Connor Quinn was still within earshot when Moira Sloan uttered the words "wild man."
At the sound of that label, his broad, well-defined back visibly tensed—just as it had on their first blind date.
But Connor Quinn’s hesitation lasted only a second, so fleeting it was as if it had never happened.
On the other end of the line, Flora Rhodes was practically bursting with excitent. "You have a man?"
Moira Sloan replied languidly, "You seem to have missed a word."
"What?" Flora Rhodes asked.
"Wild," Moira Sloan said.
Flora Rhodes snorted with laughter. "Oh, stop ssing around."
She’d known Moira Sloan for years and knew her personality inside and out. Moira might seem flirtatious, but she was actually more old-fashioned and conservative than anyone.
Just look at how she’d remained a virgin after all those years with Shane Jennings. It wasn’t hard to guess what kind of person she was deep down.
Moira Sloan said, deadpan, "I’m serious."
Flora Rhodes was incredulous. "No way."
Moira Sloan shifted on the sofa, leaning over the armrest. Her long legs curled slightly, hiking the hem of her dress up to the top of her thigh. "And why not?"
"..."
After a long mont, Flora Rhodes asked in a hushed voice, "For real?"
Moira Sloan toyed with a damp strand of her hair. "Mm-hm."
Flora Rhodes let out a breath, her tone full of the empathy of soone who’d been there. "Looks like that bastard Shane Jennings really did a number on you."
Now it was Moira Sloan’s turn to be silent.
The conversation had hit a wall.
But they had to keep talking, even if it was difficult.
You can’t just ignore reality and pretend nothing ever happened.
Flora Rhodes asked, "Moira, are you still in love with Shane Jennings?"
Moira Sloan’s slender fingers, twirling a strand of hair, froze. She didn’t answer, a bitter taste rising in the back of her throat.
’Am I still in love with him?’
That was a truly difficult question to answer.
Logic and reality told her she wasn’t. To still love him now would just be pathetic.
But her emotions and their shared history held her captive, making it impossible to disentangle her heart so quickly.
Seven years. You’d get attached to a dog in that ti.
Let alone the man she had loved, and been loved by, for seven years.
When Flora Rhodes didn’t get an answer after a long pause, she guessed what it was and sighed. "I heard Shane Jennings’s fiancée ca to you for custom lacquerware?"
"Mm," Moira Sloan confird.
"I never would have guessed with that woman," Flora Rhodes said. "She seems so ruthless and decisive in the business world, but I can’t believe she’d be that petty behind the scenes."
Moira Sloan’s red lips curved. "I wouldn’t call it petty," she offered, making a fair assessnt.
Any normal woman would probably feel at least a little upset after learning her fiancé had another woman on his mind.
Compared to most won, she had already shown a great deal of restraint.
Maybe it was because of her high-ranking position. Even after finding out that Shane Jennings had driven all that way just to see her, all she did was send her assistant to commission wedding items from her. It was a power move, a way to put in my place.
’To be honest, I quite like this power move.’
’Five million. Where else was she going to earn that much money in a small place like Everwood County?’
The two of them chatted aimlessly, and eventually, the conversation inevitably circled back to Shane Jennings and his wedding.
Flora Rhodes said, "Well, since you have a man now, why don’t you bring him along? It would save you from a whole lot of embarrassnt. Speaking of which, is this ’wild’ man of yours handso?"
Hearing Flora Rhodes ask if Connor Quinn was handso, Moira Sloan tilted her head. Her long, pale neck arched back as she studied Connor Quinn’s angular profile and gave her earnest assessnt. "He’s quite handso."
Flora Rhodes pressed, "Compared to Shane Jennings?"
She was hoping he was handso enough to completely overshadow Shane—just to piss him off.
"They’re not the sa type," Moira Sloan said. "He’s, um..."
Just as Moira Sloan was trying to figure out how to describe Connor Quinn’s "type," he suddenly seed to sense her gaze and turned to look at her.
Their eyes t, and that indescribable sothing between a man and a woman suddenly flared to life. The next second, before Moira Sloan could even react, Connor Quinn dropped the spatula he was holding, switched off the stove, and strode toward her. His large hand wrapped around her pliant waist, and he lowered his head, pressing his lips to hers...
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