Dealing with Annie Read online

  He looked at it and nodded. “I like this one best, too.” Then he glanced at her lips as if picturing it on her.

  The oddest and most annoying thing happened. Her tummy fluttered, and she snatched the palette back, too.

  “Not very friendly,” he said.

  “Like I said, I’m busy.” The place was a bit of a mess, as she’d been in true creative form when he’d interrupted. As well as the face mask and cucumber-melon body lotion, she’d also been working on a new hair product, one that could be painted in by the consumer, and for fun, she’d been playing around with a shade of shimmery green. She supposed she should consider herself lucky she hadn’t been trying that on as well when he’d shown up.

  “It smells good in here.” He wiggled his nose, coming a little closer to sniff at her.

  She might have said the same about him. Truth was, he smelled delicious, too—all clean, big male. Citrus and wood, if she wasn’t mistaken.

  Which didn’t negate the fact he’d seen her with a mud mask plastered to her face, and was now staring at that same face sans makeup.

  Her own fault, for always forgetting everything but her work. It’d always been that way. She’d been lucky enough to get into Harvard graduate school, into a business program where she’d become friends with five other extremely ambitious people. Of the group, two in particular had become close friends—Quinn Huntington and Chance Maguire. The three of them had varied in ages and passions, but they’d become one another’s support group and had made a pact—run a Fortune 500 company before the age of forty. Bonus points for starting the company yourself.

  Annie never intended to do anything but win that pact. In light of that, she’d taken on a partner after graduation, Jenny Boler, both because of Jenny’s business sense and the fact Jenny had had two thousand dollars in her pocket ready to invest.

  The money had come in handy, as had Jenny’s business sense and self-proclaimed “analness.”

  It turned out the two of them were more well matched than either of them could have ever imagined. Annie’s Garden, based in their native New York City, had succeeded beyond their wildest dreams, and in truth, she felt she just might have that Fortune 500 pact in the bag in the next few years….

  That she and Quinn had their own side deal going had just begun to worry her recently. After bemoaning their respective dismal love lives one night before finals, they had made a pact—if they were both single when he turned thirty-five, they’d hook up, get married and do the whole white picket fence, white minivan and 2.4 kids thing. A fantasy life in Annie’s humble opinion, and one she’d never experienced growing up.

  Though she had several years left, Quinn was only a few months from turning thirty-five….

  It should have been thrilling. After all, she cared about him greatly…but love him? No. What she loved was her privacy. What she loved was New England, and the North Berkshires. Specifically, Cooper’s Corner. What she loved was her freedom, and doing as she pleased with no one but herself to account to. Her life was creating new products, even more so since she’d left New York and all the day-to-day stress of running the business.

  That was Jenny’s worry now. And as a natural-born worrier—hence the Eeyore nickname—she was great at it. With a sigh, Annie tossed the rest of the bowl of cinnamon mud pack down the drain. She’d have to start over, of course, but thought that the modifications she’d come up with while washing her face would work. She looked forward to the challenge. “So…” How to get rid of him? “You run a farm.”

  He gave a mocking shudder. “Run a farm? God, no. That’s my brother’s arena. I’m just here to…” Now his eyes shuttered and his smile vanished. “Hang out. For a month, that’s all. Even less if—” He lifted a negligent shoulder. “Hopefully less.”

  So he wanted to know about her but didn’t want to share himself in return. Wasn’t that just a typical alpha male?

  And he was alpha—with sharp, intelligent eyes, a voice that spoke of authority and confidence, and that damn long, strong, tough body.

  Was it any wonder she preferred a beta guy? Someone light and fun and relaxed and…well, dispensable.

  Mr. Intensity, standing before her, sexy as a pagan god, was absolutely not light, not fun and not relaxed.

  And not beta. “Okay, well…thanks for the phone…”

  “Yeah, yeah. If you’re sure nothing’s wrong…” His gaze lingered on her for a long beat, during which time she could have sworn he was looking right through her, past the lack of makeup and the wild hair, past the tough, cool, calm facade she was so fond of, past all of that to the real Annie beneath.

  But that was ridiculous, no one saw the real Annie.

  No one. “I’m sure nothing’s wrong.”

  “Then I guess I’ll be going.”

  Hallelujah. She didn’t know what it was exactly about him that made her feel just a little unsure of herself.

  Maybe it was that he stood a good head taller than her, and was all hard muscle, broad shoulders and supreme masculinity, and inexplicably, it made her…yearn.

  She followed him to the door. A few feet from it, his cane caught on the runner she used to keep the mud off her floors. In an automatic gesture, she reached out for him, sliding her fingers around his upper arm.

  Beneath his jacket, his muscles were bunched and tense as he pulled free. “I’m fine.”

  Oh, yes, he was fine. And full of pride, and probably pain as well. “What happened to your leg?”

  Even with his cane, he managed to move with the easy grace of a man comfortable in his skin. He exuded confidence and authority, and could obviously take care of himself. “It’s nothing,” he said, confirming her thoughts.

  Right. Nothing. Good Lord, men.

  She opened the front door. Ignoring the nearly overpowering urge to help him down the stairs, she clasped her hands together and followed.

  Twice she nearly reached out to assist, because heaven forbid the big, rough-and-tumble man ask for help, but he remained stubbornly mute, and she remained still.

  She followed him down the path, past the big house to the front of her yard.

  No vehicle sat in her driveway. “You…walked?” Her driveway was nearly a quarter of a mile. His brother’s was likely at least the same.

  “I walked,” he agreed tightly, not looking at her, his shoulders tense, his jacket flat against his broad back. “It’s not that far.”

  Oh, for heaven’s sake. No, it wasn’t far for an able body. Or a horse. Or a car. “Let me drive you back—”

  “No.”

  His shoulders were stiff with that ridiculous pride he wore like a coat. Fine. She didn’t have time for this, anyway.

  She had her own list of stresses.

  She needed to fix the mud mask—she wanted it in her fall line. She needed to meet with Jenny, who was making more noises than usual about saving money for a rainy day. On top of this, there was Stella Oberman, Annie’s Garden’s greatest competitor since Stella’s daddy had died and given her his world-famous cosmetics company, Sunshine Enterprises.

  Stella had recently launched a smear campaign on Annie’s Garden, starting with the newspaper on Annie’s desk right this moment. The article claimed that at least Sunshine Enterprises was up-front about using less-than-natural products.

  Insinuating Annie’s Garden was not.

  And then there was the biggest problem of all her problems—

  “Annie, sweetie? I brought you some tea.”

  At the soft, shaky voice behind them Ian stopped and turned.

  With a sigh, so did Annie.

  Her Aunt Gerdie stood on the top step of the main house holding a tray. It shook so badly that the porcelain tea set clinked together, and climbing the stairs, Annie gently took it from her hands.

  In return, her aunt sent her a sweet smile, her pale blue rheumy eyes happy as always.

  Aunt Gerdie was always happy, even though she was eighty-two, suffering from a wide variety of ailments including