Why was it that every time Savannah did something reckless and daring, it always came back to haunt her?
Kit looked at her apologetically. “I’ve obviously come at a bad time. You’re entertaining.”
“My mother’s friends,” she replied automatically. “They were just leaving. I can’t believe you’re here.”
His expression turned rueful. “So you said.”
Savannah realized that he was still standing on the front porch, that she was half in, half out the door, and that her mother and her daughter were hovering somewhere behind her, waiting to find out who had called at this hour. She hesitated for just a moment before inviting him in. She had the unsettling feeling that, once Kit stepped into her house, her life would never be the same.
SAVANNAH WASN’T exactly throwing herself into his arms in welcome.
Kit wanted to believe that it had been pleasure that had lit her face when she’d first recognized him standing at her door. When she’d reached out to touch him, he’d been sure that she was as glad to see him as he was to see her again. And then someone had spoken to her, and the fear he’d seen in her eyes that last night on the island had returned.
Why was Savannah so afraid of what she felt for him? And had he been wrong to follow his instincts and track her down?
She seemed to hesitate forever before finally stepping away from the door. “Please,” she said, her tone a bit too stilted, a bit too polite. “Come in.”
What he wanted to do was pull her into his arms and kiss her with all the hunger that had been building up during the two weeks they’d been apart. He’d tried to convince himself during that time that seeing her again would ease the urgency. Maybe, he’d told himself, he wouldn’t even find her as attractive once they were away from the island.
He’d been wrong. He wanted her now as badly as he had that last night, when he’d reluctantly left her at her cottage door. And it was all he could do to keep from reaching out for her.
He held his hands firmly at his sides as he stepped past her into the modest frame house.
An older woman with suspicious blue eyes and hair-spray-stiffened frosted curls stood behind Savannah. Studying Kit curiously, a young teenage girl was descending the steps, a blond ponytail bouncing behind her, a bit too much color artificially added to her pretty face. The resemblance between Savannah and these two made Kit suspect a family connection.
Savannah confirmed his guess. “Mother,” she said. “This is my friend, Kit. Er…”
She glanced quickly at him, silently reminding him that he hadn’t yet told her his last name. And it struck him anew what a novelty it was to meet a beautiful woman who wasn’t drawn to his fame or fortune.
“Kit Pace,” he interjected smoothly, turning his most charming smile toward Savannah’s mother.
She wasn’t visibly enthralled. “Ernestine McBride,” she said with a slight nod. “You aren’t from around here, are you?”
“No,” he admitted. “This is my first time in your area.”
Kit noticed that several other middle-aged women had gathered close to the open archway leading into the living room, eyeing him with surreptitious curiosity. All of them looked as though they’d never seen a stranger before, he thought in discomfort. Didn’t anyone in this little burg ever have visitors?
He really should have called, he thought belatedly. Savannah was obviously stunned by his appearance, and her mother didn’t seem particularly pleased that her party had been interrupted. Kit couldn’t help thinking of his own mother’s frequent warnings that his habitual impulsiveness was going to get him in trouble someday.
The teenager Kit had noticed on the stairs suddenly gasped loudly, causing them all to look her way.
Kit found her standing very close to him, staring at him with wide, shocked blue eyes. She looked very much like Savannah, he mused. A much younger sister, perhaps? He supposed Ernestine McBride could have had a late-in-life baby.
“Oh, my g-gosh!” the girl stammered, her voice squeaking. “Do you know who you are?”
Since it wasn’t the first time he’d been asked that odd question by someone who recognized him, Kit merely nodded and murmured, “Why, yes, I do.”
And I really should have told Savannah before now, he thought when Savannah turned to the girl in startled question.
“What are you talking about, Miranda?” she asked.
“Oh, come on, Mom, you have to know who he is,” Miranda breathed, almost vibrating with excitement. “He’s Christopher Pace!”
Mom?
Kit stared at Savannah, wondering if he’d misunderstood, but somehow knowing that he hadn’t. This was Savannah’s daughter. And, oh, hell, he hoped she didn’t have a husband lurking in some other room of the house!
Savannah was staring back at Kit with an answering shock in her eyes. While she might not have recognized his face, she apparently knew his. name—and was utterly flabbergasted by learning the truth of his identity.