Bride by the Book (Crimson Romance) (10 page)

“Of course I’m not ready.” She dabbed vainly at her blouse. “I just got home.”

“What’s that you’ve been drinking? Chocolate milk? That’s a no-no, Angie. From now on, if you want milk, it’ll have to be plain milk. I’d hate to see the insides of your arteries.” The expression on his face was one of pure enjoyment.

“No one’s asking you to see them.” Angie frowned severely at him through the screen door. Funny, but men had never looked this good in California. “And I am not going jogging. I hate jogging.”

She tried not to stare. The jogging shorts he wore revealed the long, tanned length of his muscular legs. His short-sleeved white T-shirt accentuated his tan and displayed the breadth of his shoulders and the lean, tapering muscles of his torso in a way that made her mouth go dry.

“How do you know?” Laughter tinged Garner’s voice, although his face remained brooding. “Have you ever jogged before?”

“I … tried it one time in a P.E. class in grade school. I’m a lot better at exercising my fingers on a keyboard.”

Vernon and Celia Brownwood had demanded their only daughter be excused from Physical Education within the first few weeks of the school year so she could spend more time developing her skills in the exclusive school’s computer lab. Angie didn’t remember much about the P.E. class, except that she’d been totally inept, thanks to being several years younger than the other girls in her class. At the time, she’d been glad to spend the time in the computer lab doing something she was good at.

“Your education has been sadly neglected,” Garner said, as if reading her thoughts. “But don’t worry, Angie. We’re going to remedy any deficiencies, beginning this afternoon. Go change clothes like a good girl. Otherwise, you’ll have all the neighbors asking why I’m trying to beat down your door.”

“Look, Mr. Holt—” Angie began.

“It won’t work,” he said gently. “Go change your clothes. I’m worried about those circles under your eyes. Believe me, I know exactly what they mean and how to treat them.” He motioned at the sofa, where she’d dumped her briefcase and the shoebox. “Take the shoes with you and put them on. I’ll wait.”

Something about his voice persuaded Angie to head toward her bedroom without further argument. He sounded genuinely concerned about her, she decided. That concern was what had gotten to her. She wasn’t used to having anyone worry about the circles under her eyes.

In her bedroom, she shucked off her pink suit and pantyhose and wiggled her toes gratefully. Then she searched her drawers for something suitable for jogging.

Finally, she settled on a pair of loose white shorts and a blue T-shirt, similar to Garner’s attire.

She slipped on the pink jogging shoes and studied herself in the mirror. Perhaps Garner would think she looked so athletic, he wouldn’t ask her to prove herself by jogging.

On her way toward the front door, she caught a tantalizing whiff of pizza. Her stomach filed a demand for instant attention.

But Garner was waiting, and not very patiently if his actions were any indication. He used one of the front porch columns as a stretching post and appeared to be putting himself through some sort of warm-up.

Intrigued, Angie tiptoed to the front door and watched a moment. The muscles in his taut back moved in unison with his well-coordinated movements, and his legs were absolutely sinful to watch. Her mouth went even drier than it had earlier.

“There you are.” He looked up and noticed her. “Got a house key? Good. Lock the door behind you. We’ve got to get that sexy body of yours into motion.”

Angie registered the fact that he’d called her body sexy right along with the fact that he wanted her to get it into motion. In her mind, the two ideas were incongruous.

“I am not letting you prod me along like a cow. My time is my own after work. You don’t want everyone to say you’re romancing your secretary, do you?”

“If I’m prodding you along, I can’t be romancing you,” Garner said. “Get a move on, Angie. We’re late already.”

“You’re late. I’m not. If you want to make better time, maybe you’d better go ahead without me.”

“Move it, Angie. I’m determined to save you, whether you like it or not.”

“Save me? From what?” She stood in the middle of the porch and regarded him balefully. “When I want saving, I’ll scream for help. In the meantime, kindly assume I’m happy the way I am.”

Garner smiled at her and her heart promptly went crazy, which paradoxically increased her irritation.

“I know a serious case of dark circles when I see one,” he said. “You look a lot like I did when I left Dallas several years back. You may quit tomorrow, but while I’ve got you, I’m going to teach you a few things about healthful living if it kills me.”

