Dream Man Read Free Page A

wasn’t the feeling supposed to be mutual? She was also, he realized, not going to offer her first name in response to his.
    â€œMy car’s just around the corner,” he said as they came down the last flight of stairs and into the building’s lobby
    â€œMine’s right out here,” said Jeanie, pushing open the door to the staff parking area at the rear of the building, stepping out into a swirl of leaves from the autumn-gold poplars between the lot and the sidewalk. Dream man or not, she wasn’t getting into a car with a man she had never met before and knew absolutely nothing about. Not unless she was behind the wheel and in control.
    Sharon had taught her that much—and considerably more, Jeanie mused as she drove through the crowded streets of downtown Victoria. It hadn’t been easy for Sharon, at eighteen years old, to take up the rearing of a little sister in a small apartment in Toronto, all the two girls could afford while Sharon attended the Royal Conservatory of Music. After their parents died, she and her sister had survived some rough times together.
    Her passenger broke into her thoughts. “Nice car. I’ve always admired Nissan’s workmanship.”
    â€œThank you. I find it comfortable to drive.”
    â€œYes. I can tell. You’re a very smooth driver.” She glanced at him, pleased with the comment, but did not reply. She felt vaguely surprised to learn that he wasn’t one of those dinosaurs who hated to have a woman drive him. Sneakily, she watched from the corner of her eye as he sat back, his gaze switching from small glances at her face to the passing scenes of Government Street. When she parked the car, he was out his door and around to her side in a few long-legged paces. He opened her door and helped her out, his hand large and warm on her elbow. As she had on the stairs, she pulled away quickly. She was determined to keep this luncheon on a businesslike plane, especially because the mere touch of his hand had the extraordinary ability to turn her insides to butterscotch pudding. Things like this did not happen to Jeanie Leslie.
    When they were seated, had been served ice water with lemon slices, and steaming cups of coffee, and their orders taken, she leaned back in her chair and smiled, hoping her professional calm properly masked her deepening interest in him.
    Who was he? Had she seen him somewhere before? She had an active social life. Maybe they’d attended the same party once or twice, she’d seen him across the room and had subconsciously remembered him. That could account for his having figured so largely in her dreams these last months. But even as she thought it, she knew she was trying to fool herself. If she’d seen Max McKenzie, even across a crowded room, she’d have remembered with more than her subconscious. Extreme caution was called for here, she thought. Maybe even a little chicken-hearted cowardice.
    â€œNow, Mr. McKenzie,” she said briskly, wanting to get this meeting over with fast, “how can I help you?”
    He considered telling her, but it was far too soon in their relationship for him to say what was uppermost in his mind—that his brother had given him the germ of an idea, and meeting her had given that little seed a helluva big dose of growth hormone. Besides, he was certain that if he gave himself a day or two to reflect, he’d realize the idea was one of the dumbest he’d ever entertained. So what if she was the most beautiful creature he’d ever seen, with her pink and gold skin, tawny-colored hair, smoky eyes? So what if the scent she exuded made his head reel? So what if she walked as if she wore a tiara and long, ermine-trimmed robes? So what if he had, for one wild moment, suddenly felt as though there might be such a thing as love at first sight? It was impossible because love itself was impossible. No, this was purely the worst case of lust he’d ever