snapped, her heart renewing its pounding rhythm as if it had never slowed down. “I’m through talking to you.”
“It’s John Miglionni, ma’am. Please. I won’t take up much of your time, but I’d like to speak to you for a moment.”
She crossed the room and yanked the door open. Folding her arms militantly beneath her breasts, she glared up at the man on the other side of the threshold. “What makes you think I’m interested in anything you have to say?” Then she blinked. She’d been so furious with Zach earlier she’d barely gotten more than a quick impression of his friend. Seeing John clearly for the first time, she murmured, “What is this place, anyhow, Testosterone Central?”
Then she gave him a second, closer inspection and wasn’t sure where that first impression had come from. He didn’t look so tough. He was an inch or two over six feet, and aside from muscular shoulders, looked as lean and lanky as a young Jimmy Stewart beneath his pricey silver-gray silk T-shirt and impeccably pressed black slacks. Even the brawny shoulders appeared somehow less powerful than she’d first thought when she looked at him slouched against the doorframe.
He was dark-skinned and had hair so black and shiny it contained blue highlights even in the dim hallway. He wore its thick length pulled back in a ponytail, a stylethat accented his high cheekbones, hawklike nose, and the spare angularity of his face. But it was his dark eyes and smile that grabbed her—both were as bashful and self-effacing as a monk’s.
“I don’t know about the testosterone,” he said softly, “but I do want to apologize for Zachariah. He’s been under a lot of pressure lately, and he’s worried sick about his little sister, but that’s no excuse to treat you so rudely. He was completely out of line, and I told him so.”
His soft-spoken apology was balm to her offended sensibilities, and her combative pose eased. “That’s very gallant of you.”
He ducked his head. “Not at all, ma’am. Zach’s insinuations were insulting, and I wanted you to know that although he’s my friend I don’t endorse his behavior.” Thrusting his hands in his pockets, he hunched his shoulders and shot her a glance full of shy, male interest. “Are you from around here?”
The movement starkly defined the sinews of his arms for a moment, and Lily realized there was more muscle to him than she’d thought. Silky black hair feathered his forearms, and a small patch of color on his left one caught her attention. “I guess you could say I’m from everywhere,” she admitted slowly, shooting what was undoubtedly a tattoo a covert glance to see if she could figure out what it depicted. “But for the past seven years I’ve lived in—” Sudden comprehension chopped her sentence in two.
Oh. He was good. She should have remembered the quick impression she’d gotten in the kitchen of intelligent, watchful eyes, but his polite, soothing manners and low-key interest had suckered her completely.“Well,” she continued smoothly, flapping a dismissive hand. “You don’t care about that.”
“Of course I do. I’d love to hear everything about you.”
“You’re awfully kind. It’s just so nice to talk to a gentleman after dealing with that horrid—” She grimaced. “I’m sorry. I forgot for a moment he’s your friend.”
“Don’t worry about it.” He dug a shoulder into the doorjamb and smiled that monk’s smile at her. “You were going to tell me about all those places you’ve been and how the last seven years you’ve lived in…?”
“Oh, let’s not talk about me.” She gave him an aren’t-you-just-the-sweetest-thing look. “Where are you from?”
“I’ve been all over, too.” He leaned a little closer. “Maybe we’ve been to some of the same places.”
“Gee, do you think? That would be something, wouldn’t it?” With a glance up from under her lashes, she murmured, “John is such a nice, strong name.