“It might.” Angie tried to ignore the warmth spreading through her. No one, not even her mother, had ever expressed this much concern for her health before. It was a novel sensation to say the least. She moved toward him almost without knowing how it happened.

He walked her down the sidewalk, one hand at her back. Angie contrasted his masculine appearance with the moss roses lining the sidewalk and the cushioned wooden rocker on the front porch. The prim little old-maid’s house she loved so much looked doubly feminine with Garner around.

“Looks like you’re going to have to get the yard mowed,” Garner observed. “The grass has really been growing since Miss Culp died.

Angie regarded the overgrown lawn with wonder. Her parents had always lived in apartments on or near college campuses, or in close proximity to BrownWare’s corporate office. No one around her had ever worried about green growing things, not even house plants. She had no idea where to begin.

But she would by tomorrow. One thing she knew how to do was scour the internet for needed information.

She looked up to find Garner studying her face.

“You’re right,” she said quickly. “I’ll do it Saturday.”

From a wire overhead, the resident mockingbird raised its standard objections to her presence in its yard. Angie stared up at the bird and wondered what its problem was.

“That mocker has a nest in the crepe myrtle bush at the side of the house.” Garner pointed toward the rear of the house. “Your great aunt kept a lawn mower in that little tin building. It was in good working order a few weeks ago because I saw it being used.”

His hand pressed lightly against her back. Angie registered his touch with a slight rise in her heart rate.

“Thanks for telling me. I’ve been too busy to go see what’s in there. The minute I arrived in town, I started looking for a job.”

The truth was she hadn’t yet located the key to the little building. But she had built up a box full of keys in the past few days. All she had to do was try them out. No doubt one of them would open the building.

“Okay, Angie. We’re on the street.” He gave her a slight push. “Start your jog.”

“If you push me one more time, I’m going to make sure you never walk again.” So much for reading romance in Garner’s light touch at her back.

“I’m not pushing you. I’m encouraging you to pick up your feet. The idea of exercise—”

“This isn’t my idea,” Angie reminded him.

“The key to good aerobic exercise technique is speed,” Garner informed her, dropping back. “Jog ahead of me. Faster.”

She stopped dead. Garner jogged into her and almost knocked her flat.

“I will not run ahead of you and let you mush me along like a sled dog. If you want to go fast,
you
lead, and I’ll try to keep up.”

“I’ve never met anyone so determined to stay out of shape,” Garner said. “I’ll run beside you. Speed it up, Miss Brownwood.”

Angie obligingly sped up since he asked so nicely.

“Hold your arms like this.” He showed her. “You have to get into the rhythm of it. Are you breathing hard?”

“I’m just right.”

She managed to say it without gasping. It was harder than she thought to disguise her steam-locomotive breathing from Garner while he instructed her in the fine points of jogging.

After jogging a slow three blocks, the only thing that was obvious to Angie was that she was extremely unfit. She struggled along, determined to hold it together for one or two more blocks. Her escape plan depended on it.

Garner turned down another quiet street. Angie began dropping slowly behind him, until she was just in back of his right elbow.

They hustled toward a wide, green alley that passed between the backyards of two rows of houses. Angie dropped a little further back. As Garner shot ahead, she turned swiftly into the alley, casting one regretful glance after Garner’s perfectly shaped backside.

That one regretful glance was all she had strength for. She made it to a clump of forsythia bushes and collapsed onto the clover behind them, breathing like a bellows at an iron forge. Honey bees working the clover barely had time to dodge. Angie paid them no heed.

She sprawled out flat. Over her head, the branches of a tall sycamore tree screened out the sky. Honey bees buzzed over her head in search of the clover blossoms she was crushing. Such a warm, peaceful afternoon, and fitness freaks like Garner wanted to waste it by pushing himself, and her, into exhaustion.

The clover smelled sweet and grassy, the afternoon temperature was soothing, and her body felt like lead. Angie closed her eyes and waited for her breathing to steady.

“Wake up, Miss Brownwood,” an unwelcome male voice said. “You aren’t getting off this easy.”

Disoriented, she opened her eyes and saw, not her bedroom ceiling, but a canopy of green leaves and filtered sunlight. A second later, Garner’s face hovered above hers. He was standing at her feet, with his hands on his hips.

