“Yes?” she muttered, confused momentarily as to what he meant.
“Perfect. I’ll see you at six thirty. Dress casual.”
“But—”
The line went dead.
“Who was—”
“Not now, Ruth,” Harper said more sharply than she’d intended, slamming down the receiver. She gathered up several papers from her desk in a random fashion. “Excuse me. I have to see Sangar.”
She glided past a furious-looking Ruth.
• • •
As the clock inched toward six thirty that evening, Harper grew increasingly anxious. Latimer had said to dress casual, but what did that mean, exactly? Casual as in taking a lakeside stroll, or casual as in going to a classy, but easygoing restaurant. Plus . . . her townhome was in a gated community. He had to call to be buzzed in, and he didn’t have her cell phone number or her residence number. Of course, she still had no way to reach him, so she was stuck.
She shouldn’t have let him bulldoze her into making a decision.
It’s just dinner, she thought as she stared at herself in the mirror. You don’t have to make any huge decisions—like about whether or not you want to have a physical affair with a gorgeous, mysterious, complicated male—until you’re good and ready.
She’d finally decided that a silvery gray, button-down maxi-dress along with a soft, cropped pink sweater in deference to the recent cool evenings, could be interpreted as casual. She wasn’t showing much skin, which was good. Although did the sweater accentuate her breasts in a manner that perhaps Latimer would think was intentio
nally provocative?
Was she being provocative?
Her uncertainty on that topic loomed large.
Her doorbell rang as she began to unbutton the pink sweater in preparation to change it. Flustered, she refastened it and hurried to find her purse.
By the time she jogged downstairs and got to the front door, she was breathless. The sight of Latimer waiting patiently on her front porch made it even harder to get air into her lungs. Did one ever get used to looking at him?
His short hair was sexily mussed. There was an evening scruff on his lean jaw. He wore a cobalt blue shirt with the sleeves rolled back, a pair of worn jeans that fit his long legs and narrow hips with a casual, sexy perfection, and a pair of deck shoes. His hands were in his pockets. Harper’s gaze stuck on the vision of his bare, strong-looking, hair-dusted forearms.
She realized uncomfortably that he hadn’t spoken, either. He’d been checking her out like she’d been checking him out, his sharp, hazel eyes moving slowly down the length of her. Did his stare linger on her breasts? He seemed so solemn, despite the male heat in his eyes. Latimer’s brand of appreciation was unlike any other she’d experienced before. By the time he met her stare, only a few breathless seconds had passed, but he’d managed to make her breasts feel conspicuous and tingly, and a warm, pleasant ache to expand in her core. She recalled vividly what it’d been like to have him touch her, and found herself craving the feeling of his skin against hers.
She cleared her throat. “How did you get in?” she asked, forcing a smile.
His eyebrows arched. “I’m not ‘in’ yet,” he replied, deadpan, nodding at the threshold and then at her, his eyebrows quirked slightly.
She laughed and stepped back, waving him into her townhome. He moved past her and she shut the door behind him. “No, I meant how did you get past the gate?”
“I came from the lake, not the road,” he said, glancing around her foyer and peering into her distant living room. He looked especially tall and striking in the familiar setting. And he smelled good.
“This is nice,” he said.
“Thanks. Do you want to look around a little?”
He nodded and she led him into the great room, which was a large, airy space that included her kitchen, dining area, and living room. “It came fully furnished, so I don’t know how much it actually represents me yet.”
“Yet? Does that mean you plan to redecorate? Plant roots in Tahoe Shores?”
“I’m not sure,” she admitted. “This whole thing with me taking this job has been a sort of . . .”
“An unexpected detour off the main road?” he finished for her when she trailed off.
“Yeah, I guess you could say that.” She met his stare and found herself lost there for a moment. He had the longest lashes. The dark ring around the outside of his iris highlighted the complex, fascinating color of his eyes. His gaze had an almost hypnotic quality on her. No . . . it wasn’t that. It evoked the opposite of the hazy, dreamy quality of hypnosis. She knew that from experience. Instead, Latimer’s stare was almost alarmingly alert. It seemed to slice down to the heart of her.