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act, an innocent little girl move, one she’d done when playing hide-and-seek as a child. She used to say, “How’d ya see me? I couldn’t see you.” Older now, she appeared to have the same sweet, smart, compassionate personality he adored.
    Damn, he couldn’t do this, couldn’t manipulate her.
    Her high cheekbones and symmetrical face enthralled him. Her smooth skin invited his fingers to touch and his tongue to taste every feminine inch.
    Brown hair, streaked with lighter colors begged his fingers to feel, to see if the locks remained as soft as they once were.
    He took in the color of her lips, the matching pink dress, the soft material cupping her full breasts and slight hips. The rest of him snapped to attention demanding a chance to participate.
    Gorgeous, absolutely gorgeous, like he remembered.
    As soon as he recognized her in the silver car, he’d raced to his sister’s B&B. Forgetting all about his plans of figuring a way out of this mess.
    “As I was saying…” Knowing it was a mistake, he moved closer and nudged her hand from her face. He let his fingers slide slowly along hers, enjoying the feel of her skin before sticking his hand in his pocket. “Felicia wanted to make a business on her own merits. When she graduated college, she voiced her wishes to use a different name. Family and friends continue to use her given name, but to the outside world, Felicia Schmidt no longer exists.”
    “Because you own Heathercream, she thought people wouldn’t give her the respect for her accomplishments.” She shifted her focus between his eyes the same way she’d done as a teen. This time, his thick eyeglasses didn’t stand between them. “I get it.”
    No doubt, she did. With her father in charge of Haynes Travel Agency, Lyse stayed in his shadow, just what Felicia didn’t want.
    “Would you like to get some ice cream? I know the owner, and it’s free.”
    “Yeah.” Her shaky voice revealed her caution. “I need to fix my mop first.” She bunched the long locks in her hands, the way girls do, to put it in a ponytail, and her thumb caught on what must have been a knot.
    “Let me. Where’s your brush?” So thick and heavy, her aunt didn’t have the patience to brush it. As far as he knew, her uncle hadn’t even tried. One day, he mentioned he combed his sister’s hair and that was it. He became her official hair-brusher. As a thank you, Lyse would peck him on the cheek. Now, he hardened at the idea of her repeating the act.
    She inhaled.
    Her reaction caught him off guard, and he debated the wisdom of his suggestion. “Do you think I’m gonna do something out of line?” He shrugged and lifted his hands, palms up. “I’ve brushed your hair a million times.”
    In his lab and in his ice cream shop, he analyzed, studied, and evaluated his findings to ensure the accuracy of an experiment. Not once did he frown when a “holy cow” lightbulb moment occurred as Lyse’s did now. She beamed. But how? Embarrassment or an excited flush didn’t light up a person’s face like this. Hell, science ruled his life, and he didn’t have any earthly idea how she looked so happy yet confused.
    “Oh, the brush.” She held up a finger, retrieved her purse, and handed it to him. “Here you go.”
    “Want to sit on the bed?”
    Her eyes grew wide, and again he pondered his comment. “You’re only an inch shorter than me, you’ll have to sit.” At six-one, he should be able to see the top of any woman’s head, not hers.
    She didn’t move.
    “Okay, have it your way.” He moved behind her and slid the bristles through her hair. Section by section he ran the brush through the strands, untangled it and enjoyed the silkiness. “It’s the same,” he said, not meaning to speak aloud.
    She didn’t respond, but moved to the bed, folded a leg under her, and hung the other one over the side.
    “Now that you’re here, the whole class will be in attendance,” he said, hoping to relieve some of the