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
