“It might. Try me.”
“Stay,” she ordered as authoritatively as if he were a resistant puppy. He’d obviously had no obedience training. He stayed right beside her.
“I guess that answers that,” she said with a sigh. She glanced sideways and noted that he was wearing a University of Miami Hurricanes sweatshirt that had clearly been through several seasons. The neckline had been stretched, the sleeves cut out. His cutoff jeans revealed powerful legs, corded with muscles. For a man who ate garbage, he looked awfully solid. And strong. And tempting. She dragged her gaze away.
“How far do you usually run?” Hank asked.
“Five miles.”
He uttered a choking sound. Ann grinned. Despite his awesome physique, she doubted if Hank Riley ever ran farther than the corner grocery to grab another six-pack. She deliberately picked up her pace. He easily lengthened his stride to match hers.
“Do you do this every morning?” he asked.
“Just about.”
“Ever do a marathon?”
“I used to. Now I don’t have the time to train properly.”
Hank muttered something that sounded like, “Thank God.”
“What about you?”
“I don’t run,” he said, confirming her suspicion. She figured that gave him maybe another mile before he started huffing and puffing.
“I do work out at the gym every day, though,” he said, sending her hopes plummeting. “I was going to look for a place down here, but maybe I’ll just go running with you instead. I hate to exercise alone, don’t you?”
Actually Ann had always considered the solitude the height of heaven. To declare that now, though, would only lead to all sorts of speculation on Hank’s part. She could tell he was grinning at her. She glanced over. Yep, the smirk was in place all right. There was also a disconcerting gleam in his eyes as he surveyed her from head to toe, lingering an unnecessarily long time on her bare legs.
“You have great legs,” he observed with the authoritative tone of a connoisseur.
Ann could feel the heat begin to rise and it had nothing to do with the exercise. If he expected her to thank him for the compliment, he could wait from now till she won the Boston Marathon.
“Why do you always cover them up with those long skirts?” he persisted.
She frowned at the implied criticism. “I happen to like long skirts.”
“Why?”
“Do I need to have a reason?”
“In the overall scheme of life, probably not. As a psychologist, though, I’d think you’d be a little curious about your motivations.”
“Long skirts are comfortable.”
“And concealing.”
“I am not trying to conceal anything,” she said adamantly.
“I hope not. With legs like yours…”
“I do not want to talk about my legs.”
“So it does make you uncomfortable when men find them attractive?”
“It does not!”
He was laughing at her again. “I thought so,” he said with that infuriatingly self-satisfied tone that made her want to rip the hairs of his beard out one by one.
Ann finished her run ten minutes faster than usual. She’d run, in fact, as though she were being chased by the devil himself. All in all, she figured it was an apt analogy.
Hank was late. In fact, he’d been running late ever since he’d gone jogging with Ann. He’d skipped breakfast to try to catch up, but that lost half hour in the morning plagued him the rest of the day.
It had been worth it, though. The discovery that the woman had an absolutely knockout body under all those layers of clothes had practically taken his breath away. He hadn’t been able to get the image of those slender, well-shaped legs, the smooth white skin and the subtle bounce of her breasts out of his mind. He’d lost a good ten minutes of every hour daydreaming about her. He’d wasted another five cursing himself because of it.
Now he was running behind for his fishing date with Jason. He’d promised to meet him at four, but at three-thirty the construction crew started balking over the quality of some of the materials that had been delivered that morning. Hank went with them to check up on the complaints and found they were valid. The materials were obviously an inferior grade. Whether it was a simple mistake or an outright attempt to defraud the company, it meant a waste of time and money to correct. Had it not been caught, it could have been disastrous down the line. It was the sort of corner-cutting he and Todd had never tolerated on one of their jobs.
Furious, he spent the next hour on the phone trying to reach the supplier, whose assistant was amazingly adept at evasion. No doubt she’d had a lot of practice. He slammed the phone down for the fifth time, then glanced at the clock. It was already four-thirty. He picked up the phone again and called Miami, this time for Todd.
“Do me a favor, would you, and see if you can straighten this mess out,” he requested when he reached his partner.
“I’ll try, but you’ve dealt with this guy before. Can’t you get anywhere with him?”
“I might be able to if I spent the next hour hanging around waiting for him to get back to me, but I have an appointment.”
“One that’s more important than this?”
Hank hesitated. He could understand Todd’s amazement. In all the years they’d known each other, Hank had never walked out in the middle of a fight. He actually enjoyed sparring with the more difficult personalities.
Before he could think of an adequate response, Todd demanded, “Okay, buddy, what’s up down there?”
Hank evaded. “Nothing.”
“Let me guess. You’ve got a heavy date at five in the afternoon.”
“Not exactly,” he mumbled. He was used to the teasing about his active social life, but today it made him even more irritable than usual. He’d have hung up if he hadn’t known that Todd would only call back with more amused taunts. As a recently reformed ladies’ man himself, Todd’s wit could be particularly barbed and uncannily accurate.
“What, then?” he was asking now.
“I’m going fishing.”
Todd’s hoot of laughter could have been heard clear to Marathon without
