Read Online A Treasure Worth Seeking by Sandra Brown - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Sandra Brown
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She looked cool, confident, and in perfect control.
That control slipped when she heard Lance Barrett's voice coming from the kitchen as she was descending the stairs. Her heart jumped to her throat and she gripped the banister reflexively when her footsteps faltered.
"Hey, Lance, is that you?'' She recognized Mike's voice.
"Yeah."
"Charlie Higgins is holding on the line for you."
"Be right there."
Erin could hear hurried footsteps as Lance journeyed through the house toward the living room. What would he say to her this morning? What would she say to him? Not for one minute did she believe that he could have forgotten what they had shared in the inky darkness despite his commission for her to do so. How could she ever forget those few precious minutes when she experienced total bliss from a man's embrace? She still felt the impact of his lovemaking like rippling aftershocks to an internal earth-quake.
She had to face him sometime, so it might just as well be now. She took the last few steps down the stairs and then stood poised on the bottom stair where she could see into the living room. Lance held the telephone in the crook between his clefted chin and his shoulder. He was jotting down notes on a tablet.
She had expected him to look like he had the day before —gray slacks, dark tie, white shirt, the uniform of all government officials. That was hardly the sight that greeted her eyes.
Lance was clad only in a brief pair of blue running shorts and a pair of running shoes. Nothing else. As he leaned over the desk, writing on the paper that was becoming soggy from the sweat on his hand, he grew impatient with the glasses that continued to slide down his perspiration-beaded nose. In exasperation, he reached up and jerked them off, tossing them onto the desk as he continued to write furiously.
For how long she stood there and stared at him, Erin didn't ever remember, so mesmerized was she by the sym-metrical perfection of his physique. Now she knew why he was in such superior physical condition. If he ran like this every morning—and by the looks of him, it had been no small distance—his secret to that well-honed body was out.
His legs and arms were hard and sinewy. His shoulders were broad and topped an impressive chest that was matted with light brown hair now curled into wet ringlets.
Erin's eyes shamelessly followed the growth pattern of that hair Over a corded rib cage and a flat, taut stomach into the elastic waistband of his shorts. It was disconcerting that his deep tan showed no lines of demarcation. Even more unsettling was the full evidence of his sex beneath the tight, damp shorts.
"No, I think that should do it," he was saying crisply.
"If I need anything else, I'll call. Thanks, Charlie. I owe you one."
He hung up the telephone and continued to scratch the pen across the paper for a few seconds before he straightened up.
He almost did a double take when he saw her watching him from the staircase. Then his eyes boldly traveled the length of her body and back up again. For a flickering moment their eyes met and locked and Erin's breath caught in her throat. She was perplexed when he looked away quickly. Where was the smug, knowing jeer she had expected?
Bravely she entered the room and stood in front of the desk. Finally, he raised his eyes and looked at her with a blank, unreadable face. "You're up early."
"So are you," she said. "Do you always start the day this way?" she asked, indicating with a nod of her head his postrunning condition.
"I try to get in several miles each day, yes." Why were his sentences so abrupt? He wasn't engaging in conversation with her, he was answering her question out of politeness. His eyes told her nothing she wanted desperately to know.
"Wasn't it cold outside?"
His shrugging shoulders set all sorts of muscles into play, and Erin strove to tear her eyes away from his chest.
"Sometimes it is when I start out, but I warm up fast enough. I had on a jacket. I
That control slipped when she heard Lance Barrett's voice coming from the kitchen as she was descending the stairs. Her heart jumped to her throat and she gripped the banister reflexively when her footsteps faltered.
"Hey, Lance, is that you?'' She recognized Mike's voice.
"Yeah."
"Charlie Higgins is holding on the line for you."
"Be right there."
Erin could hear hurried footsteps as Lance journeyed through the house toward the living room. What would he say to her this morning? What would she say to him? Not for one minute did she believe that he could have forgotten what they had shared in the inky darkness despite his commission for her to do so. How could she ever forget those few precious minutes when she experienced total bliss from a man's embrace? She still felt the impact of his lovemaking like rippling aftershocks to an internal earth-quake.
She had to face him sometime, so it might just as well be now. She took the last few steps down the stairs and then stood poised on the bottom stair where she could see into the living room. Lance held the telephone in the crook between his clefted chin and his shoulder. He was jotting down notes on a tablet.
She had expected him to look like he had the day before —gray slacks, dark tie, white shirt, the uniform of all government officials. That was hardly the sight that greeted her eyes.
Lance was clad only in a brief pair of blue running shorts and a pair of running shoes. Nothing else. As he leaned over the desk, writing on the paper that was becoming soggy from the sweat on his hand, he grew impatient with the glasses that continued to slide down his perspiration-beaded nose. In exasperation, he reached up and jerked them off, tossing them onto the desk as he continued to write furiously.
For how long she stood there and stared at him, Erin didn't ever remember, so mesmerized was she by the sym-metrical perfection of his physique. Now she knew why he was in such superior physical condition. If he ran like this every morning—and by the looks of him, it had been no small distance—his secret to that well-honed body was out.
His legs and arms were hard and sinewy. His shoulders were broad and topped an impressive chest that was matted with light brown hair now curled into wet ringlets.
Erin's eyes shamelessly followed the growth pattern of that hair Over a corded rib cage and a flat, taut stomach into the elastic waistband of his shorts. It was disconcerting that his deep tan showed no lines of demarcation. Even more unsettling was the full evidence of his sex beneath the tight, damp shorts.
"No, I think that should do it," he was saying crisply.
"If I need anything else, I'll call. Thanks, Charlie. I owe you one."
He hung up the telephone and continued to scratch the pen across the paper for a few seconds before he straightened up.
He almost did a double take when he saw her watching him from the staircase. Then his eyes boldly traveled the length of her body and back up again. For a flickering moment their eyes met and locked and Erin's breath caught in her throat. She was perplexed when he looked away quickly. Where was the smug, knowing jeer she had expected?
Bravely she entered the room and stood in front of the desk. Finally, he raised his eyes and looked at her with a blank, unreadable face. "You're up early."
"So are you," she said. "Do you always start the day this way?" she asked, indicating with a nod of her head his postrunning condition.
"I try to get in several miles each day, yes." Why were his sentences so abrupt? He wasn't engaging in conversation with her, he was answering her question out of politeness. His eyes told her nothing she wanted desperately to know.
"Wasn't it cold outside?"
His shrugging shoulders set all sorts of muscles into play, and Erin strove to tear her eyes away from his chest.
"Sometimes it is when I start out, but I warm up fast enough. I had on a jacket. I
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