Anna’s heart gave a strange lurch. He looked so appealing, sitting so close—almost at eye level, a twinkle lurking deep in his brown eyes. She was amazed to discover that he had the same long lashes that belonged to his sister, Sara. Thick and dark, they hooded his gaze, sweeping low and tangling at the corners.

Good God, I must be more tired than I realized. She didn’t care how long Greyley’s lashes were. Or how incredibly well shaped his mouth was. What she needed was a warm bath and a good meal, and she’d forget what particular shade of brown his eyes could deepen to. She’d pay no attention to the way his hair, the color of ripe honey, contrasted so vividly with his tanned skin. She’d be completely oblivious to the shape of his powerful thighs where they stretched against—

He stood and gestured toward the chair. “You try it.”

At least he was no longer at eye level. Of course now his strong neck was right where she could examine it, even touch it if she so desired. She imagined what he would do if she reached out and traced her fingers down his jaw, to the strong cords of his throat. Her stomach quaked at her disgraceful thoughts and she sank into the chair just to put some space between them.

To her surprise, the seat was astonishingly comfortable. The back supported her well, the legs didn’t so much as tremble, and the red cushion was even plumper than she realized. “It’s delightful.”

He sent her a ghost of a smile, then turned toward the window and opened the drapery a bit wider. The sunlight caught his hair and made it appear even more golden. “I’ve been attempting to transform Greyley House into a proper home since the day I moved in, almost seventeen years ago.”

“It’s very striking.” She looked around the room, admiring the crown moldings. “The outside is a bit austere but in here…it’s lovely.”

He looked at her as if measuring her for more than her weight. “Yes, it is. Not every person can see that.” He leaned his arm against the green marble mantelpiece and shoved his other hand deep in his pocket, his gaze never leaving her. “When I was a child, I used to come here every Christmas. It was the only time I saw my Elliot relatives.”

“I daresay the house looked vastly different then.”

“It looked just like the Elliots—ramshackle and falling apart. I’ve fixed all the structural damage, of course. Now it’s a matter of aesthetics. There is little I can do to remedy the outside, not without losing some of the heritage. But in here…” He looked around at the intricate molding that graced the walls and the complex wood trim that decorated the window frames. “One day it will look the way it should.”

He gazed at the room, his expression serious, his hair golden against the wainscoting. There was something almost endearing about him, as he stood there, contemplating the changes he’d wrought in his house. She sensed the quiet confidence of ownership in his gaze, and something more. Pride, perhaps.