“YOU LOOK THIRSTY,” a male voice said from behind Andrea.
Turning, she barely avoided jolting at the sight of the gorgeous, blue-eyed man who held out a glass of champagne.
Tyler Landry.
She hadn’t recognized his voice. But then that was hardly surprising, after not hearing it for more than a decade. Swallowing, she fought for words, the right tone. There were lines in his face that hadn’t been there before. His eyes had a sharper edge that most probably wouldn’t notice, but she did, as she’d spent hours studying pictures of him and wondering how she’d feel, how she’d react, if those perfect baby blues had ever focused on her for more than a millisecond.
As they were now.
Oh, boy.
Heart hammering, she fought for something clever to say. He knew her as a nerd and hadn’t wanted her. Would he really change his mind now? Underneath it all, she wasn’t any different.
She flicked a glance at the glass he held and hoped her voice would hold steady. “How far away were you when you noticed my unquenchable thirst?”
He smiled invitingly, a flash of the bright white teeth that graced storefronts and utility poles all over the island. “On the other side of the room.”
“Noticed me from way over there, did you?”
“Definitely.”
Her heart jumped against her ribs, but she kept her tone casual. “Maybe I don’t like champagne.”
His smile dimmed. “I could get you something else.”
And there was the innate niceness that had always been part of Tyler. He was popular, beautiful and athletic. He could have been a jerk to everybody, and he still would have been worshipped. But, no, he’d been decent and kind. Even to a nerd with braces who couldn’t speak to him without stammering.
She plucked the glass from his hand. “But I do like champagne.”
He stepped closer. “It suits you—sparkling and elegant.”
“Thanks.” Her gaze met his, the seductive blue seeming to peer into her soul. She avoided looking at the lustrous, dark brown hair she’d always longed to trail her fingertips through and never had the courage. But she did notice his shoulders were broader, his body still leanly muscled. Still perfect, after all these years.
Did she even dare to inhale too deeply? He probably smelled perfect. Like heaven. Or maybe sin.
She sipped champagne and fought for something witty to say. Glancing around the room, she caught Sloan’s gaze. Her friend gave her an enthusiastic thumbs-up, which helped her focus. What would Sloan say?
“Do I know you?” she managed to ask. “You look familiar.”
He held out his hand. “Tyler Landry. I’m running for sheriff.”
As she touched him, she felt the spark of attraction that hadn’t, ridiculously, faded after all this time. “I’m…”
Surely you’re not crazy enough to make that mistake.
“Glad to meet you,” she finished.
“You have a name, too, don’t you?”
“I do.”
He cocked his head. “But you’re not going to tell me what it is.”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Why should I?”
“So I can get to know you.”
“We don’t need names for that.”
His eyes flashed with shock, regret, then interest.
Wow, oh, wow, it’s working.
“Mystery lady, huh?” He grinned and considered her, slowly, from head to toe. “Have we met before?”
Andrea hesitated before realizing he’d never connect her with his braces-and-thick-glasses former math tutor. “Yes.”
Though she had his attention before, now she had his interest. “Recently?” he asked.
“No.”
“Did we meet on the island? I haven’t visited very often, and I only moved back a month ago, so—”
She laid her hand in the center of his chest. “No more questions. You’ll spoil the fun.”
“Yeah? How much fun are we talking about?”
She licked her lips. “Lots.”
His gaze grew intense. “Well, we definitely wouldn’t want to ruin it, then.”
“Are you alone?”
“Before I saw you I was.”
“Then let me show you the house. Do you know the history surrounding it?”
“Only a bit.” He linked their hands. “Show me.”
With the warmth of his palm pressed against hers, she led him from the parlor and into the dining room, which was equally crowded with guests who were eating, drinking and chatting as if they had no idea of the significance of her and Tyler Landry touching.
Which, thankfully, they didn’t.
“The house was built in 1809 by George Batherton, a successful physician and planter of the day. He had a fear of the water, hence the settling two full blocks from the shore.”
“But no hence on why he lived on an island in the first place.”
“No. We can only assume that his wife, who was a cousin to the Earl of Something-Or-Other, understood the intimate and financial definition of beachfront property.”
Tyler nodded. “A wise and progressive woman.” He glanced at the elaborate copper chandelier dangling above the dining room table. “And one with excellent taste.”
“That’s a reproduction, but it certainly fits the period.”
He turned his head to stare at her. “Does it?”
Surprised she’d been lured into showing off her historical expertise, she cleared her throat. “Well, so I hear. Life rolled along nicely for his wife and ten kids until an inconvenient skirmish called The War of 1812. Then later the Civil War—”
“Isn’t that the War of Northern Aggression?” he asked, and she assumed his tongue was planted firmly in his cheek.
Of course she wanted it somewhere else entirely…
“Considering where we’re standing geographically, I suppose it is,” she conceded. “Regardless, and obviously, this house is a survivor, since between all those messy battles there were also various hurricanes and years of disrepair. The house has been restored to its old glory by a former Atlanta businessman, who’s taken a hands-on approach to restoration. You should see the stair railing he found—”
“Can I see you in the kitchen for a minute?” Sloan asked suddenly from behind her.
Andrea turned to face her friend. “Ah…sure.” But she’d just been getting into the rhythm of her story. And how was she supposed to keep Tyler’s interest while she was in the kitchen? “I guess you know Tyler,” she added, stalling.
“We went to high school together,” Tyler said, then his expression turned speculative. His gaze slid back and forth between the two women. “Friends with Sloan, huh? Did we go to high school together?”
Panic bubbled in Andrea’s stomach. “I, uh…”
“I bet you’re one of Sloan’s cheerleader friends,” he continued. “There were quite a few blondes.”
