“I know,” she said finally. “But that doesn’t mean you can hide out here.”
“Of course not. I only need a favor.” His tone grew smoother and more persuasive with every word. “A wish granted, if you will.”
Her lips pressed into a firm line. He was using his charm on her? “What do you want? To go back in time and answer all the letters I sent you from boarding school?”
He winced, then tried to cover it by moving to stand before the snowflake-taped window. “I was obeying your father’s order to leave you alone.”
“Not that tired excuse again,” she scoffed.
“Don’t blame me for your family’s snobbery. What was it he said? Ah, yes. ‘Keep your filthy, ill-bred hands off my daughter.’”
“If you’d waited to kiss me until after my birthday party, we never would have ended up in that position!” He waved a dismissive hand in the air, and she gritted her teeth. “Just tell me what you want.”
“Clothing.” His words were clipped. “I must reach Seattle as quickly as possible.”
“Afraid Miss Wigglesbottom will come to demand your hand in marriage?”
“Among other things.”
The hidden satchel flashed across her mind. She sighed and shook her head. Fate had clearly made a mistake bringing them back together. She couldn’t possibly heal from her recent setbacks with Tommy’s presence opening up old wounds. Besides, the oaf would put a serious dent in the time allocated for wallowing.
The words yes, of course, the sooner the better were on the tip of her tongue, but she paused. His profile was lit by the glow of the afternoon sun, softening his rough edges while casting others in shadow. As she stared, colors became more vibrant, textures more pronounced. Something stirred in her breast, and she tilted her head to the side to consider its significance.
Before the recent onslaught of rejections, she’d been sure of herself and her art. She’d even signed herself up for the Seattle Photography Exhibition, a fast-approaching event that put her images alongside those of the nation’s best photographers. A successful showing could catapult her name nationwide. Failure would ensure she slipped into obscurity, cursed to take boring family portraits for the rest of her life.
And she had nothing to show.
Her workstation in the corner of the room was stacked with rejected glass plates. Each one uninspired, dull, second-rate. Solitude was supposed to provide clarity. Galvanize her imagination. Instead, she’d lain around scratching her stomach and contemplating how bread dough worked. A half-written letter of withdrawal sat beside the plates, though she hadn’t yet found the strength to finish it.
But as she stared at Tommy, so effortlessly elegant and photogenic in nothing but his underwear, her muse, dormant for weeks, stretched with catlike grace inside her. Perhaps this morsel of inspiration was fate’s apology for bringing him back into her life? A gift to explore once she was alone again?
“What do you say, Genie? Ready to finally grant me my wish?”
The smug, calculating look in his eye told her he expected her to fall at his feet, just like she had when she was a naïve sixteen-year-old. Unfortunately for him, she’d learned her lesson only too well. Not only that, she was more than prepared to use his own tactics against him.
“I’ll give you all the clothing you need.” Her smile was mostly teeth. “After you tell me what’s in your satchel. You know, the one you hid when I wasn’t looking.”
Chapter 3
Imogen was glorious when she gloated. Glorious and irritating.
Tommy couldn’t look away from the girl-turned-woman. Not only had fate delivered him from death, but it had also landed him on the doorstep of a girl who still haunted his sleep. Uncanny.
Her face was largely the same. A pointed, stubborn chin, high cheekbones, and expressive eyebrows. And those eyes. Jesus, those green, luminous eyes that beckoned to him like a promising new book. They’d only grown more resplendent with time. He wanted to stare into them; read the pages of her life.
Unfortunately, said pages would probably contain a manifesto against him.
It didn’t matter how much joy they’d shared as children. He’d ruined everything by daring to act on their changing feelings. But he didn’t have time to dredge up the past. If he didn’t return to Seattle before his mark realized the book was missing, every bookseller within a hundred-mile radius would be on the alert.
Equally—perhaps more—important, he needed to escape Imogen’s presence while he still had the wherewithal to protect himself. The few new facts he’d gleaned about her were damaging enough. He could have gone without knowing that her sense of humor had grown edgier, or that her fondness for extravagant decor had evolved into a more refined eccentricity.
That she smelled of cinnamon and vanilla, like a cookie begging to be nibbled.
Restlessly, he angled his body to peer out the window. Thick, blue-gray clouds crosshatched the afternoon sky, and an ominous wind whistled through the nearby trees. A storm was brewing—would he make it to the next town before it broke?
“Those are high stakes,” he said. “Throw in a sleigh and we’ll shake on it.”
“Haven’t got one.”
