Divine Design Read Free Page B

breaking into his reverie.
    “I have degrees in American Literature and Journalism, and an MBA,” he rattled off, his mind on far more interesting things.
    “And you teach physics?” Meghan asked, frowning in confusion.
    He thought he must have missed part of the conversation. “I don’t teach physics,” he said simply.
    “What do you mean, you don’t teach physics?” she questioned, panic rising in her voice.
    “I mean, I don’t teach physics. I’m a publisher,” he clarified. As she sat gawking at him as though he had suddenly grown horns on his head, he tried to be helpful. “You know—books, magazines, newspapers.”
    “Where?” she uttered.
    “Where what?”
    “Where do you publish?” she asked testily.
    “Texas and California at the moment.”
    She sighed audibly, visibly calmed by his answer.
    “So you don’t live in New York?” she said, wanting it made perfectly clear.
    “I live in Dallas,” he said thoughtfully, then added, “You know, this is the strangest survey I’ve ever heard … or answered. What’s this thesis about, anyway?”
    “The Ramification of the Out-of-Town Convention Upon the Professional Male of the Species,” she said, grinning at him.
    A deep chuckle rose from inside him. His eyes twinkled as he shared her enjoyment of the title.
    “That sounds dry enough to put any sociologist to sleep,” he observed in his deep, fatigue-slurred voice.
    Meghan laughed aloud as he nearly quoted her remark to Lucy that morning. “I didn’t dream up the title,” she confessed honestly, “I’m just asking the questions.”
    “Well, I answered your questions, but I’m not attending a convention,” he pointed out to her.
    She looked around, doing an excellent impression of a CIA agent, then leaned forward and curled her index finger at him. He looked from side to side, joining in the game, and came face to face with her across the table. His breath was warm on her face. They grinned at one another, their gazes locked. In the few seconds before Meghan spoke, they seemed to have exchanged something with their eyes. A secret? A promise? A sensation? A bond of some kind? She didn’t know what it was, but she knew they both were aware of it. She knew that if they parted in the next minute, they each would remember having shared something indefinable for a few brief seconds in the dim lounge of the Essex House Hotel.
    “You know that. And now I know it,” she whispered. “But do you think anyone reading the thesis will?”
    “Nope.” His grin widened. The amused twinkle in his eyes was intoxicating. Meghan willingly could have drowned in them. Why couldn’t he live in New York after all, she thought. She could forget this whole thing and do it the right way … with him.
    “To tell you the truth,” she continued to whisper conspiratorially, “asking these questions of strange men is terribly embarrassing and not a lot of fun for me. So if you don’t mind being mixed in with a few physics professors, I’m just going to shuffle your answers in with theirs and call it a night.”
    “You mean you’ve finished?” he asked, his brows raising with interest.
    “Yes. Thank heavens,” she said, leaning back in her chair again, oddly breathless.
    “Will you join me for a drink then?” he asked, also returning to a relaxed position, aware that he was hoping very hard she would stay. Sometime during the last few minutes she had lost that shy, uncertain air. Her eyes had taken on a look of self-assuredness, and she was smiling in a shrewd, knowing manner. Michael was intrigued.
    “Again, thank you, but I really can’t.” She paused briefly and gave him a very special smile. “I do thank you for answering those awkward questions though,” she said as she gathered her things and prepared to leave. The last question on her list that she had not asked was whether or not, as a conventioneer, he would have a brief fling if the opportunity arose. It was a superfluous question at