Here it comes, she thought. “Clarissa, there’s nothing going on between-”

“No, no, I don’t want to invade your privacy,” she said with a careful shake of her head. “I just wanted you to know that I understand completely. It was so wise of you to move from Garret to Sam. After all, it’s his company. Garret’s just the younger brother.”

Anna felt a headache coming on and wished for more wine to drown it. “I’m not after either of them. Sam…”

“Oh, we all saw the kiss,” Clarissa assured her, letting her gaze sweep around the small living room of Anna’s bungalow cottage. She stared at the brightly lit tree for a moment and smiled before adding, “Your father is pleased, too. Though he does want to talk with Sam.”

“No,” Anna said quickly, imagining her father asking Sam’s “intentions.” “No talking. Clarissa you have to tell Dad that I’m not dating Sam.”

“Why ever would I do that?” Clarissa smiled conspiratorially. “He only wants to know that you’re happy, dear.”

“Clarissa…”

“Oops,” she said, with a quick check of her watch. “I really have to run. I’m meeting your father for an early dinner before we go to the community theater. They’re doing A Christmas Carol.”

“Clarissa,” Anna tried again, but her stepmother was already halfway out the door. “It’s not what you think. Honestly, there’s nothing between Sam and I.”

She laughed. “Darling, I saw that kiss. Along with half the town, I might add. Whether you want to admit it or not, there’s definitely something between you!” She leaned in, brushed a kiss on Anna’s cheek and said, “Your tree’s lovely, by the way!”

Then she was gone and Anna was left alone with her disturbing thoughts and an empty wineglass.

Five

She wasn’t going to be painting in that wonderful room she had seen the day before.

Anna drove around to the back of Sam’s house, following the long, wide driveway around the house to a sprawling lawn and what looked like a five-car garage. Trees lined one side of the property and the lawn sloped down toward the cliff and the ocean below. A white rail fence meandered along the cliff’s edge and boasted a few late blooming chrysanthemums at its base.

Storm clouds hovered on the horizon, looking as though they were gathering strength to make a rush toward shore. A cold wind rattled through the boughs of the pines and snatched a few orange leaves from a huge maple tree. Winter in coastal northern California didn’t mean snow after all. It meant fall-colored trees long into January.

It really was lovely, but why she was back here, she didn’t have a clue. The housekeeper had directed her to the back of the house and now, she wasn’t sure what to do next. Anna got out of her car and looked around, pushing the wind-twisted tangle of her hair out of her eyes.

She walked back to the trunk of her small SUV and lifted the hatch, displaying all of her tools. Yardsticks, paints, transfer papers, charcoal sticks and painter’s tape. Her brushes were standing straight up in empty coffee cans and she used a plastic caddy to hold a selection of pencils along with painters’ rags and tightly closed jars of clean water.

Movement at the corner of her eye caught her attention and Anna turned to look. She hated the fact that her heartbeat jumped in her chest at first sight of Sam Hale striding from the garage toward her. Faded blue jeans hugged his legs, and he wore a dark green sweater and black boots.

She hadn’t expected to have to deal with Sam while working here. Didn’t he have things to do? Cars to build? Universes to run?

“What are you doing here?”

“I live here, remember?”

“Yes,” she said on an irritated sigh, “I meant…”

“I know what you meant.” He glanced into the trunk of her car. “You need all of this to paint a picture?”

“It’s a faux finish, not just a picture,” she told him, then added, “and yes, I do.”

One corner of his mouth lifted and Anna hated to admit even to herself what kind of impact even that tiny half smile of his had on her.

“Okay, then,” he said, reaching into the trunk to pick up most of her equipment. “Follow me.”

She didn’t have much choice, Anna thought, trotting behind him in an attempt to keep up with his long-legged stride. He led her toward the garage and headed directly for an open doorway. She followed him inside and glanced down the long open space at the cars parked in separate bays. There were two of them and they were really just shells. No tires, no engine, no window glass.

“You couldn’t afford one with an engine?”

He grinned at her and the solid slam of that smile hit her hard enough to momentarily dissolve her balance.

“Those are great cars,” he pointed out after he set her supplies down onto a neatly organized workbench.

