He stepped forward, his gait still uneven after his car journey, and held out his hand.
“I’m Erin, Erin Connell, your hostess.”
She took his hand in hers, and in that instant he knew he’d lost his battle with himself. A sizzle of awareness started at the point where their palms met and shot up his arm. To his surprise, she uttered a small “Oh!” before releasing his hand and taking a step back. So she was affected, too. Great. Bloody great, he thought dourly. This should not be happening.
“Please, come inside and let me show you your room,” she said, her voice a little huskier than it had been before. “Can I help you with your things?”
“No, I’ll manage on my own, thanks.”
She turned and preceded him into the lodge, affording him an excellent view of her rigid spine and the way it led in a straight line to the gentle arcs of her hips and bottom. Hips and bottom that were firmly clad in white denim that would probably be outlawed in some countries for the way it clung to her curves. Another clench of desire hit him hard and low and he forced himself to breathe through it.
This was insane. Erin Connell wasn’t even his type, he thought, as he followed her up the old wooden staircase to the next floor. He didn’t have a type. Didn’t want one, ever again. And yet, despite his silent protestations, there was still that nagging interest.
“Are you visiting from overseas?” she asked.
He got that a lot. “No, I’m from New Zealand originally, but I’ve been based in the States for about eight years now.”
“Oh, really? I’ve always wanted to go there. I hear it’s beautiful. Maybe one day,” she said airily as they reached the top of the stairs.
He was relieved not to have her enticing shape smack bang in his line of vision any longer. He followed her a short distance along the carpeted corridor and into a large, well-lit room that faced formal gardens to the rear of the property. Well, he supposed they must have been formal once. Again, there was that sense of neglect. He looked around the room. Whatever neglect there was outdoors, it didn’t extend to the inside.
“This is your room. I’m sure you’ll find you have everything you need here,” she said, moving through the space and across to open another door that clearly led to his private bathroom. “But if there’s anything else you require, please don’t hesitate to let me know.”
Her smile faltered as he stood there, just staring at her like an idiot. He forced himself to make some sound of approval and clearly he succeeded because her features relaxed once more.
“Now, you asked for an office also, so I’ve created space for you across the hall from your room. If you’ll come this way?”
He followed her directly across the hall to a wood-paneled room, with a desk situated near a deep window that looked out across the private bay and beyond to the lake.
“I thought you might like the lake view while you’re working,” she continued. “I hope that’s all right?”
“It’s great,” he answered. And it was, even if he couldn’t quite infuse his voice with the right level of gratitude. For what little she was charging, he’d have been grateful for a broom cupboard under the stairs. He made a mental note to ensure he paid her a generous bonus for the effort she’d clearly gone to for him, although he doubted she’d accept it when she found out exactly why he was here. “Thank you.”
She gave him another of those smiles that hit him square in the gut. “You’re welcome. We…well, I aim to please,” she said, her voice a little shaky. “I’ll leave you to unpack your things. You mentioned in your booking email that you’d prefer to dine early, so I have your dinner warming in the oven downstairs. The dining room is directly opposite the bottom of the stairs on the ground floor and you’ll find a bellpull just inside the door. Please ring for me when you’re ready.”
“Thank you, but you don’t have to wait on me hand and foot, Erin.”
Her name felt foreign on his tongue, and yet weirdly right at the same time. Had this place cast some strange spell upon him, he wondered, then thrust the random thought away for the foolishness it was. No, there was no spell. If anything, his crazy and sudden attraction to Erin Connell probably had its roots in something older and more primitive. Something that had little to do with sex itself, or the unwelcome raw need he felt for her, and everything to do with the fact he believed she was the woman who had borne his son.
Two
Sam’s eyes lit upon the monitor she had clipped to her belt, and he felt a strange tightness in his chest. As if on cue, the machine squawked into life and Sam heard his child’s cry for the very first time. He blinked back the sudden moisture that burned at his eyes and swallowed against the lump in his throat, forcing himself to speak.