The driveway was so overgrown she almost missed the turnoff. A quarter of a mile in, it opened to a charming glade in the middle of which stood a barely civilized, rough-hewn log house. Last summer, he’d shown her artwork for her to sell in her gallery, but they’d been in his garden. She assumed that since it was a cool day, she would be invited inside this time. The front door opened and there he was, big and muscular in his jeans and white shirt with the sleeves rolled up and bare feet, the most masculine man she’d ever met. “Come in,” he called, and his deep voice sent shivers down her spine. She got out of the car and approached. So, she was to be invited inside. As she walked the pathway to the front door, his attention seemed to be focused on her legs and then her hips, and last, her lips, but that couldn’t be. She was imagining it. Her curiosity piqued about all things Aiden, she followed him down a hallway too quickly for her to get much more than the briefest impressions of rooms as they passed.
