Carolina Heat Read Free Page A

then people began to disembark.
    Annabelle remained in her seat, digging through her voluminous tote for her notebook. She wanted to jot down a few impressions. And to her way of thinking, if you’d seen one cannon, you’d seen enough.
    “Most people take a picture.” The deep male voice in her ear made Annabelle jump. Her notebook and pen flew out of her fingers and sailed onto the grass. Mark bent to lean in under the awning towards her. She favored him with a cool glare, partly for startling her, and mostly to take out on him the annoyance she felt with herself at her adolescent reaction to his presence.
    “Would you mind retrieving my things?” Annabelle pointed with her chin to where they lay by his feet.
    “Sorry if I startled you.” In a fluid motion, he returned the notebook and pen to her lap, and then took up a lazy stance against the side of the carriage. “I only meant to say that usually people record their vacations on film, rather than committing their memories to paper. It almost looks like you’re taking notes. Now, I pride myself on giving an entertaining and informative tour, but I didn’t realize I was this interesting.” He shot her a self-deprecating grin.
    Annabelle’s lips twitched in response, despite herself. It was always a nice surprise to meet a man who didn’t take himself too seriously. She decided to test out her cover story. “Pictures aren’t enough in my business; I need the thousand words to go along with them. I’m a travel writer.”
    “Miss Annabelle the travel writer—I never would’ve guessed,” he said, with a slightly bemused look.
    “And why is that? There’s no stereotype for the genre.”
    He crossed behind the carriage and settled himself next to her, long legs hanging out the open side. Long, tan, muscled legs dusted with dark hair that her fingers itched to touch. “Of course there is! Full safari gear; khakis, the little pith helmet, maybe even a rifle for protection…” His voice trailed off as she smirked at him.
    “Only if I was writing about the bushlands of Africa fifty years ago. You can’t be serious?”
    “No, I’m not.” Mark winked at her. “The real reason I didn’t peg you as a travel writer is because you’ve been oblivious to the surroundings since we started the tour. I can’t imagine you’d be able to write a single word about anything we’ve passed.” He nudged the corner of her notebook, trying to angle it to read her earlier notes.
    She flipped the cover shut before he could see anything. “Guilty as charged, I’m afraid,” Annabelle replied lightly as she fanned herself with the tiny book. “I caught up on my sleep last night, so it must be the humidity. I can’t seem to concentrate.”
    “Well, you’ve come to the right person.” Mark tipped his straw boater low over one eye. “If you’d be willing to extend your tour, I’ll take you someplace guaranteed to cool you down.”
    Before she could respond, he grabbed hold of the awning and swung to the ground as the other passengers started to re-board. He became the genial host again, asking a toddler if he’d climbed on the cannons, and helping settle two elderly ladies. Moments later the horses began plodding down the street, and the carriage resumed its gentle swaying motion.
    As Mark waxed on enthusiastically about the full historical significance of the cobblestones— and how many more times would she have to hear that story? —Annabelle once more ignored her surroundings. She stared at Mark, or rather, tried to surreptitiously stare at him. He certainly had the good looks to match his considerable charm. Tall, dark and handsome might be a cliché, but it still packed a sensual punch.
    Why not be a little adventurous and go with him? After all, last night she’d all but promised him a date. Trying to get out of it now would only lead to difficult questions. If nothing else, she’d get a better feel for the layout of the city after an extra hour with