Even worse, Sadie Connelly was off-limits. His brother might love racing on the side, but until Hale made enough cash with his car to quit his day job, Heath owed it to his twin to keep this gig strictly professional.

“I’m waiting,” she said in that throaty tone of hers that was starting to be a major turn-on. “Dreams?”

This was sticky. Not only was Heath supposed to keep it casual between them but he hated lying. And so, on the fly, he carefully crafted a mingling of half-truths and deceptions, saying, “What I want is pretty simple. A few lucky career breaks have landed me more than enough in the bank, so…” He paused a moment to try and calm the nerve that was ticking in his jaw over the entirely true admission he’d decided to make. “Get out your violin, but deep down I guess I just want what lots of folks want. Security. To carry on the species.”

“Kids? You want a wife and kids?”

“You don’t have to sound so shocked,” he said, frustrated with himself for being so honest. Hating to realize that her eyes, her voice wielded such power. Knowing that her disapproval would hurt him.

“No,” she said with a rapid shake of her head. “You misread me. I meant it as a compliment. You’re a good-looking guy, and I had you pegged for a party boy. You’ve probably got gorgeous women lined up to accompany you to glitzy parties all the time.”

“Been there, done that,” he said with a wry grin. “I’m getting old. Like a tortoise. Time to bale hay and mend fences and all that crap.”

“For the record, you’re hardly grizzled or old, and baling hay isn’t crap,” she said with conviction. “Thank you.”

“For what?” Heath looked out to the brick patio, unable to deal with the impossible-to-read emotion that shadowed her expression.

“Being open with me.” She fidgeted in her chair. Sighed. “Since you’ve been so straight with me, I guess I owe you the same courtesy. I used to want the same. Nice house. Two-point-five rug rats. I’d met the perfect guy—tall, dark and handsome, with this little dimple in his right cheek every time he smiled.”

“Uh-oh,” Heath said with a groan. “I’m taking it from your pinched expression that this story has one of those Oscar-type tragic endings—as opposed to the summer blockbuster happy type?”

“You like movies?”

“Love ’em. But back on topic. This guy break your heart? Want me to arrange a fish picnic for him at the bottom of the lake?” He nodded toward the breeze-dappled water that glistened in the moonlight at the garden’s edge.

“How chivalrous of you,” she said with a flirty bat of her eyelashes. “But he’s long gone. Not quite as satisfactorily as the method you proposed. But I suppose the state pen has a certain charm all its own.”

“Prison?” Heath whistled. “Damn, girl. What’d he do?”

“Oh.” She absentmindedly twirled a lock of her hair. “Just a little embezzling on a pretty major scale. Throw in a dash of mail fraud, and he’s vacationing behind bars for quite some time.”