To See The Daises ... First Read Free

trying to put something over on him. Apparently he didn't know how intimidating his size and stern features were. Definitely not a man to toy with.
    Earlier, through the smoke-stained glass barrier, she had watched him working, and everything about him—his strong, compelling face, the neat, blue shirt covering but not concealing powerful shoulders, even the firm way he held his pen— pointed to the fact that this was a man who led a structured life. A place for everything and everything in its place. And, as if that weren't enough, the sensuality she had seen in firmly molded lips, sensed in his movements, caused a strange turbulence in her stomach, pushing her farther away from a decision to speak to him.
    Then she had noticed his hair. Though neatly combed, it hung just a little below the conventional length that would have matched the rest of him, curling irrepressibly oh the back of his strong neck.
    She had almost gone in then, encouraged by the one comfortable flaw in his appearance, but just at that moment he had frowned and the grimness in his face had instantly reversed her decision. It was only when they had stepped out of the elevator Into the natural light that flooded the ground floor and she had seen the unmistakable laugh lines around his eyes, the quickly hidden touch of insecurity in his face, that she knew she could trust him with her story.
    She stared now at his deeply tanned, rugged features, then said softly, "You don't believe me, do you?" as she dipped her fork into the linguini, unable to resist the smell any longer. Dropping her fork in exasperation, she raised her arms to shake back the full sleeves that dipped precariously into the clam sauce.
    "Here," he said, reaching out as a sparkle of humor replaced the distrust in his gray eyes.
    She extended both arms and waited impatiently as he rolled back the sleeves to a workable length. The aroma of the clam sauce was driving her wild, but she had the feeling that even if the food fell short of the waitress's claims it would taste like haute cuisine to her deprived tastebuds. As he rolled up the left sleeve she attacked the pasta with her free hand, an almost sensual "mmmmm" escaping her as the food settled into her empty stomach.
    "You really are hungry, aren't you?" he asked, watching with bewilderment and a little awe as she ate without pause. "When did you eat last?"
    "I don't know," she replied, hastily swallowing a mouthful of garlic bread to speak. "But it must have been a very long time ago." She raised her eyes briefly to smile at him. "I'm deeply indebted to you for feeding me. I was beginning to have dark thoughts—like mugging a pigeon in the park for his popcorn." Pausing thoughtfully, she added, gesturing with her fork, "You know, everyone should experience true hunger at least once in his lifetime. It has a way of wiping out the superfluous—the nonessential—and forces you to concentrate on the basics."
    "And what would you classify as superfluous? Your"—he hesitated, giving her a skeptical look— "amnesia?"
    "Ah," she said. "Now we're getting into a question of relativity. If you mean loss of memory in general, that's out of my range. Too deep," she explained, taking a sip of wine. "But my loss of memory—that I can handle. To me it is superficial, and therein lies the crux of my problem."
    He waited with an impatient expression as she twined more of the dwindling pasta around her fork. When she didn't continue immediately he said shortly, "Are you going to tell me or not?"
    "I'm just wondering where to begin."
    "How about the beginning?" he offered drily.
    Leaning back, she cast her eyes over his large frame, a tiny smile of amusement curving her lips. "A man with a logical mind," she murmured. "How can you stand it? It would drive me crazy."
    "Would you like to know what drives me crazy?" he muttered through clenched teeth.
    "Okay, okay," she said, laughing at his frustrated expression. "From the beginning." She finished the