“If you say so.”

“I thought artists had great imaginations,” he taunted.

“I use it for painting, not for driving.”

“When I get that Bentley and the Cobra up and running, you’ll change your tune.”

Confused, she looked again at the skeletal cars. She hadn’t known that he was a man to actually get his hands dirty. All she’d ever heard of Sam Hale was that he designed luxury cars that his company built for the bored rich. “You work on them yourself?”

“I do. Got my start that way,” he said with a sigh of satisfaction. “I was a mechanic,” he told her, shaking his head in memory. “A damn good one. Worked night and day when my folks died to make sure Garret could go to college and have a good shot at life.”

“What about your shot?” she asked, surprising herself as much as him.

He shrugged. “I did the college thing, but it was cars that drew me in. I built my reputation slowly, growing my business and then I built a custom car for a Hollywood producer. He liked what I did so much that he recommended me to his friends. And before I knew it, I was running Hale Custom Autos. But I still like to work on cars myself, get my hands on a flatlined engine and make it purr again. Guess you don’t understand that, huh?”

“Actually, I do,” she mused and found herself looking at him in a whole new light. She’d assumed he was simply another wealthy man, locked in his office, running his own little world from the top of a pedestal. It seemed there was more to Sam Hale than she had thought. “Trompe l’oeil painters can use computer programs to design and detail out every move. But I’d rather get my own hands on a blank wall and make it something amazing.”

“So,” he said with that half smile she found so dangerously compelling, “you’re telling me we have something in common after all?”

She looked at him, standing there all tall and dark and gorgeous. Seriously, he had enough charisma and magnetic attraction about him for two healthy men. She knew that for her own well-being, what she should do was say screw the job and the money and get back into her car. But she wasn’t going to do that and she knew it.

“Yes,” she admitted. “I guess I am.”

For a brief moment, their eyes locked and the air between them practically sizzled. There was something here, she thought as her heart pounded and her mouth went dry. Something that was as exciting as it was dangerous. And she had zero business feeling this way about him. There was no way anything was going to happen between them.

He didn’t trust her. He thought she was after his money. Well, to be honest, she was. At least what he was going to pay her for this job. And as far as Anna was concerned, Sam Hale was an overbearing, arrogant boob-except he apparently had unexpected depths.

With those thoughts ringing loudly in her head, she took a breath and shifted the subject to safer ground. “So, what exactly did you have in mind for your mural?”

“Business it is, then,” he said, still studying her. “For now.”

He walked to the small office area, separated from the garage by a half wall. There was a desk, two chairs, a single filing cabinet and a half-dead fern in a blue pot inside. The walls were white and blank. There was a skylight overhead, providing plenty of natural light, but there were no windows, which struck Anna as odd.

“I don’t have a lot of windows in here,” he said as if he knew exactly what she was thinking. “When I’m working on the cars, I like to keep the area as clean as possible. Don’t want dust and dirt blowing in, but it gets claustrophobic in here after awhile.”

“I can see why,” she said, already studying the pristine white wall, letting her imagination kick in. “Can’t you put in windows that don’t open?”

He shook his head. “Dust can still get in with a loose seal or whatever. The skylights are double-sealed. Until I get down to serious work I can open the garage bay doors for air. But once the detail work starts, I’ll be keeping the place shut up tight.”

“Okay, do you want anything in particular?”

Another slow smile curved his mouth. “I can think of a couple of things.”

“I’ll bet,” she said, taking a step back from him just for good measure. “But I was talking about the mural.”

He shook his head. “I’ll leave that to you. I just want to be able to look at something that makes me feel less closed in. Can you do it?”

“I can.” She walked to her supplies and pulled out pencils, a yardstick and blue painter’s tape.

“Do you need anything from me?”

“Just for you to go away,” she said, knowing she’d never be able to concentrate if he was in the room watching her.

“You got it.” He started out of the office. “I’ll be working in the garage. If you need anything, let me know.”

“You’re working here?”

He smiled again and Anna felt that rush of something hot and wicked sweep through her one more time. She hadn’t counted on having him underfoot all day. She’d expected him to leave her alone. The claustrophobic feel of the massive garage instantly notched up a level or two.