Love by Proxy Read Free

foot.”
    “I didn’t embarrass you,” she countered. “That can’t be done!”
    “That’s true enough,” he affirmed. He leaned back in his chair, all blatant masculinity, big and dark and frankly sexy, with that shirt unbuttoned just enough to make her wonder what was under it. Dark hair peeked out of the opening, and a deeply tanned throat. He was as sensuous as any man she’d ever encountered, and twice the size of most of her dates. She would have found him fascinating under other circumstances.
    Her quiet eyes were frankly appraising, and he lifted a dark eyebrow.
    “Do I fascinate you, Miss Glenn?” he asked on a laugh. “Or are you looking for an appropriate place to plant a dagger?”
    She raised her chin to show him she wasn’t intimidated. “I was just thinking how amazing it is that the chair hasn’t collapsed under your weight.”
    He laughed softly, laughter that had a frankly predatory sound. “Were you? I’m not that big.”
    “No,” she said with mock sincerity, “you’re just a small mountain, that’s all.”
    His dark eyes narrowed as they appraised her, and she wanted to back off and run. He disturbed her.
    “I am not on the menu,” she said boldly.
    “Pity,” he murmured. “You might taste better than you look.”
    She lifted her cup and cocked her head to one side.
    “I wouldn’t,” he said calmly. “You’d have to spend the evening washing up.”
    She sighed angrily. “I don’t like you.”
    He smiled slowly. “If I hadn’t learned so much about your sex the hard way, I might be tempted to make you like me,” he said very quietly. “But fortunately for you, I’ve lost my taste for it. An occasional night out satisfies me very well these days.”
    He sounded and looked as if women held no more secrets for him, and she felt vaguely grateful that he wasn’t interested in her. A man like that, with his obvious experience, could make mincemeat of her.
    “Excuse me while I get down on my knees and give thanks for that saving grace,” she told him and offered him the sandwiches.
    He took one and studied it carefully.
    “Looking for something?” she asked as she lifted one for herself.
    “Arsenic,” he said bluntly.
    She burst out laughing. “I used the last on the bus driver who let me off a mile from my stop,” she promised. “Honestly, it’s safe.”
    He bit into it, finished it and smiled. “Not bad. I didn’t know tuna could taste so good.”
    “It’s the pickled peach juice,” she murmured dryly. “Dad taught me how to make it. He does most of the cooking. My mother can burn water.”
    “What does she do?”
    “She sets type for my father, who runs the print shop. She’s very good at that, and dealing with customers, but she isn’t domestic. I learned to cook or starve at an early age.” She finished her own sandwich and took a sip of coffee. “How long have you been in construction?” she asked politely.
    His broad shoulders shrugged as he finished his second sandwich. “I think I was born doing it. My parents died when I was just a child. My grandmother raised me, pushed me into finding a profession I liked instead of just one I took for money.” He smiled faintly. “I found I enjoyed building things. She prodded me until I called up a cousin who was an architect and asked him point-blank how I could get into the business. He was impressed enough to hire me on the spot. I worked for him between college classes. When I graduated he gave me an executive position.” His eyes grew wistful. “He had no immediate family, and he hated most of his distant relatives. When he died, I inherited the company. I’ve expanded it, enlarged it. Now it’s almost too big for me. I have a board of directors and every damned decision I make, I have to fight for.”
    “I’m glad I’m just a tadpole,” she said with a sigh. “I’d hate that.”
    “I enjoy it,” he murmured, dark eyes smiling at her across the table. “I like the challenge. It keeps