Diana Whitney - Mixing Business...With Baby

“You’re quite right, it is. The only way for me to make reparations for my boorish presumption is to rectify that situation. How about dinner tonight?”

Only then did she note the sly gleam in his eye and realize that she’d leaped right into the trap. “No, thank you.”

“Tomorrow night?”

“No. Thank you.”

“Ever?”

“Probably not.”

“Ah, probably leaves the door open.”

“No, it doesn’t.” She reminded herself that this man had the power to take her job away, a job that she desperately needed to care for her baby daughter. “Please, don’t take it personally. I’m not in the market for a romantic relationship, or any relationship for that matter.”

“Not even a friendship?”

“In my experience, friendship is nothing more than the masculine code word for sex without commitment.”

He choked on his coffee, coughed until his eyes watered. When he could speak without wheezing, he stared at her in genuine astonishment. “Don’t hold back, tell me what you think.”

She couldn’t bite back a smile this time. He really was a charming fellow and definitely an attractive one. Under other circumstances, she would have been flattered by his attention and might even have responded favorably to it. “I apologize if I’ve insulted you. I do have an unfortunate tendency to speak my mind a bit too candidly at times.”

“No, no, I appreciate candor.” He frowned, shot her a glance. “That’s a lie. I hate candor.”

“Most men do.”

“Most women do, too. For example, would you appreciate being told that the hole in your nylons makes you look like you have a fist-sized wart on your knee?” He grinned when she jerked to a stop and stared at him. “I didn’t think so.”

Her astonishment melted into amusement. She chuckled. “Touché, Mr. Blaine.”

“Rick.”

“Touché, Rick.”

They had reached the offices of Blaine Architectural. He politely opened the door for her. “So now that we know each other well enough for brutal honesty, will you go out with me?”

“No,” she said pleasantly. “But I will regret it more than I would have ten minutes ago.”

“It’s because of my eyebrows, isn’t it?”

“Your what?”

“My eyebrows. I know they’re ugly. They tweak in the middle, sag at the side, and I’ve been told they make me look like a stunned Chihuahua. I’ll bet you hate dogs.”

“I love dogs.”

“Then why won’t you go out with me?”

Exasperated, she stepped into the elevator, whirled around and pressed a palm in the center of his chest to keep him from following. “Because you are rich, arrogant and pushy. Does that about cover it?”

He blinked. “Yes, I believe it does.”

The midday sun was warm, the autumn air cool, and the shady park was bustling with activity. From his vantage point behind a sprawling cedar, Rick watched the svelte blonde completing her warm-up exercises beside a glossy, forest-green bench. She rolled her arms, flexing her shoulders beneath a sweatsuit worn thin at the elbows, and patched at the knees. Her shoes were old too, scuffed and scarred from repeated use.

It didn’t matter. She could have been wrapped in stenciled burlap, and Rick still would have thought her the most appealing woman on Earth.

He didn’t know why.

Fascinated, he continued to stare as she stretched her calf muscles, dipping down until her forehead brushed her knee. Every movement was fluid and graceful, the epitome of vibrant health and lithe femininity.

His greedy gaze absorbed every nuance, every twist of her waist, every bend of her knee until she shook her body as if it were a limp rag. As soon as he realized she was preparing to sprint away, he emerged from behind the tree, planting himself directly in her view.

It took a moment for her stunned double take to announce that she’d recognized him. He pasted a grin on his face, offered a cheery wave. Even though she was at least fifty feet away, he saw her brows furrow in a suspicious frown.

Initially he’d planned to jog alongside her, try to engage her in conversation. The look in her eye made him rethink that option. Instead, he simply called out, “Nice day for a workout, isn’t it?”

She simply stared at him.

Rick felt his jaw slacken. He’d never in his life had to work so hard to win a woman’s interest. Nor had he ever been so determined to do so.

Clearly she was not approachable at the moment, so Rick decided to carry his charade a bit further by emulating the warm-up exercises he’d just watched her perform. Placing his hands on his hips, he twisted his upper body several times. A glance out of the corner of his eye confirmed that she was watching him. Emboldened, he flashed another of his winning smiles, then stretched out one leg as she’d done, and flung his torso forward, planning to touch his forehead to his knee.

Something popped in back.

His spine went numb. He could no longer feel the outstretched leg, and the one on which he was supporting his weight began to quiver madly.

The horror of his situation dawned on him a fraction of a second before he toppled sideways into a clumsy heap. The moment he hit the ground, his left calf went into spasms. He let out a howl, grabbed his leg, and writhed like a clumsy snake, oblivious to the startled stares of passersby.

By the time he’d kneaded the knots out of his muscles, the path beside the forest-green park bench was empty. Catrina was gone.

Rick limped back to the office, daunted but determined. Whether Catrina Jordan realized it or not, she’d thrown down a gauntlet of challenge.

Pain shot from his lower back to his shoulder blades. Rick sucked a breath, listening to the shower sounds emanating from the women’s locker room. He’d guessed that she’d use the health club on the top floor of their office building to change clothes and shower after her lunchtime jog, and the familiar battered duffel left on one of the workout benches confirmed his assumption.