“She’s—” Sloan began.
But Tyler rolled on with, “Lana Miller.” He snapped his fingers. “Or Amber Dessler. You could be—”
“I’m taking her now,” Sloan said, her frustration clear. “I promise to return her eventually.” She grasped Andrea’s elbow and steered her down the hall. In the kitchen, she dodged various members of the catering staff, then tugged Andrea into a corner. “He doesn’t need a history lesson.”
“How do you know I was giving him one?”
Sloan simply raised her eyebrows.
Andrea sighed. “Okay, fine. But at least it’s something I know. I get history. I don’t get seduction.”
“You could start by looking at him with at least as much awe and longing as you do the chandelier.”
“Ha, ha. And that’s my problem, by the way. I’m too in awe of him. I can’t relax.”
“Which is exactly why I saved you and brought you in here.”
“I’m supposed to seduce him from in here?”
“You’re supposed to regroup in here.”
Andrea leaned back against the wall. “It hardly matters. You heard him. Cheerleader. Yeah, right. He doesn’t remember me at all.”
Sloan examined her manicure. “My event planner’s a little busy at the moment, but I bet you could book him later.”
“Book him for what?”
“Your pity party.”
“He thinks I’m Lana or Amber. That calls for a pity party if ever a situation does.”
“I’ll admit it’s not encouraging. The dumb blonde cheerleader cliché was invented by those two, after all. But, hey, they were hot.”
Andrea simply narrowed her eyes.
“And clearly hotness clouds the male mind, since Tyler didn’t remember that nobody was less likely to know anything about island history than Lana and Amber.”
“Clearly.”
Any minute now she was going to say the wrong thing, and he’d know who she was, or somebody was going to recognize her—she’d been back to the island for nearly six months, after all. Or, even worse, she was going to launch into an explanation of South Carolina’s role in every conflict since the War of Independence.
With a sigh, she pulled off her mask.
“Oh, no, you don’t.” Sloan snatched the mask, then slid it back over Andrea’s head. “We just need to adjust our plan. You need action, not talk.”
TYLER STOOD IN THE PARLOR alone.
He was surrounded by partygoers, his fellow islanders, many of them friends. But the one person he wanted to see was nowhere around.
He’d just met her. Talked to her for less than ten minutes. Indulged in the alluring scent of citrus and sea clinging to her skin for mere seconds. And yet he couldn’t help his gaze from continually darting around the room, desperate for the sight of her.
When he saw Sloan, he strode toward her. “Hey, have you seen…” He trailed off. How idiotic was he to have not gotten his mystery woman’s name?
“Your lady in blue?” Sloan asked.
Something in his stomach leaped. “Yeah.”
“She was feeling a bit hot. She stepped outside to get some air.”
As Sloan turned away, he snagged her arm. “You know her, huh?”
She smiled. “I do.”
Then she turned and began chatting with a couple a few feet away.
Women. They were a damnable confusing species.
But still beautiful, stimulating, intriguing, soft, inviting and impossible to live without. At least for him.
What the hell was he doing, thinking about all this while a superhot blonde was outside, presumably alone, getting air?
As quickly and discreetly as possible, he weaved his way around his—hopefully—future constituents, darted into the kitchen and exited the back door.
He breathed in the scent of salty sea air while he scanned the backyard for his mystery lady.
Beyond an ancient oak, a group of palms surrounded a white wooden gazebo lit by three spotlights staked in the grass. A shadowed figure stood inside the structure.
As atmospheres went, it was pretty damn near perfect.
After straightening his tie, he headed across the lawn. She stood with her back to him but turned as he approached. The lacy, black-and-blue mask still covered the upper half of her face, so her pale green eyes stood out in stark contrast as they watched him intently.
“It’s very Old South, meeting this way, don’t you think?”
“Whatever are you suggesting, sir?” she asked in an exaggerated drawl as she fluttered her lashes.
He stepped so close he could swear he felt her heart beating against her chest. “Anything you want.”
“But I might ask for more than you’re willing to give.”
“I don’t see how.”
Their gazes held for a long moment, then she grasped his hand and led him to the beach seat on one side of the gazebo.
He glanced down at their joined hands and for once felt incapable of saying something charming and clever. “The party’s nice, huh?”
“Sloan’s a pro at socializing.”
“That she is. Have you known her long?”
She smiled as if she knew he was trying to get more information about her. “Awhile.”
“And Aidan seems like a great guy. He’d have to be pretty steely to get past the scrutiny of Sheriff Caldwell.”
“He is. You must be rather sturdy yourself to risk following in his legendary shoes. Or, in his case, boots.”
He shrugged. He’d never lacked confidence in his ability to lead before; he wished he didn’t now. “We’ll see, I guess.” He slid his thumb across the back of her hand. “Do you have to wear the mask?”
“Yes,” she said, seemingly unfazed by his quick conversation change.
“Why?”
“I’m shy.” Though she leaned closer, belying her words. Her gaze dropped, quite deliberately, to his lips. “Did you really come out here to talk?”
He had actually, but only because he’d sensed she was a woman who could carry on a conversation easily and not the type for groping strangers. Still, he was a man, so his heartbeat picked up speed, anticipation flowed through his veins and…
And why the hell had he, again, lapsed into musing when faced with—
Before he could finish the thought, her lips were on his.
Cupping her cheek in his hand, he angled his head and deepened the kiss. Her mouth was soft, responsive, eager and seductive. Her pulse pounded beneath his fingers. Her scent, sweet and intoxicating, drew him under her spell, forcing the rest of the world away.
His desire to have her only intensified with this first, intimate touch. Tasting her, he knew he wanted more. He wanted all.