“Did everyone leave?” she asked.
Although the porch lamp glowed, most of her face was still in shadow.
“Even the catering staff.”
“It was a nice party.”
Most people wouldn’t consider her term accurate. “Nice?”
“All right,” she admitted with a smile in her voice. “It was glamorous.”
“That had to do with the caliber of guests. Can I come in?”
She seemed wary. “To talk about the party?”
“Among other subjects.”
“It’s late.”
“It’s the weekend.”
After a pensive pause, she stepped back and let him in.
He’d removed his cuff links and rolled up his shirtsleeves. With his shirt collar opened, he thought a more casual appearance might put her at ease. As he crossed her threshold, she eyed him as if his more casual look didn’t relax her at all.
He waited for her to make the next move. Should he stand there and talk? Sit on the sofa? Head to the kitchen table?
For a moment, she didn’t react. She just let her gaze roam from his open shirt collar to his rolled up sleeves. She bit on her lower lip and he almost reached out and pulled her into his arms.
Almost.
“Can we sit?” he suggested before he did something stupid. He was well aware Amy was in a room close by.
Sara went to the sofa and curled up against the arm, her legs—long, very curvy legs—tucked beneath her.
Lowering himself to the middle cushion, he asked, “Did everything go okay with Amy, Jordan and Kaitlyn?”
“Kaitlyn knows her way around children. They were both sleeping when Marissa and I came in. I think Kaitlyn tired them out, which is a real feat. Even Marissa was impressed because Jordan didn’t wake up when she put him in her car.”
He had trouble taking his eyes from Sara. Her hair was still a mass of curls on top of her head and those stray ones around her face were driving him crazy. “You looked beautiful tonight. I liked your hair that way.”
“It only took an hour and Marissa’s patience, so once I take it down, you might never see this side of me again.”
She said it lightly but he could tell she was serious.
“You made an impact. More than one guest commented on your dress.”
“So you overheard,” Sara murmured and a defiant look entered her eyes. “And I suppose your father did, too. You both think I went online with a computer that hasn’t been replaced yet and bought a dress from Luca Carzanne with thousands of dollars I don’t have!”
She’d almost risen from the sofa—he was sure she was ready to show him the door—when he clasped her arm to stop her. “Sara.”
Whether it was the timbre of his voice or the firmness of his clasp or the directness of his gaze, he wasn’t sure. But she went still and just stared at him.
“Yes, my father overheard and commented. I told him I was sure The Mommy Club had helped you in some way, along with Marissa.”
Glancing at her feet, he knew she was thinking about those very high-heeled, sexy shoes.
“I always feel I’m defending myself around you. Do you know how uncomfortable that is?”
When he kept silent, she sighed with resignation. “Your father probably won’t believe me, but I found that dress at the thrift shop. Someone donated a box of dressy dresses. Kaitlyn pulled out a couple in my size and that was one of them.”
“Why wouldn’t he believe you?”
“Because he wants to believe the worst about me. He senses...” She stopped, then straightened her shoulders and courageously continued. “He senses you’re interested in me. He doesn’t want you to get hurt again.”
Jase agreed that for some reason his father didn’t want him to get involved with Sara, but the rest of her conclusion didn’t hold water.
“Your imagination is running away with you. He simply doesn’t want anything to interfere with my management of the winery. I don’t think he’ll approve of my decision to become involved with the newspaper, either, because he wants my focus on Raintree.”
“Doesn’t he see that your journalism and photography are part of who you are?”
“I wouldn’t call that article journalism.”
“You don’t have to be shot at to write a good story.”
That’s what he liked about Sara—the bottom line. “You’re right. Getting to the heart of an issue is what journalism is about. Or photography, for that matter.”
He and Sara connected on so many levels; not the least of them was physical chemistry. As their gazes met and held, he felt the actual ripple of it in the air and the answering response in his body.