One-word answers.
So caveman.
So annoying.
And why, in this man, so attractive?
“Well,” Lily said, smiling, “aren’t you the world-class detective? Most people would have assumed I was here because of my name on the door.”
His lips twitched, but he didn’t look any too happy about it.
“Clever woman.”
“Thank you.”
“Never cared for clever women.”
“Well,” Lily said, “color me crushed.”
He sighed and pushed away from the door. Folding his arms across an impressively broad chest, he tipped his head to one side and stared at her. “Is there any reason in particular we seem to swipe at each other all the time?”
“Because it’s fun?” Lily smiled, enjoying his discomfort. She supposed she should feel badly about that, but really, the man was so stuffy, he probably just stood his suits up in the corner every night rather than bothering with a closet. How he ever could have fathered a daughter as charming and sweet natured as Mari was simply beyond her. His late wife must have had all the charisma in the family gene pool.
Ron Bingham stared down at her and wondered why the hell he bothered. Why was it he always felt compelled to stop by this woman’s office when he was at the clinic? Why did he always allow himself to be drawn into a baiting contest?
Lillith, Lily, Cunningham was exactly the kind of woman he’d always avoided. Born into a wealthy family and living the kind of privileged life most people could only dream about, she appeared to trip through life with a studied indifference that simply confounded him. She had no plan. She had no work ethic. She had no…she had no business wearing bright red suits with short skirts and high heels that totally distracted a perfectly sane man.
When Mari first hired Lily as the new PR director for the clinic, Ron had expected to dislike the woman on sight. He’d assumed she’d roar into this tiny corner of Kentucky and proclaim it backwoodsy. Instead, she was dropping seamlessly into life here and, damn it, doing a good job with the clinic as well. Which only served to heighten his confusion.
“To what do I owe the honor of this visit?” she asked, and he hated that he noticed the deep timbre of her voice.
Telling himself to stop acting like a dumbstruck teenager, Ron got a grip on his roving thoughts and spoke up. “I’m here to pick up the list of people you’re inviting to the fund-raiser.”
One blond eyebrow lifted into a delicate arch over her steady brown eyes. “You’re a messenger now?”
He scowled at her. “Simply doing a favor.”
Lily smiled then, and he tried not to notice the wattage in that simple act. But when the woman turned on the juice, her whole face lit up and her eyes seemed to sparkle.
“I know,” she said. “Just teasing. Actually, I spoke to your mother this morning. I already sent a copy of the list to her.”
Ron frowned and wondered why in the hell his mother hadn’t bothered to tell him that this trip to the clinic was unnecessary. If he’d known, he could have stayed away and saved both himself and Lily the bother of yet another round in their game of one-upmanship.
She swung her legs off the edge of the desk in a graceful sweep that caught his attention despite his better judgment. But hell, he was male, wasn’t he? Only natural that he should notice a pair of shapely legs. And as she slid her feet into the high heels that did absolutely amazing things for her calves, he told himself there was nothing unusual about looking. It was touching that he wouldn’t—couldn’t—allow himself.
Not that he wanted to touch.
He groaned inwardly and focused his gaze on her big brown eyes instead. He wasn’t entirely sure which view was safer.
She stood up and her bold red suit seemed to cling to every curve. And, God help him, she had plenty of curves. She wasn’t very tall, no more than five-six or -seven, but every inch of her was solidly packed.
“I can give you another copy if you like…”
“Not necessary,” he said, already backing toward the door. Coward his brain whispered.
Damn right, he countered silently.
“If you’re worried about the clinic, you needn’t be,” she said.
Instantly Ron’s attention shifted to where it should, hopefully, remain. On business.
“You’ll forgive me if I go ahead and worry anyway.”
“Of course you will.”
The sigh behind her words had him asking, “What’s that supposed to mean?”
She eased one hip onto the corner of her desk, perching gingerly against the antique furniture. “I only meant that people like you will worry whether there’s cause or not.”
“People like me?”
She lifted her left hand into a brief wave, and that bracelet of hers chimed musically. “You know, stuffy, stalwart types.”
Stalwart he could live with. Stuffy seemed a little…insulting.
“And you figure you know my ‘type’ quite well, do you?”
“Not hard to guess.”
Leave now, he thought. Leave before you get drawn into yet another contest of wills with a woman who had absolutely no “back-up gear” in her. Naturally though, he couldn’t do that.
“I’m fascinated,” he said dryly.
She smiled briefly. “Oh, I can see that.”
“Please, explain my ‘type.”’
She paused, watching him, and even the air between them hummed with expectation. Then she started talking.
“Okay…” She pushed off the desk and walked across her ridiculously expensive and out-of-place rug to stop just inches in front of him. “I grew up around people as sturdy as you, you know. So I speak from experience.”
“Can’t wait.”
One corner of her mouth twitched, and his gaze fastened on the curve of her lip, damn it.
“You always do what’s expected of you.”
“And that’s bad?”
“Just boring.”
“And boring is a crime?”
“Just tedious.”
“Oh,” he said, giving her a slow nod, “do go on.”
“All
