Read Online Do Not Disturb by Christie Ridgway - Free Book Online Page A

under her gaze, one of his big hands tightened on the handlebars, flexing a tendon running up his forearm.
    She stood transfixed, that below-the-belt Cosmo area of hers contracting again. As a journalist, she considered herself a keen observer, but who had ever noticed that men had muscles like that in their arms ? Sinewy, long muscles that—
    â€œAngel?”
    Jerked from her fascination, she shuffled backward, tripped on a root, and fell on her butt in the dirt.
    In a blink he’d dropped the bike and the helmet and was squatted beside her. “Are you all right?”
    â€œNo.” Because on top of humiliation, now his hardthighs were near enough to touch. To stymie temptation, she lifted an inch and sat on both hands. “No, I’m not all right.”
    He shifted closer. “Where are you hurt?”
    Shaking her head, she scooted back, refusing to admit it was her pride, her professionalism, that was taking the hit. She was supposed to be thinking about the all-important story, for God’s sake, not the intriguing specifics of sexual differentiation.
    â€œSit still a minute and take some breaths,” he advised, moving forward to close the gap between them. “Deep breaths.”
    His short-sleeved shirt was made of a stretchy, satiny fabric that fit closely at the neck and then molded itself to his chest. It clung so snugly, she had no trouble appreciating the wide planes of his pectoral muscles, each ridge topped by the tight buttons of his— Stop!
    Wrenching her gaze away, Angel again struggled for control of her thoughts. She’d seen bikers wearing this same getup millions of times. Just because Cooper was wearing it was no reason to allow that tingling awareness she’d finally been able to dismiss as recognition-gone-awry to rebloom.
    Anyway, women didn’t switch from fine to fascinated, from neutral to sexual with a glance, did they? The female of the species wasn’t visually turned on, she’d read that fact in an article in Men’s Health as recently as last week.
    Not that she didn’t have previous experience to rely on too. She’d had relationships with men. She’d had sex on occasion. But the guys always had to sort of…rub her toward response. Never, not once, had she seen a particular man’s form and been instantly enthralled.
    Realizing she was staring at his legs again, she choked back a mortified moan.
    â€œAngel, what the hell’s wrong?” Putting one hand on the ground, he shifted nearer.
    â€œI don’t know,” she answered, trying not to think about the way his arm’s movement had caused his biceps to bunch. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”
    Then, finally, gratefully, she made the connection. When she was eight, she’d wanted to be a boy, a big, strong boy, more than anything. There had been a gang of bullies at her new school and she’d wished every night to wake up with the height and the muscles to save herself from the next round of intimidation. She’d already given up on her father rescuing her.
    Maybe, probably—for certain !—Stephen Whitney was responsible for this temporary fixation. Past feelings and fears were resurfacing, that’s all. She wasn’t lusting after Cooper Jones. In a flashback to her past, she was lusting after his muscles , the physical symbol of the strength to take care of herself that she’d longed for so many years ago.
    Relieved, she managed to smile and rise to her feet. “I’m fine. It’s just that…” Cooper’s eyes were that hazel, greeny-browny color that could appear light one moment and dark the next. They were dark now, and watchful, and sighing inwardly, she remembered that she was supposed to be inspiring his trust. “That I haven’t had my coffee this morning.”
    He stood too. “I’ve seen some strong reactions to caffeine withdrawal before, but this seems pretty