In front of the computer, her thoughts drifted to Roarke and the hotel room. She inhaled a shaky breath. The man was sexy, no doubt about it, and he knew his way around a woman’s body. He must have made all A’s in anatomy. She smiled to herself at the silly thought.
There was no point in thinking about Roarke. Professor Hawthorne would go back to Athens and academic life and forget all about her. She’d still be pining away for him, as if something more special than great sex had taken place. Sure, he made her feel beautiful and more special than she had in a long time, but so what? And so what if she felt comfortable in his company and enjoyed talking to him? More than likely, he was a charmer, like her ex. He’d driven into Atlanta to have a good time, and he’d found it with her.
She should be ashamed of her behavior, but she wasn’t. Her fingers shook slightly as she punched in the order, her mind wandering back to the way Roarke had kissed his way down her stomach and the sensation created by the short hairs on his face as his lips traversed the sensitive skin of her lower abdomen.
She would never forget him or last night.
She let her gaze rest on Derrick. She wasn’t completely at ease with the idea of pretending to be his girlfriend, but it would be nice to get away for a few days. She couldn’t remember the last time she took a vacation, and it wasn’t as if she could afford one on her own. Derrick’s offer appealed to her, although she had concerns about navigating the minefield of problems she suspected existed between him and his siblings.
Someone sat down in her section. Taking a deep breath, she brushed aside her reservations and went to greet him.
Enough with the negative thoughts. What could possibly go wrong?
Chapter Five
Roarke pulled up outside his family’s two-story house on St. Simons Island, the largest of the four Golden Isles that stretched along the state of Georgia’s southern coast. Not too far away he could hear the roar of the ocean.
A manicured lawn and moss-covered trees surrounded the yellow house with green shutters, in his family for generations. As the story went, his paternal great-grandfather, Joseph Hawthorne, had been the loyal manservant of a plantation owner who’d fallen on hard times. He’d lost everything, including his health.
Roarke’s great-grandfather remained at his side and took care of him until his death. In return, the owner left this house on the beach to him. Though dilapidated and in a state of disrepair at the time, Joseph worked constantly on it for years to bring the house back to its former splendor. Since then, it had been placed in a trust and was available as a vacation home for Hawthorne family members. Individual photos of Joseph, his wife, and photos of their descendants, hung on the interior walls.
Roarke stepped out of the vehicle and took a deep breath, inhaling the distinctive smell of sand and the saltiness of the Atlantic Ocean. Beyond the lawn, the property dipped to a sandy beach and sparkling water. Though he’d been born and raised in Atlanta, whenever he came down to the island, he felt more at home. Perhaps because his favorite memories from childhood stemmed from this place, where summer vacations with cousins and siblings were spent enjoying cookouts, riding bikes, swimming, fishing, and getting into mischief.
“Roarke!”
He raised his head from bending over the opened trunk of the car to see his little sister, Cassidy, bolt down the steps of the house toward him. Not so little anymore. He had to stop thinking of her like that. Cassidy was getting married tomorrow. The sun glinted off the blonde highlights in her sleek, short bob.
She hopped into his arms. “Thank God you’re here!” she said in a dramatic voice.
Uh-oh.