Spots of high color marked her cheekbones and her breath had more than a little hitch to it. As she got undressed, she tried to tell herself those symptoms had nothing to do with Mr. Cranston grabbing her arms the way he did, or the wild, mossy-stone depths of his eyes close up, or the way his cologne made her toes curl in her stilettos. For a brief moment there, she had thought he might try to kiss her. How silly. They had a written agreement preventing such things from happening. Besides, he was a wealthy, successful bachelor. No doubt he had all the women he wanted without having to stoop to seducing the hired help. But as she tied the lacy apron around her waist and checked the view from all angles, her pulse continued to carom like a pinball. Something changed between them in that moment in his entryway. She’d become aware of a current of energy sparking between them that hadn’t been there before. Or maybe the current had been there all along, and she’d been unwilling to acknowledge it.
