“Let’s introduce ourselves,” he said. “I’m Skylar Kingston.” He extended his hand. If his name was familiar to her, she didn’t show it.
“And I’m Haven McGuire,” she said, taking the hand he offered.
“Haven? That’s a beautiful name.”
“Thank you.”
He had felt a zing of chemistry hit him the moment their hands had touched, and from the expression on her face, he figured she had felt it, too. Leaning toward her, he whispered, “What will it take to get you to take a walk around the hotel’s botanical gardens with me?”
Her smile widened. “All you have to do is ask.”
“Haven, will you walk around the gardens with me?”
She chuckled softly. “Skylar, I’d love to.”
It was a beautiful night, Haven thought, and it was even more awesome because of the man walking by her side. She hadn’t realized how tall he was until now. “Are you here with one of the pharmaceutical groups?” she asked, lookingover at him.
“No, I’m not.”
She waited for him to elaborate, and when it was apparent he didn’t intend to, she said, “So…tell me about Skylar Kingston.”
He shoved his hands into his pockets. “I am a businessman and make my home in San Francisco. I’m an only child who was raised by my father.”
He paused, then continued. “My father’s family came from Italy. They owned a vineyard, right in the heart of Sicily. My grandfather met and fell in love with an American woman. They had a son who was my father. My African-American mother took off not long after I was born.”
There, she had her answer. When she saw him this morning, she’d known he was of mixed heritage but hadn’t been sure which ethnicities. “I never knew my parents,” she said. “At least, I was too young to remember them. They died the same day in a murder suicide.”
Haven suddenly realized this was the first time she’d ever told anyone that. Most of the people in Tifton knew it, and she’d never felt the need to share it with anyone else. Why did she feel comfortable telling him? “My grandmother took me in when I was ten months old and raised me. She died earlier this year.”
“I’m sorry. I can hear the pain in your voice,” he said.
“Yes, we were very close.”
He nodded. “I understand. My father passed away two years ago, and it’s still hard to talk about.”
“How did your father die?” she asked.
“Cancer,” he said, removing his hands from his pockets.
She shuddered. “So did my grandmother. I hate that disease.”
“Me too.” Then, as if he needed to change the subject, he asked, “So, what do you think of the garden?”
“It’s beautiful. I love flowers. Gramma Dora used to have a big garden with all kinds of them. She could name them all. The only ones I can point out are roses. They are my favorite.”
“Then let’s look at the roses display over there,” he said, taking her hand to lead her in another direction.
The moment he touched her, she felt it again. A spike of heat spread all through her body.
“Are you alright, Haven?”
She met his gaze. She might not know a lot about passion or have much experience when it came to intense sexual chemistry, but she was fully aware that all sorts of sexual vibes were being transmitted between them. “Yes, Skylar, I’m fine.”
“And I don’t want you to be any other way.”
His words, spoken in a seductive whisper, stroked over her skin like a warm caress. “What do you mean by that?”
They stopped walking, and he turned to her. “I’m pretty sure I’m feeling everything you feel. I’m not sure what’s going on between us. Nothing like this has ever happened to me before.”