“If I let you alone, you probably wouldn’t wake up until morning,” he said.

That didn’t sound bad. It sounded wonderful. Angie opened her mouth to tell him so.

“In fact, you look so good, I’m tempted to stretch out beside you and do whatever comes naturally,” he went on.

Angie’s eyes widened, whether with disbelief or with hope, she was uncertain.

“However, if I did that, you’d remain in deplorable condition.”

Angie thought about socking him, but her arms felt like iron bars. She thought about kicking his left kneecap, but her legs felt encased in concrete.

Garner smiled. “Haven’t you ever heard that making love is a physical activity? Stamina developed by jogging translates into stamina in the bedroom.”

“Too bad,” Angie said, using as little breath as possible. “If you wait till I’ve developed stamina, I’ll also be in better shape to kill you.”

Garner broke into unabashed laughter. “Since a good coach doesn’t distract his trainees with lovemaking, I’ll have to leave you unkissed. On your feet, Brownwood.”

Brownwood. She knew it. He now fancied himself a coach.

“Do I get to choose between kisses and getting on my feet?”

“No.” He stood over her and bent at the waist to grasp her under her arms, lifting her to her feet in one smooth motion. “You haven’t finished your afternoon jog, yet.”

“I think I have.” The moment he let her go, Angie collapsed back onto the clover.

“On your feet, Brownwood,” he said. “Believe it or not, you’ll thank me for this someday.”

If she had the strength, she’d refute that instantly. There was no way she was ever going to thank him for prodding her along like a recalcitrant heifer.

“You don’t walk for exercise,” he said. “You don’t jog. It’s pretty obvious you don’t do a damned thing. What did you do out there in California?”

“Nothing,” she managed, between gasps. “It was wonderful.”

“Don’t you know you’re heading for fifty kinds of health trouble?”

Apparently divining he wasn’t going to get her back on her feet anytime soon, Garner settled on the clover beside her. He wasn’t even breathing hard, Angie noted, with some resentment.

“Bring it on,” she said. “It can’t be worse than this.”

“That’s what you think. What time do you normally go to bed?”

It was a trick question and Angie knew it. “Midnight.”

“Liar. You don’t get to bed before two or three, do you? I’ve got news for you, Brownwood. Tonight you’re going to bed at nine.”

At the moment, nine o’clock sounded like the perfect bedtime. Angie knew she ought to protest, but she said nothing.

Garner studied her closely. He paid special attention to her heaving chest and her face, which felt so hot, she figured her forehead emitted steam.

“All right, Angie. I don’t want to over-push you. We’ll quit for this afternoon. But tomorrow afternoon, we’ll do five blocks instead of four.”

Angie made a sound like a small, breathy moan. If she could have moved, she might have managed to get herself arrested for attempted homicide.

Garner watched her carefully and finally said, “That’s better. You’re extremely out of shape, but you’ll be surprised at how fast you recover, and how good you’ll feel in a week or two.”

Enough energy had returned so that she could achieve an adequate scowl. “How can I feel good if I’m about to die?”

“You’ll be amazed. Trust me on that.”

The next thing she knew, he took her in his arms, turned her expertly, and stretched out on the grass beside her. Stunned into silence, she made no effort to block him when his lips met hers. He pressed her into the clover, and Angie experienced for the first time a man’s weight and body lying almost on her. It felt incredible.

Her lips had parted to speak and Garner took advantage of that to slip his tongue gently into her mouth. She made a small movement of surprise and lay still. Then, sensation after sensation exploded through her body.

A moment before, she thought she’d been too exhausted to ever move again. She discovered she retained enough strength to throw her arms around Garner’s neck, and that she had enough energy left to pull him tightly against her.

Angie had never dreamed sensations like these existed. She felt hot and tight all over, as if she was expanding inside her skin. She ached in places that had nothing to do with the exercise she’d just done.

She protested when Garner drew back slightly, lifting his lips from hers. She used all her strength to pull him back down again. Perhaps she hadn’t kissed him thoroughly enough. Angie sought to show him she’d been paying close attention by imitating what he’d been doing to her.