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‘My home has a study with all the computer equipment you’ll need to work on your plans for the mill while you’re here,’ he said, moving in his king to threaten her queen. ‘And it’ll save me having to drive to a hotel every time we want to work on them together. It’s a whole lot more efficient if you stay at my place.’
‘I’m still not sure...’
‘Of course, if you’re scared you won’t be able to keep your hands to yourself?’
The prickle of irritation made it clear she hadn’t spotted the trap. ‘I’m perfectly capable of—’
‘Then we don’t have a problem, do we?’ he cut in and rolled through the four-way stop sign that stood at the corner of Peachtree and Divine.
Checkmate, sugar.
* * *
Gina pushed the flicker of panic to the back of her mind at the knowledge that she’d just been rather neatly outmanoeuvred.
Don’t be ridiculous.
They were both adults. He hadn’t objected to her stipulation about no sex. In fact, he’d been remarkably unconcerned and accommodating—to the point of being a little ego-deflating, really. Seemed she might have overestimated her charms—and his intentions.
The car glided into a tree-lined square with a decorative stone fountain as its centrepiece.
‘This is pretty. Where are we?’ she asked, determined to soak up Savannah’s elegant architecture and stop obsessing about the distracting man next to her.
‘We’re in the Southern Historic District and this is Divine Square. My place is on the far side.’ He pointed past the fountain.
‘It’s beautiful.’
The imposing three-and four-storey Victorian houses stood back from the road on all four sides of the square behind high fences or fancy iron railings, their ornate balconies and colourful gingerbread trim vaguely reminiscent of New Orleans’ French Quarter. But with the houses’ imposing wooden shutters closed tight against the muggy heat and the peaceful patch of flower beds and scrubs surrounding the fountain devoid of tourists, the historic square projected a well-bred gentility in direct counterpoint to the loud, louche ambience of the Big Easy.
‘Here we go.’ He stopped in front of a Civil War-era mansion that took up one whole side of the square. He leaned across to pull a small black device out of the glove compartment, giving her an enticing whiff of sweat and soap, before he pressed the button and the gates swished open.
‘How long have you lived here?’ she asked, oddly depressed at the thought he might have shared this home with his ex-wife.
‘My family have owned the house for generations. I moved in a few years back,’ he replied, inadvertently answering her question and making the knot in her stomach release a little. ‘After my mother passed it was either move back in, sell it or watch the place fall into disrepair. Option one seemed the easiest for now.’
After parking in the house’s driveway, he clicked the button to close the gates, slung the device back in the glove box and switched off the ignition. He swivelled round in his seat, a wry smile curving those firm sensual lips. ‘The place has eight bedrooms, but I can get my housekeeper to open up the pool house, if you’d prefer more privacy.’
‘Right,’ she said, biting down on her bottom lip and the idiotic urge to pout at just how accommodating he was being to her no-sex suggestion. ‘That would be ideal.’
Her breathing accelerated as he climbed out of the car and skirted the bonnet to open the passenger door. Standing back, he swept his hand out to encompass a front garden planted with flowering scrubs and a giant weeping willow that cast the stairs leading up to the mansion’s front entrance in glorious shade. ‘Welcome to the Price family’s humble home, Gina.’
There was nothing humble about it or the wickedly tempting gleam in those devastating blue eyes.
Accepting his offer of the pool house hadn’t been cowardice—it had been insurance. Resisting him wouldn’t be that hard.... If she set her mind to it.
But she drew her fingers out of his as he took her hand to help her out of the car—and mounted the steps alone.
TEN
In the days that followed, Gina surprised herself—sticking religiously to her decision to keep her association with Carter professional while working out a killer media strategy for the mill.
That said, the only way to stick to her plan had been to keep Carter at arm’s length. Luckily for her, he’d helped to facilitate her avoidance by providing her with a sporty little Mustang to use as a runaround. After mornings spent at the mill getting acquainted with Carter’s staff and the factory’s production processes, and studiously avoiding too much consultation time with the man himself, she could escape in the afternoon to do ‘important research’ in Savannah.
Which turned out to
be a surprisingly fascinating endeavour. She’d never been to the South before, having always dismissed it based on popular stereotypes and one too many viewings of Gone with the Wind. But instead of discovering a city marred by the legacy of slavery and the civil war, Gina discovered a thriving metropolis founded on commerce that had since become a cultural melting pot. Speciality bookshops, retro ice-cream parlours, rehabbed movie theatres showing old classics and Internet cafés filled with students and tourists alike vied for space with the grand mansions and garden squares of the Historic District. Despite its stately grandeur Savannah was a vibrant hub of activity filled with the curious and the ambitious.
Carter himself seemed to fall comfortably between the two—his easy-going manner matched by a sharp intelligence and a killer business instinct. It was hard not to admire his single-mindedness—even when that single-mindedness was aimed squarely at her. Because while she had made the commitment to keep their relationship professional, she wasn’t convinced Carter was entirely on board with it. Her suspicions were aroused her first morning at the pool house, when she’d woken up to the sound of rhythmic splashing coming from right outside the front door.
