Zoya Hart has been eluding her gold-digging stepmother for the last few years. Knowing that this woman will do anything to gain control of her and her late father's company, Zoya finds herself hiding out on a farm. Now, with a PI on her trail, Zoya'...
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Zoya spent the morning watching Garrett, the yard hunk, move pumpkins from one place to the next as Delphine decided on the perfect placement. Zoya wasn't sure if the woman had really been undecided or just wanted to see Garrett's muscles flex and his jeans dip low as he bent to arrange them.
Whatever the reason, it had paid off because the courtyard looked like an autumn magazine cover for Southern Living.
Zoya refocused on the canvas she'd finished. Garrett was a fine specimen of manhood. She'd gotten to know him over the past few months and it turned out he wasn't the least bit offended to learn she'd been painting his portrait.
Delphine clearly hoped Zoya would develop more than just artistic interest in him, but that hadn't happened. He was nice, but still nothing tingled or tightened when she was near him. Guess it was a good thing since she'd learned he had a steady girlfriend. Information that had burst Delphine's match-making bubble.
She glanced at the lace blouse, leather skirt, and wedge heels Delphine had bought her from their one shopping trip. Tonight, Zoya would wear them. Her landlady had some kind of special dinner planned for just the two of them. Zoya had found a beautiful pair of chandelier earrings at the local resale shop that looked great with the outfit.
Closing her eyes, she thought about her birthday. She'd concentrated on hiding out for so long, the soon-to-be freedom frightened her. She'd be able to do anything she wanted without looking over her shoulder. As crazy as it sounded, it would be an adjustment. But she'd have Mariana. By then, her friend would live in Baton Rouge. The downside—no doubt Zoya would cross paths with Roman at some point. Wasn't sure how she'd handle that. Being in the same room with the love of her life and not being able to touch him would be agony.
She went back outside and eased onto the lounge chair, pulling a blanket around her. Only the middle of September, but colder weather had blown in. The crisp breeze cut at her face and the odor of burning wood tickled her nose. There was something peaceful about a crackling fire. Over the years, she'd enjoyed plenty of evenings in front of Charamel's. She shook the memory away and went back inside. No need to dwell on Arcadia because every time she did, her heart cracked a little more.
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