With that thought, she knew what she had been trying to pinpoint since Price McCord first smiled at her—he had the look of a rogue. In another life he could have been a pirate. It was a look that had haunted women since the beginning of civilization—the same one that men had used to their advantage for just that long.

“Still like what you see, Amanda?”

Gone was her advantage. He remembered her. “Go away, Price,” she said, angry at herself for being nearly mesmerized by him.

“But your sign says your house is for sale.”

“It also says ‘by appointment only,’ but you must have decided that part didn’t apply to you.”

He smiled and stepped closer.

She retreated only to find her back up against the wall.     

His eyes never left hers as he reached out and captured an errant strand of damp hair with his fingertips. Gently, he tucked it into the towel. This done, he turned his hand so his knuckles lightly brushed her temple then lazily moved to her cheek where her skin still glowed rosy from it’s recent scrubbing. Slowly he continued his sensual exploration as he ran his index finger over her lips.

The tip of his finger felt abrasive against the smoothness of her full lower lip. Nearly in a trance, Amanda closed her eyes. When he leaned forward, she could feel his breath warm against her face and knew he was about to kiss her. The anticipation made her dizzy.

Distantly, Price registered the sound of a car coming up the driveway. He straightened and stepped back. In a voice that sent quivers through her he whispered, “The man you’ve been waiting for is here.” 

From the doorway Amanda watched as Price left her and went outside to meet Sam Johnson. The two men conversed for several minutes and exchanged business cards. Then the pair split and Sam called a greeting in her direction as he hurried toward the house. 

Absently, Amanda acknowledged the older man’s approach, and then stepped back to let him enter the house. Sam greeted her, but the sound of his words was lost on her, dissipated in the thick, fragrant, afternoon heat. For a few seconds Price stood in the driveway, staring at her. Lingering in the shadows beyond the threshold, she stared back, unwilling and unable to look away. Finally, he turned and with an easy saunter headed toward his car while Amanda watched helplessly as the most electrifying man she had ever known got into his car and drove out of her life.

Twenty minutes later, now fully possessed of her senses and fully dressed, Amanda set a glass of iced tea in front of Sam. Then she poured one for herself, carried it to the table, and slid into the chair across from him.

With his narrow face and thinning gray hair, Sam Johnson had always looked the same to her. He had been a family friend for many years, but today the reason for his visit was all business. Earlier in the week Amanda had asked him to handle the sale of her grandmother’s house through his real estate company.

She toyed with her spoon then looked up. “That man who was here when you drove up, uh, do you know him?”

Sam reached in his shirt pocket and pulled out a business card then unfolded his wire-framed glasses. Once he had adjusted the glasses on his nose he read off the information to Amanda. “Price McCord, McCord & Company, has an office in downtown Charleston.