The Promise Kept,
Echo Springs #2 by Maggie Mae Gallagher Excerpts
At five until seven, Alex texted her that he was outside the building. Cybil headed down the wooden stairs that tended to creak in spots. At least the lighting in the stairwell was decent, glowing off the muted tan walls to create a warm atmosphere. When she strode across the small building lobby that was really nothing more than an oversized foyer and opened the door, she noticed that the lights in Mr. Biddle’s office were on already. The old codger did like to get an early start.
She
pushed open the front glass and wood door to permit entry to her client. Admittedly,
Alex was an attractive man in his black workout gear. His naturally wavy blond
hair was meticulously trimmed, his angular jaw clean shaven, his cheekbones
sharply pronounced, and he had a mocha gaze that always seemed set to smolder
anytime he glanced in her direction. She just wished his smolder, along with
his six-foot lean build, did something for her girly bits, but it didn’t. Maybe
it was because she knew him well and thought he had the personality of a
turnip. Not to mention there was an undercurrent of menace she sensed that he tried
to hide behind a polished sheen that she didn’t trust. She kept her grimace to
herself and said, “Alex, come on in.”
“Cybil.
You look refreshed this morning,” Alex said, telling her with his gaze that he
appreciated her, the way a man did a woman he found attractive: his gaze roving
over her body, warming over the sweet spots like he was a lion envisioning
sinking his teeth into a gazelle.
A
part of her wished she could feel something for him, anything really, other
than mild annoyance.
Before
she could reply, Clark Biddle shuffled out of his office, wearing gray tweed
slacks with a matching suit jacket, a bright canary yellow dress shirt, and a
multicolored plaid bow tie to complete his ensemble. For a man in his eighties,
he was rather spry and moved with efficiency.
“Cybil,
I’m glad I caught you. If I could have you come into my office for a few
minutes so I can introduce you to your new landlord?” Clark’s voice boomed and
echoed in the stairwell.
“I
have a personal training session. Can it wait?” she asked, indicating Alex with
a slight nod as he crowded her. Really, the man needed to learn about personal
space.
“It
shouldn’t take more than a minute,” Clark said, his bushy, stark-white eyebrows
raised. The tufts of his matching white hair were in wild disarray and
windblown. Clark’s hair, for all his styling clothing wise, always looked like
he’d stuck his finger in an electrical socket and was just too busy to care
about taming what was left on his balding dome.
With
a sigh of defeat, because she knew Clark well enough that he wouldn’t let up
until she capitulated, she turned to Alex. “Would you mind going on up and
getting yourself warmed up on either the treadmill or elliptical? I’ll be right
up.”
“Sure
thing, as long as you don’t forget about me,” Alex teased in an attempt to
flirt with her.
Her
annoyance at his insistent innuendos climbed, but instead of showing it, she
pasted a bland smile on her face and said, “I won’t. I’ll be up shortly.”
Alex
gave her what she was sure to his mind was a sexy half grin and a swaggering
tilt of his head intended to make her swoon. Too bad it made her want to roll
her eyes and ask if that move had worked for him in the past. As Alex ascended
the stairs, Clark steered her into his office. The man without fail smelled of
peppermint and Old Spice aftershave.
“Now,
as I mentioned last week,” Clark said, “the terms of your lease will stand for
the full twelve months. Then you will have to negotiate a new lease with your
new landlord.”
Cybil
replied, “Thank you, I appreciate that. I—”
Oh, sweet biscuits
and gravy, no!
Not
him. Anyone but him. She’d take the devil himself in exchange. Give her
Beelzebub, give her Hades, give her the Hells Angels biker gang, all of them,
over the man sitting so casually in Clark’s office like he owned the
place—which from all indications, he now did.
“Cybil.
Good to see you. From what I understand from Clark, you’re one of my new tenants,”
Miles Keaton said in his deep baritone voice as he rose from his seat when she
entered the office.
“No,”
was all she could say. He couldn’t be her new landlord. Surely she was still in
bed and having a nightmare. That was all. She would wake the moment her alarm
rang. Any minute now.
Miles
raised a golden brow in her direction. His turquoise eyes, the ones that had
haunted her dreams for thirteen years, regarded her coolly, with indifference.
It
would have been far better if he had gotten fat or gone bald over the last
thirteen years, losing some of the tousled golden hair that always looked like
he’d run his long, sturdy fingers through it a hundred times. But if anything,
he was like a fine wine or scotch, where he’d only gotten better, more potently
gorgeous and alpha with age. The handsome, strong lines of his face had
matured, and there were crinkled lines at the corners of his enigmatic eyes
that glimmered with intelligence. He hadn’t shaved today, and there was a hint
of darker golden stubble gracing his square jaw, framing a pair of the most
kissable lips she’d ever seen and tasted on a man. His six-foot-two,
broad-shouldered frame, which had always been solid, had thickened and filled
out with muscle. He wore a pair of tailored black slacks that rode low on his
lean hips and a crisp salmon dress shirt, unbuttoned at his neck, that should
have looked girly, but which made Miles appear even more dominant and alpha, if
that were possible.
The man had always
been a walking wet dream. And dammit, but her girly bits awoke like a princess
awakening from true love’s kiss, and were throwing an excited rave at his
presence.
1 comment:
Sounds like a good read
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