Come Fly with Me by Sherryl Woods Read Free Book Online Page B

provoked a purely feminine response in her that she was astounded at and not the least bit thrilled about having.
    Before they could reach the table the hostess had chosen, Mark stopped and gestured instead toward a much smaller table for two.
    â€œHow about that one?”
    When Lindsay and the other woman both looked at him oddly, he shrugged and said innocently, “It’s by the window.”
    â€œNot a smart move,” Lindsay retorted. “I’ll be able to see all the people slipping around on the ice.”
    â€œThey’ve cleared the sidewalks,” he countered reasonably.
    She glared at him. “There are still little flakes of white stuff coming down and you’ll never convince me someone’s scattering rose petals. Besides, every time somebody says something out there the words freeze in midair. Have you ever thought about what happens to all those words when it thaws?”
    Mark just shook his head and it wasn’t until they were seated that Lindsay realized he didn’t give a hoot about the weather, the view or their impact on her already-dismayed psyche. He’d had another strategy entirely in mind. It was not the least bit innocent or subtle: the table he’d chosen was so tiny that their knees were bumping, rubbing togetherin an intimacy that provoked an instantaneous response inside her, just as he’d known it would. Unless Lindsay twisted around until her feet were poking out in the aisle, she was stuck with the little curls of heat that wound their way from their touching knees right straight to her abdomen. She thought about making the quickest escape possible, then glanced outside at the swirling snow and shivered.
    Damn Trent Langston! And Mark Channing! She was not going out in that horrendous, subhuman weather. She didn’t even own any boots, for crying out loud. She was staying right here as long as she possibly could. She’d figure out a way to ignore those damnably enticing knees brushing against hers if it killed her.
    She concentrated on the menu with a certain amount of desperation as she tried to figure out what would take the longest to prepare and even longer to eat. Normally, if she ate at all in the morning, she grabbed a quick danish and coffee at the office and ate while she read through a stack of contracts on her desk, but today she ordered eggs Benedict, a side order of hash-browned potatoes, a large orange juice and a large pot of tea.
    Mark’s dark brows lifted over eyes that were glittering with tolerant amusement. Okay, she thought. So it’s not the order of a five-foot-one woman who’d worried only twelve hours earlier about the calories in some candy. She caught that insufferable, knowing gleam in his eyes and defiantly asked for a side order of bacon as well.
    â€œI’ll have the same, except for the tea. I’d like coffee. Lots of it,” he said calmly, as the bored waitress made her notations without blinking an eye. She probably assumed they were honeymooners who hadn’t left their suite in three days and were bordering on starvation. The intriguingly seductive idea set off another round of fireworks in the pit of Lindsay’s stomach. It was a reaction that didn’t bear too much scrutiny.
    While they waited for breakfast to arrive, they maintained what, for her at least, was a decidedly awkward silence. Lindsay was never at her best in the morning, anyway. She liked to ease into the day as quietly as possible, preferably after a minimum of eight hours of restful sleep. Not only had she tossedand turned most of the night, this man had awakened her several hours before she was even likely to start thinking about being at her best. He, on the other hand, seemed not only well rested, but perfectly content to just sit and stare at her, which made her gulp and look around for something interesting to focus on.
    Unfortunately, she finally decided that, like it or not, Mark Channing was the most