Part of him wondered at that. But it was a small part, easily drowned out by the parts that wanted to discover the secrets in her eyes, to make her laugh when she thought she should frown, to feel the heat of her passion so it fueled his own desire like a race car’s high-octane. He’d be damned if he’d meekly fade out of her life.
It was the challenge that attracted him, he reminded himself.
When he arrived at Top-Line’s office a few minutes after six Thursday evening, he was told that Ms. Wharton had left for a meeting with a client.
He looked from Darla’s bland brown eyes to the closed door of Bette’s office, and back. He pivoted on one heel and walked out. Marching out the blocks with punishing steps, he reached the broad sidewalk of Michigan Avenue and turned right toward Mama Artemis’s with some vague intention of finding a spot where people would be glad to see him.
A client. A meeting with a client. A client like him? A meeting like the one they’d had a week ago, full of laughter and exchanged glances and the implicit possibility of more?
He startled a few people by stopping abruptly in the middle of the sidewalk and swearing vehemently. “A client? She’s meeting with a client?” Most of the people kept walking, parting and passing him like a rock in a stream, although he thought he noticed a few trying to hide smiles. They were all women.
Prelude to a Wedding (The Wedding Series Book 1) Page 16
