Body Language by Suzanne Brockmann Read Free Book Online Page A

couch.
    “Wow, that was incredibly
not
fun,” she said into the soft cushions. “James Vandenberg obviously finds me about as appealing as flat beer.”
    “Could be worse,” McCade volunteered, shrugging out of his jacket and sitting down in the rocking chair across from her. “He could find you about as appealing as
warm
flat beer.”
    She lifted her head to look at him. “Cheer me up, why don’t you, McCade?”
    He unfastened his bow tie and began unbuttoning his shirt. “What do you know about body language?”
    “Not much.”
    “Hmm.”
    Sandy sat up. “And just what is ‘hmm’ supposed to mean?”
    “Whenever I saw you talking to James, you were giving him ‘go away’ signals with your body.” McCade unbuttoned the cuffs of his shirt. “You crossed your arms and you stood with your legs tightly together. Your posture and your stance read ‘don’t touch’ loud and clear.”
    “I wasn’t doing it intentionally—”
    McCade yanked his shirt free from his pants and shrugged it off. “That’s the deal with body language. Most of the time it’s done unconsciously. Somewhere down the line you’ve forgotten your female courting techniques.”
    Sandy shifted in her seat, crossing her arms. “This is all news to me. How could I have forgotten something that I was never told?”
    “Defensive posture.” McCade pointed to her crossed arms before he pulled off his boots. “You just told me with your body that you don’t like what you’re hearing, and you’re not going to listen to me.”
    “And exactly which issue of
Playboy
did you read this in, McCade?” Sandy asked, her arms still firmly crossed.
    “Look”—McCade sat next to her on the couch—“I’m going to hit you with some male courting techniques, and if you can honestly say that you still think it’s a load of garbage after that, then I’ll shut up, all right?”
    Wearing only a sleeveless undershirt with his tuxedo pants, he looked like the McCade she knew in high school. He sat comfortably at one end of the couch, facing her, his right leg bent at the knee and angled across the cushion in front of him. He raked his fingers through his short hair, making it look perfectly tousled and very sexy.
    Sandy lowered her gaze and shrugged. “Fire away.”
    “First of all, don’t sit like that,” he said. He pulled her so that she faced him, lifting her left arm up so that it lay along the back of the couch. He dropped her right hand into her lap. With their knees almost touching, he leaned, then inched forward slightly.
    “Step one: Invade the woman’s personal space. Step two: Direct eye contact.” He smiled into her eyes.
    Sandy smiled back. “This is silly—”
    “I’m not finished,” he interrupted. “Without saying a word, a man can let a woman know quite clearly that he’s interested in her. Sexually interested.”
    McCade let his eyes drop, focusing for a moment on her lips, then traveling even lower, lingering on the low neckline of her dress. Sandy felt the urge to giggle, but by the time he’d slowly dragged his gaze back to her eyes, her mouth was dry and that urge was long gone.
    “That’s step number three,” he told her. “And if by now the woman hasn’t run away or threatened physical harm, a man might try step four—a nonsexual touching gesture, something harmless like a handshake…”
    He lifted her hand, drawing her fingers into his.
    “…but he’d turn that handshake into a caress.” He ran his thumb lightly over the back of her hand. “This is not just a friendly touch—the message has clear sexual overtones.”
    Sandy stared down at her hand as he continued that slight but oh-so-sensuous movement of his thumb. She looked up to find his eyes running down the length of her legs. He took his time before he met her gaze.
    She could see heat in his eyes.
    This was just a demonstration, she reminded herself. He was putting on a show, giving an example. Carefully, she slipped free from his