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Authors: Marilyn Campbell
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enough to hug her rounded hips without being too tight. She never made visual contact with him but he couldn't help but notice that her eyes were almost the same shade of blue as his own. He let out the breath he had unconsciously held as she had glided toward him. Damn, she was gorgeous!
Harry waved his cigar at David to get his attention. "Aren't you getting a little old for the game?"
"You're one to talk, old man. As I recall, you're the one who said, Why buy a ticket to the game when you can climb the fence? "
Harry's lips formed a smirk around the stogie. Although he removed it to speak, the words still exited from the corner of his mouth. "What'd you do, write down everything I said for the last two decades?"
"I didn't have to with you spouting Harryisms all the time."
"Harryisms? Well, now. I kinda like that. Maybe I can use that in my book. In the meantime, I'd like to add one more to your collection. There comes a time in every man's life when he's too old to climb the fence. Then it's sort of nice to be holding a season ticket."
David pretended to choke on his coffee. "What's this, Har? Is the confirmed bachelor hoping to find a little woman on his world tour?"
"Nah. It's too late for me. But it's not for you. I just wanted to let you know that since I retired, sometimes it gets a little lonely around my apartment."
"More likely, having to spend entire days in that place has gotten you thinking about how nice it would be to have someone empty your overflowing ashtrays, pick up the years of accumulated newspapers and magazines and find a clean pair of socks for you." Their conversation stopped again as the blonde returned to her table. David decided that the rear view was almost as interesting as the front.
As Harry gave him a rundown of his itinerary, half of David's mind stayed with the mystery lady across the room. Who was she? Why had she met with Erica Donner? Did she work for the government like the other two women or was she from the business world, like Donner? The man carried the small bag, but which of them was leaving town? To where? Why?
Questions were as enticing to David as a glimpse of a beautiful woman, but getting the answers was more exciting than any woman had ever turned out to be.
When he saw the waitress hand the man the bill, he excused himself from Harry and hurried over to the couple's table.
With barely a glance at the woman he dipped his head toward the older man. "Joe? Joe Thomas?"
The man looked up from signing the charge slip. "No. I'm sorry. You've mistaken me for someone else."
"You look so familiar. I'm David Wells, reporter for The Washington Herald. Perhaps we've met—"
"Sorry. I don't recall." He tore off his copy of the form and rose. "If you'll excuse us..." He nodded to the woman and she gracefully departed with him.
David prided himself on noticing the little things. The average person would have introduced himself in return. This man had no intention of revealing who he, or his companion, was. Yes, he had seen the way the man's gaze briefly darted to the woman in a clearly proprietary reflex that couldn't be mistaken as fatherly.
Returning to Harry, David laughed to himself. Perhaps other men had used the same method to try to wangle an introduction to the lovely lady and the gentleman had seen through it. That was okay. The signature on the charge slip, a rather distinctive name, gave him something to go on.
Even without the question of the blonde's connection to Erica Donner, the very secretiveness of Philip Sinkiewicz spurred him to discover who they were. That, and the fact that when the woman stood up next to him, she unconsciously ran her palms down her thighs to smooth her jeans and took a deep, chest-raising breath that nearly took his own away.
He realized there was one other thing that had intrigued him about the woman. Even when he was speaking to her companion, she never looked up at him. David could not remember any woman being so completely
Harry waved his cigar at David to get his attention. "Aren't you getting a little old for the game?"
"You're one to talk, old man. As I recall, you're the one who said, Why buy a ticket to the game when you can climb the fence? "
Harry's lips formed a smirk around the stogie. Although he removed it to speak, the words still exited from the corner of his mouth. "What'd you do, write down everything I said for the last two decades?"
"I didn't have to with you spouting Harryisms all the time."
"Harryisms? Well, now. I kinda like that. Maybe I can use that in my book. In the meantime, I'd like to add one more to your collection. There comes a time in every man's life when he's too old to climb the fence. Then it's sort of nice to be holding a season ticket."
David pretended to choke on his coffee. "What's this, Har? Is the confirmed bachelor hoping to find a little woman on his world tour?"
"Nah. It's too late for me. But it's not for you. I just wanted to let you know that since I retired, sometimes it gets a little lonely around my apartment."
"More likely, having to spend entire days in that place has gotten you thinking about how nice it would be to have someone empty your overflowing ashtrays, pick up the years of accumulated newspapers and magazines and find a clean pair of socks for you." Their conversation stopped again as the blonde returned to her table. David decided that the rear view was almost as interesting as the front.
As Harry gave him a rundown of his itinerary, half of David's mind stayed with the mystery lady across the room. Who was she? Why had she met with Erica Donner? Did she work for the government like the other two women or was she from the business world, like Donner? The man carried the small bag, but which of them was leaving town? To where? Why?
Questions were as enticing to David as a glimpse of a beautiful woman, but getting the answers was more exciting than any woman had ever turned out to be.
When he saw the waitress hand the man the bill, he excused himself from Harry and hurried over to the couple's table.
With barely a glance at the woman he dipped his head toward the older man. "Joe? Joe Thomas?"
The man looked up from signing the charge slip. "No. I'm sorry. You've mistaken me for someone else."
"You look so familiar. I'm David Wells, reporter for The Washington Herald. Perhaps we've met—"
"Sorry. I don't recall." He tore off his copy of the form and rose. "If you'll excuse us..." He nodded to the woman and she gracefully departed with him.
David prided himself on noticing the little things. The average person would have introduced himself in return. This man had no intention of revealing who he, or his companion, was. Yes, he had seen the way the man's gaze briefly darted to the woman in a clearly proprietary reflex that couldn't be mistaken as fatherly.
Returning to Harry, David laughed to himself. Perhaps other men had used the same method to try to wangle an introduction to the lovely lady and the gentleman had seen through it. That was okay. The signature on the charge slip, a rather distinctive name, gave him something to go on.
Even without the question of the blonde's connection to Erica Donner, the very secretiveness of Philip Sinkiewicz spurred him to discover who they were. That, and the fact that when the woman stood up next to him, she unconsciously ran her palms down her thighs to smooth her jeans and took a deep, chest-raising breath that nearly took his own away.
He realized there was one other thing that had intrigued him about the woman. Even when he was speaking to her companion, she never looked up at him. David could not remember any woman being so completely
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