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the taste. She opened them to find Paul lounging back in his chair, a slight smile playing around the corners of his mouth. “Aren’t you going to eat?” she asked.
    “It’s more fun to watch you enjoy the experience.”
    She took another bite, trying to ignore the weight of his gaze. “It’s rude to watch someone else chew.”
    He chuckled and picked up his own sandwich, sinking those dazzling white teeth into it. She couldn’t help watching the strong column of his throat as he swallowed. An image of herself pressing her lips against the skin of his neck bloomed in her mind and she choked.
    “Slow down,” he said, pushing her iced tea toward her. “You don’t need to devour it all in one bite.”
    She coughed even harder as a flush climbed up from her chest to her cheeks. She hated having a redhead’s complexion.
    Concern banished the smile from his face, and he shoved his chair back and started to stand. She waved her hand and croaked, “I’ll be okay. Just swallowed wrong.” Seizing her glass, she doused the flare of heat with several gulps of iced tea. Composing herself, she went back to their previous topic. “Do you have a recommendation on where I could stay in Sanctuary?”
    Paul polished off the last of his drink and pulled out his cell phone. “You could probably afford to stay at the Laurels, but since you don’t have a car right now, how about someplace closer? There’s a nice country inn at the other end of town.”
    “If you recommend it, I’m sure I’ll like it.” She hated to admit it, but making so many decisions had exhausted her.
    “You’re very trusting all of a sudden.”
    “Well, you haven’t murdered me yet.”
    He laughed and tapped at his phone’s screen. She listened as he bantered with whoever answered. Her fingers itched for a pencil to sketch the sharp edge of his cheekbones and the slash of his brows over those luminous eyes. She hadn’t lied about his bone structure: his face was a study in angles. She thought about carving it out of stone, but there was such a fierce intelligence animating it, she decided stone was too heavy a medium.
    “You’ve got the Robert E. Lee suite,” he said.
    “Didn’t West Virginia fight on the Union side?”
    “Yes, but his horse was born near here, which is why it’s called the Traveller Inn. They even have his training saddle on display.”
    Mrs. Bostic appeared with two whopping slices of pecan pie. “Dessert’s on me. I still can’t believe I have a picture by a famous artist on my order pad.” She shook her head as she walked away.
    Julia picked up her fork and gave him a cocky grin. “I think I could get used to being a celebrity.”



Chapter 5

    I T ’ S VERY…QUAINT, ” Julia said, turning slowly as she took in the Robert E. Lee suite.
    The wavy glass of the Civil War–era windowpanes gave soft edges to the blocks of sunlight on the faded Oriental rug. An overstuffed sofa with rolled arms upholstered in indigo brocade stood in front of a fireplace ornamented with fluted columns painted robin’s-egg blue. Through the connecting door she could see a four-poster bed covered by a handmade quilt splashed with yellow, peach, and green. She knew most people would find the suite inviting, but the fussy details and haphazard colors made her long for the streamlined modernity of her studio.
    “I’ll put this in the bedroom,” Paul said, hefting her battered duffel bag, which they’d collected from the gallery. “The bathroom is a little old-fashioned but it’s functional.”
    “Does it have a shower? That’s all I care about right now.” She felt like she’d been on a four-day camping trip in a desert. Following Paul, she stuck her head into the bathroom to see if the innkeepers provided toiletries and sighed with blissful anticipation when she saw the L’Occitane labels on the little bottles sitting by the antique marble sink. Her duffel hadn’t been intended for an overnight stay; she had planned to change