He also presumed that she had witnessed his clumsy tumble in the park and had no doubt been mightily amused by it. Ego wouldn’t allow him to let her believe that he was inept enough to have actually hurt himself, so he’d dragged himself up here to put on yet another show of machismo.

She would no doubt appreciate the effort. Women always appreciated a cunning display of male physical prowess. And Rick appreciated their appreciation. Even if it was undeserved.

Slowly, painfully, he lowered himself onto a weight bench, which supported his torso as he planted his feet on the floor. A tubular rack above his head held an iron bar affixed to a set of iron discs. The past ten years had not been the most athletic of his life, but in college Rick could bench press one hundred pounds without breaking a sweat, so it didn’t occur to him to double-check the weight of the unit. Besides, he didn’t want to move again until he absolutely had to. A lack of routine exercise was revealed in the tremor of his strained muscles.

He was already panting like a whipped dog, his back was killing him, but the sound of running water in the women’s locker room had just been replaced by the whir of a hair dryer so it was nearly show time.

He sucked a breath, curled his fingers around the bar over his head and waited.

Within a matter of minutes, Catrina emerged from the locker room wearing street clothes, and carrying her jogging ensemble under her arm. He noticed that her ruined nylons had been removed, leaving her legs bare and pale and exquisitely attractive.

She didn’t spare him a glance. Instead she stuffed her sweatsuit into the open duffel, grabbed her worn-out shoes from beneath the bench and tied them to the bag handle.

She was clearly preoccupied. Her lips pursed in a sensual pout, her pale brows puckered with appealing concentration. Her skin was slightly flushed from the shower, a pink glow from cheek to jaw that imparted an appealing radiance to her creamy complexion.

Rick thought she was just about the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen in his life.

He cleared his throat. “Hello, again.”

She spun around, touched her throat in a gesture of vulnerability that he found strangely enticing.

“Our paths just keep crossing.” He flexed his fingers around the weight bar, fought a grimace as his back issued a protest. “Uncanny, isn’t it?”

Tilting her head, she regarded him. “Yes, uncanny.”

“I would have joined you at the park, but I didn’t want you to feel bad if you couldn’t keep up.”

She smiled then, a brief flutter of lips that was absolutely devastating. “I’m sure you would have left me in the dust. Presuming, of course, you had stayed on your feet in the first place.”

Well, at least she’d been watching him. He took some small consolation in that. “A minor mishap. Have you never gotten a pebble in your shoe?”

“A pebble?”

“Sharp little devil. Poked itself right into my instep. You know how it goes.”

A flash of tooth scraped her lower lip, as if she was biting back a smile. “Of course.”

“So other than jogging, what else do you do to buff up?”

“‘Buff up’?”

“You know, tone the old quads, beef up the biceps.”

“Oh. Well, I enjoy tennis. Or I used to. There’s little time for it any more.”

A clue. He pounced on it. “This is truly amazing. Tennis is absolutely my game.” Grab a ball, hit it with a racket. How hard could it be? “Maybe we could share a court some time.”

“Maybe.”

She was softening, he could see it in her eyes. “You ought to try working with the weights, too. It’s great for the cardiovascular system.” To prove the point, he hoisted the bar with a macho grunt and felt something give at the base of his spine. His arms collapsed like wet noodles, and the bar came down on his chest, pushing the air out of his lungs with a humiliating whoosh.

Catrina widened her eyes. “Are you all right?”

He opened his mouth, sucked a wheezing breath. “I meant…” a peculiar hiss emanating from somewhere deep inside “…to do that.”

She blinked. “Why?”

It took a few seconds before he could speak again. “Lower weights—” he wheezed “—then lift them.” He wheezed again. “That’s how…it works.”

“I see,” she murmured, clearly unconvinced. “Well, I’ll leave you to your workout.”

Rick smiled, managed a painful nod. “If you see Frank Glasgow, could you…send him up?”

“Of course.” She glanced once more in his direction, then scooped up her duffel and left.

After what seemed a small eternity, Frank poked his head into the gym. “What can I do for you?”

“You can get this…damned thing off.” Rick gritted his teeth. “Then drive me to the hospital…I think I broke a rib.”

“I tell you, Gracie, it’s absolutely eerie. Every time I turn around, there he is. And he’s sending me presents.”

“Presents?” Gracie’s eyes popped. “You mean like diamonds and perfume and furs?”

“Well, no.” Catrina cleared her throat, glanced away. “Er, a case of panty hose.” Expensive panty hose, attached to a dozen colorful helium-filled balloons and shuttled to her apartment door by a uniformed courier who was most unhappy when she refused to accept the delivery.

Gracie blinked rapidly. “Oh, my, that does sound a bit personal.”

“Actually, it was kind of a private joke. You see, I dropped some coins at the coffee shop and ripped the knee out of my—” Blushing furiously, Catrina clamped her mouth shut, embarrassed by Gracie’s knowing grin. “Never mind. The point is, I think he’s stalking me.”