Tall, Dark And Irresistible. Joan Elliott Pickart
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he had done that morning was screaming the fact that he still had miles to go in his quest.
Even more disturbing, he mentally raged on, was the negative impression he’d made on Carolyn. He’d slam-dunked that lovely woman in an area of her life that was obviously of great importance to her. He’d infuriated her and very possibly hurt her, as well.
No wonder she’d refused to go to lunch with him. He was lucky that she hadn’t popped him in the chops.
Ryan set the book on the table next to him, got to his feet and began to pace restlessly around the large room, now and then dragging one hand through his hair.
He couldn’t just erase from his mind what had happened and go about his business. He had to make amends to Carolyn, not only to ease his conscience but because…well, because he was attracted to Carolyn and hoped the lack of a ring on her finger meant she was single and not involved with anyone.
Carolyn St. John, Ryan thought, continuing his trek, was a very intriguing woman. Her slender, small-boned stature gave the initial impression that this was a woman who needed protecting from harm’s way, should be taken care of, because she was…delicate.
But, oh, man, there was far more to Carolyn than the first glimpse would indicate. There was a depth to her, layers that beckoned to be discovered, one by one.
She was passionate, there was no other word for it—about her career, about the families she formed by uniting orphans from overseas with people who had empty arms and were aching to have a child to love and cherish.
She had a temper…oh, brother, did she ever…when an emotional button of importance to her was pushed by an idiot like himself who dared do such a stupid thing.
She was stubborn. He’d done everything he could think of at the time to set things right, mend fences, make amends for his crummy behavior, but she wasn’t having any of it, no way. She’d lifted that pert little chin of hers, nailed him in place with those expressive, dynamite blue eyes of hers and refused to go to lunch with him. She had said no in such a way that he’d known he had better hit the road while he still could.
“Oh, yeah, she’s really something,” Ryan said, slouching back onto his chair. “But, Carolyn, my sweet? I may have lost that battle, but this war isn’t over yet. Not by a long shot.”
With a weary sigh Carolyn entered her bedroom, eager to slip into bed and end this day that had seemed to be a week long.
That darn Ryan Sharpe, she thought, as she removed her dress, had taken up residency in her brain. Why was she wasting mental energy on a man she didn’t even like? He was rude and opinionated. He’d dumped emotional baggage on her about his heritage and practically condemned what she was devoted to, heart and soul and mind.
Clad in her slip, Carolyn crossed the room, plunked her elbows on the top of the dresser and scrutinized her reflection in the mirror with a critical eye.
What, she wondered, had Ryan Sharpe seen as a man looking at a woman for the first time? Well, she’d been told over the years that she was pretty, and she was, she supposed. Not gorgeous, nor stunning, and definitely not voluptuous, just sort of wholesome, picture-on-a-box-of-corn-flakes pretty.
Ryan was the type of man who could have his pick of gorgeous, stunning and voluptuous women. He no doubt drew women like bees to honey.
A chill swept through Carolyn as Ryan’s scathing words echoed in her mind.
“Stop it,” Carolyn said aloud, realizing she was close to tears. She wrapped her hands around her elbows and drew a steadying breath. “Oh, yes, Ryan Sharpe, I know all about being different, not fitting in. Being different, different, different.”
With a wobbly sigh that held the echo of tears, and with hands that trembled slightly, Carolyn reached up and removed her double hearing aids.
Three days later in the middle of the morning, Carolyn rolled her eyes heavenward and frowned as a young woman entered Carolyn’s office carrying a bouquet of flowers in a pearly blue vase.
“Oh, no, Janice,” Carolyn said, leaning back in her chair and covering her eyes. “Not again.”
“Peekaboo, these are for you,” Janice said merrily. “Again. This is the third bouquet in as many days, Carolyn. Everyone in the office is just buzzing with curiosity as to who your new suitor is.” She set the vase on Carolyn’s desk. “Whisper his name to me. I swear I won’t tell more than ten people who he is.”
Carolyn laughed. “Oh, really? That’s an offer I can barely refuse, but I’ll force myself to pass.”
“Well, darn it,” Janice said, then removed the small white envelope from the plastic holder and waved it in the air. “How much is this worth to you without my peeking first?”
“Your life.” Carolyn extended one hand and wiggled her fingers. “Give.”
“Shoot,” Janice said, then dropped the envelope into Carolyn’s palm. “The romance of the century is taking place here and we only know the identity of one half of the dewy-eyed couple. You.”
“I am not half of a dewy-eyed couple, for Pete’s sake. Goodbye.”
As soon as Janice left, Carolyn dropped the envelope onto the top of her desk and stared at it as she toyed with the idea of just tearing it in two and throwing it in the trash. She knew exactly what would be written on the card, as it would no doubt be the same words as the previous two cards that had arrived with the gorgeous flowers.
Carolyn, she mentally recited, I’m sorry. Please forgive me and agree to have lunch with me. Ryan.
“Oh, he’s driving me over the edge,” Carolyn said, snatching up the envelope and taking out the card. “Yep, there it is. ‘Carolyn, I’m sorry. Please forgive me and agree to have lunch with me. Ryan.’ Well, I’ve had enough of this, thank you very much.”
She removed the telephone book from the bottom drawer of her desk, plunked it on the desk and began to flip through the pages with more force than was necessary. When she found the number she wanted, she punched them on the telephone and heard the ringing on the other end of the line.
“MacAllister Architects,” a woman said cheerfully. “May I help you?”
“Ryan Sharpe, please,” Carolyn said, drumming the fingers of one hand on the top of the desk.
“One moment, please, and I’ll connect you.”
“A thousand one, a thousand two,” Carolyn muttered, “a thousand—”
“Ryan Sharpe.”
Oh, my, Carolyn thought. She didn’t remember Ryan’s voice being quite that deep, quite that rumbly, quite that…male and…
“Hello?”
“Yes,” Carolyn said, much too loudly. “I mean, Ryan? This is Carolyn St. John. You have got to stop sending flowers to me. I mean, they’re really lovely and it smells heavenly in here, but my office is starting to look like a garden or a funeral parlor.
“Not only that but the staff is having a field day trying to figure out who my romantic— That is, who is sending them and… It’s very disruptive to our routine. So just stop it.”
“Okay,” Ryan said.
Carolyn frowned. “That’s it? Okay? No pleading your case? Nothing?”
“Nope. I’ll stop sending the flowers as soon as you agree to have lunch with me.”
“That’s blackmail, Ryan Sharpe,” Carolyn said, smacking the desktop with the palm of her hand.
“Whatever works. Lunch? Today? I’ll come by your office and pick you up.”
“Don’t you dare,” Carolyn said, stiffening in her chair. “Everyone here will go bonkers if they can put a face with the flowers. No, no, no.”
“Then I’ll