as bone-weary fatigue, she was still shaken, still felt vulnerable.
She had removed herself from Bram’s presence on the plane, knowing with relief she’d never see him again.
Ha, she thought dismally. Never see Bram Bishop again? That wasn’t quite how the week had gone. The man and his silly panda had followed her into her dreams at night, causing her to toss and turn.
It was so ridiculous. Bram was just a man. Well, okay, he was the best-looking male specimen she’d ever encountered in her twenty-seven years, but that was beside the point.
Also of no importance was the masculine aura that emanated from Bram, the blatant male sexuality, the crackling whatever-it-was that had woven over, around and within her with disturbing, heated intensity.
Glory covered the unfinished fruit salad with a plastic lid, replaced it in an insulated bag beneath her desk, then got to her feet and roamed restlessly around the office.
As if the strange week she’d just spent wasn’t bad enough, she fumed, she still had this afternoon to get through.
Each morning her secretary, Margot, placed the files of the day’s appointments on Glory’s desk. So what had she discovered at nine o’clock?
Bram Bishop had an appointment to see her at one, right after the lunch break.
Why?
Why would Bram make an appointment with a marriage counselor?
How had he even discovered where she was? She had not told him what she did for a living, nor corrected his use of Ms. to Dr.
Bram had somehow tracked her down, and in less than fifteen minutes he would be walking into her office.
What on earth did he want?
“Calm down, Glory Carson,” she told herself aloud. “You’re acting like an idiot.”
She marched into the small bathroom off the office, freshened her lipstick and smoothed back her hair. Her fingertips lingered on the figure-eight bun at the back of her head.
How long is your hair when it’s falling free?
Bram’s words spoken on the airplane echoed in Glory’s head, and she glared at her image in the mirror.
“Would you stop it?” she said to her reflection.
With a cluck of self-disgust, she left the bathroom and returned to her desk, placing Bram’s empty file squarely in front of her.
When Bram arrived, Margot would request that he fill out a new-client form, which the secretary would give to Glory when Bram was escorted from the reception area into the office.
At the moment, however, the file was devoid of paper, and was devoid of answers as to why Bram had made an appointment to see her.
Maybe, she thought suddenly, he’d lied when he’d said he wasn’t married. Maybe he was having problems in his marriage because he flirted with women other than his wife. Women, for example, who he encountered on airplanes. Maybe he needed professional help to be able to be faithful to his wedding vows.
Bram Bishop married? Yes, that was a definite possibility and would certainly explain why he wished to see her in her professional arena.
What didn’t make sense was why the thought of Bram being in a committed relationship was extremely depressing.
Glory pressed her fingertips to her temples where a stress headache was beginning to throb.
Bram Bishop was driving her crazy, right out of her mind.
She narrowed her eyes.
Actually, now that she thought about it, she was glad Bram was coming to the office today. Because she was no longer in a state of exhaustion, she’d be able to view Bram in a normal light.
Yes, he was handsome, but so were a multitude of other men. Yes, he had beautiful blue eyes, but so did millions of other men. Yes, he had a nice physique, a dazzling smile, a sexy laugh, but big deal. He was just a man—no more, no less. And now Bram Bishop was just a client—no more, no less.
Thank goodness, Glory thought, she’d gotten all that straightened out. She was under control, calm, cool and collected.
The telephone on her desk buzzed.
And she’d straightened out just in the nick of time, she mentally tacked on.
Glory lifted the receiver at the same moment she pressed the button with the blinking light in the row at the base of the telephone.
“Yes, Margot?” she said.
“Mr. Bishop is here for his appointment.”
Tell him I went home, Glory’s mind yelled. Tell him I died. Tell him... Glory, get a grip.
“Show him in, please, Margot.”
Glory replaced the receiver, drew a steadying breath, then got to her feet. She came around the side of her desk, as she did when she greeted all clients upon their arrival.
Bram was just a man, she mentally repeated. No more, no less.
The door to the office opened and Margot stepped back to allow Bram to enter.
Wrong, Glory thought frantically. Bram Bishop was more—much more—than any man she’d previously met. Her fully rested state was doing nothing to diminish the sensual impact he was having on her as he walked slowly toward her.
He was so tall, with shoulders so wide. His features were even more rugged, tanned and compelling than she remembered. He was wearing a white Western shirt and crisp jeans that were obviously quite new.
And those eyes...dear heaven, those gorgeous blue eyes of Bram’s were holding her immobile. Was she breathing? Oh, she hoped so. She’d be mortified if she fainted dead-out-on-her-nose from being in close proximity to Bram Bishop.
“Glory?” Margot said.
“Hmm?” Glory turned her head to look at her secretary, then blinked. “Oh, thank you.” She took the paper Margot was extending toward her.
Margot stared at Glory questioningly for a long moment, then hurried across the room, closing the door behind her as she left.
“Well, we meet again,” Glory said, sitting down gratefully in the chair behind her desk.
Her legs were trembling, she realized. Her heart was racing. There was heat—pulsing heat—thrumming low in her body. This was absurd, ridiculous and absolutely unacceptable.
“Have a seat, Mr. Bishop.”
“Bram,” he said, settling in one of the chairs opposite her desk. “After all, we’re already acquainted, Dr. Carson. You might have corrected my use of Ms., you know.”
“It didn’t seem important at the time,” she said. “I’ll need a minute to look over this new-client form you’ve filled out.”
“That’s
