Close Proximity Read Free

father.
    She inhaled deeply and tipped up her chin. She sure wouldn’t be able to clear her father’s name by wallowing in doubt and self-pity.
    The car key was cool against her palm as she pulled it from the ignition. Shoving open the door, she exited the car, bringing with her the bag of groceries she’d purchased this afternoon and her attaché case. With a small thrust of her hip, she closed the car door. The heels of her shoes clicked on the paved drive as she made her way to the porch.
    Libby looked up and was truly astonished to see him standing on the front lawn. The man with those intense, dark eyes.

Two
    H e was a big man. Tall. Lean. Powerful. And his features looked as if they’d been chiseled from some golden-hued stone from the desert, his cheekbones high and sharp, his jaw angular.
    Without conscious thought, her steps slowed, then stopped altogether.
    Something about his stance gave the impression that he was primed, ready. To attack or flee, she couldn’t tell which.
    Just then the afternoon breeze tangled itself in his long, raven hair, whipping it across his eyes and jaw, obscuring his face from view. An odd, out-of-the-blue urge welled up in Libby, and she had to fight the impulse to go to him, to brush back his hair, experience what she easily imagined would be the silken texture of it between her fingers. The startling thought made her eyes go wide, made her heart trip in her chest.
    In the calm of the moment, she realized he was the most luscious man she’d ever laid eyes on.
    That astonishing notion made her suck in a quick breath. What on earth had gotten into her?
    She suppressed a smile when she realized that just because experience had forced her to swear off men entirely, she was still a woman. The feminine part of her demanded its right to appreciate a good-looking man when she saw one.
    With an economy of movement, he turned his head, lifting his chin a fraction, and the wind whisked his hair back over his shoulders. And massive shoulders they were, too. Her eyes slid down the length of him. Over his broad chest covered by a white button-down shirt, narrow hips belted with a strip of suede decorated in a beaded, distinctly Native American design. His jeans, denim worn soft and supple with age, encased muscular thighs.
    A desolate sigh whispered across her brain as she imagined him naked. The thought nearly made her choke.
    She forced her gaze to the sculpted features of his face.
    Who was he? And what was he doing here?
    As much as she wanted to focus on the issues important to the here and now, she couldn’t stop the unbidden perceptions from flashing in her mind like sharp bolts of lightning.
    Untamed. Stealthy. Panther-like.
    Each description that zipped through her thoughts caused a friction that heated her blood.
    He didn’t seem in any way unrefined or brutish. But…feral. Yes. That was it. A wildness exuded from him like heat radiating from the sun. Natural. Genuine.
    Libby realized her heart was hammering and her mouth had gone as dry as the California desert. Enough of this, she silently ordered. When her feet still didn’t move andher tongue remained cleaved to the roof of her mouth, she silently ordered, Enough.
    Suddenly she was moving again, and rather than making her way to the front door as she’d first intended, she veered toward the man.
    â€œI didn’t get the chance to thank you this morning,” she called to him. “For helping me escape those reporters at the courthouse.”
    Until now his countenance had expressed a tentativeness as if he wasn’t quite sure he should approach. But now his tense features relaxed, if only a bit.
    â€œI’m Libby Corbett. David Corbett’s daughter.” As soon as the introduction left her mouth, she silently decided he must realize those facts already. How else would he have known where to find her?
    His steely silence made her nervous. “Can I help you with