“Then I’ll think about it. What else?”
She scowled and bent forward to dig deeper into her briefcase. A slit in the side of her skirt parted and slid up her thigh, gracing him with a glimpse of bare flesh above tan hose and powder blue garter. Holy Mother of God. “Where are you going dressed like that?”
She straightened. The skirt closed, and the show was over.
“I’m meeting a client in her home on Mercer.” She handed him another photograph, but he didn’t look at it.
“Are you sure you’re not meeting your boyfriend?”
“Charles?”
“Do you have more than one?”
“No, I don’t have more than one, and I’m sure I’m not meeting him.”
John didn’t believe her. Women didn’t wear underwear like that unless they were planning on showing it to someone. “Do you want some coffee?” He stood before his imagination sucked him into a fantasy of soft thighs and blue lace.
“Sure.” Georgeanne followed him into the kitchen, filling the room with the sound of her heels tapping the hardwood floors.
“Charles doesn’t like me, you know,” John informed her as he poured coffee into two navy mugs.
“I know, but I wasn’t under the impression that you liked him either.”
“No. I don’t,” he said, but his dislike of the man wasn’t personal. The guy was a real dickweed, true enough, but that wasn’t his primary objection. John hated the thought of any man in Lexie’s life-period. “How serious is your relationship?”
“That’s none of your business.”
Maybe, but he was going to press the issue anyway. He handed her the mug. “Cream or sugar?”
“Do you have Equal?”
“Yep.” He dug in a cupboard for the little blue packet and gave her a spoon. “Your boyfriend is my business if he spends time with my daughter.”
Georgeanne’s long fingers emptied the sweetener into her coffee and she slowly stirred. Her nails were mauve, long, and perfect. Sunlight poured in through the window above the sink, catching in her hair and earrings. “Lexie has met Charles twice and she seems to like him. He has a daughter who is ten, and she and Lexie play well together.” She set the spoon in the sink and looked up at him. “I think that’s all you need to know.”
“If Lexie has only met him twice, then you haven’t known him very long.”
“No, not long.” She pursed her lips a little and blew into her coffee. John rested one hip against the white tile counter and watched her take a sip. He’d bet she hadn’t slept with him yet. It would explain why the man had been so hostile toward John. “What is he going to say when he finds out that you and Lexie are coming to Cannon Beach with me?”
“Easy. We’re not going.”
He’d spent the previous night figuring out a way to coerce her into agreeing with his vacation plans. He would appeal to her emotions; God knew she had those in spades. Everything she felt was right there in her green eyes. Even though she tried to hide her feelings behind bland smiles, John had spent his life reading the faces of tough, coolheaded men. Men who reined in emotion while uncorking haymakers with detached precision. Georgeanne didn’t stand a chance. He would appeal to her maternal side. If that didn’t work, he’d improvise. “Lexie needs to spend time with me, and I need to build a relationship with her. I don’t know a lot about little girls,” he confessed with a shrug, “but I bought a book written on the subject by a woman doctor. She writes that the relationship a girl has with her father could determine how she relates to the men in her life. Say, if a girl’s father isn’t around, or if he’s a jerk, she could really be fuc-ahh… messed up.”
Georgeanne looked at John for several long moments, then carefully set her mug on the counter. She knew from personal experience that he was right. She’d been messed up for a lot of years. But his being right didn’t persuade her to spend a vacation with him. “Lexie can get to know you here. The three of us alone would be a disaster.”
“It’s not the three of us you’re worried about. It’s the
“You and I don’t get along.”
He folded his arms across his wide chest, and the worn collar of his gray T-shirt dipped, exposing his clavicle and the base of his throat. “I think you’re afraid we’ll get along too well. You’re afraid you’ll end up in my bed.”
“Don’t be absurd.” She rolled her eyes. “I don’t even like you very much, and I’m not the least little bit attracted to you.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“I don’t care what you believe.”
“You’re afraid that once we’re alone, you won’t be able to resist jumping in bed with me.”
Georgeanne laughed. John was rich and handsome.
He was a well-known athlete and had the powerful body of a warrior. She wasn’t concerned she’d jump in bed with him. Not even if he were that last man on earth and held a gun to her head. “You need to get over yourself.”
“I think I’m right.”
“No.” She shook her head and walked out of the kitchen. “You’re delusional.”
“But you don’t need to worry,” he continued, and followed close behind. “I’m immune to you.”
Georgeanne reached for her briefcase and set it on the couch.
“You’re beautiful and Christ knows you’ve got a body to make a priest weep, but I’m just not tempted.”
His announcement stung a little more than she liked to admit. Secretly she wanted him to eat his heart out every time he laid eyes on her. She wanted him to kick himself for dumping her the way he had. She raised an eyebrow as if she didn’t believe him and pointed to the coffee table. “Which pictures do you want?”
“Leave all of them.”
“Fine.” She had copies at home. “Give me the photo you stole from my office.”
“In a minute.” He grabbed her arm and stared into her eyes. “I’m trying to tell you that you’d be completely safe in my house. You could rip your clothes off and walk around bare-assed, and I wouldn’t even look.”
She felt her old self emerge to salvage her pride, the old Georgeanne who had been sure of nothing but her effect on men. “Honey, if I stripped my clothes off, you’d pop blood vessels in your eyeballs and your heart would palpitate. I’d have to give you mouth-to-mouth resuscitation.”
“You’re wrong about that, Georgie. Sorry to hurt your feelings, but I find you completely resistible,” he said, dropping his hand and stinging her pride a bit more. “You could put me in a headlock and stick your tongue in my mouth, and I wouldn’t respond.”
“Are you trying to convince me or yourself?” He looked her up and down. “Just stating facts.”
“Uh-huh. Well, here’s a fact for you.” She treated him to the same up-and-down body browse. Her gaze started at his taut calves and moved up his muscular thighs, waist, broad chest, and wide shoulders to his handsome face. He looked macho and kind of sweaty. “I’d rather kiss a dead fish.”
“Georgie, I’ve seen your boyfriend. You do kiss dead fish.”
“Better than a dumb jock like you.”
His eyes narrowed. “You sure about that?”
She smiled, satisfied that she’d provoked him. “Absolutely.”
Before she knew what happened, John wrapped an arm around her waist and jerked her forward. He shoved his fingers into the twisted bun on the back of her head. “Open up and say ahh,” he said as his mouth came down hard on hers. She gasped her surprise, and shock kept her arms limp at her sides. His blue eyes stared into hers, then he softened the kiss, and she felt the tip of his tongue lightly touch her top lip. He licked the corner of her mouth and applied a little suction. His eyes drifted closed and he pulled her tighter against his chest. A warm shiver ran up her spine and her scalp tingled. His mouth was hot and wet, and before she had a chance to think about it, she kissed him back. She touched her tongue to his and turned up the heat a little more. Then just as suddenly as it began, he pushed her away.
“See?” he said, taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly. “Nothing.”
Georgeanne blinked and looked up at him standing there as cool as a day in December. She could still feel the
