His Hidden American Beauty. Connie Cox

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СКАЧАТЬ scanner. He must think her a total klutz.

      What did it matter what he thought? Odds were they would never see each other again unless he had a medical emergency. And he certainly looked healthy to her. Well-worn jeans and a wrinkled T-shirt couldn’t hide his physical fitness.

      She bumped into passengers all the time. None of them elicited a significant response from her.

      Annalise overcame the impulse to check him out one more time.

      What was it about him that made her feel … What? Aware? Self-conscious? Tingly? That made her feel anything at all?

      As she fought the cart into submission, she heard the security checker say, “Welcome aboard, Mr. Christopoulos. Passenger stairway is to your left.”

      Christopoulos? That was the name of her patient with juvenile diabetes. What were the odds?

      Annalise headed toward the staff elevators, grateful for the privacy and breathing room that safe little metal box promised.

      “Hold the door, please.” A large tanned hand inserted itself between the closing doors. If the man had seemed to tower over her before, he loomed now. “You don’t mind if I ride up with you, do you?”

      “Passengers are encouraged to take the stairs if they’re able.” Inwardly, she winced at her brusqueness. She had wanted to establish distance, not convey rudeness. Where was her balance?

      “I’m nursing a leg injury.” He gave her a lopsided grin, as if he were embarrassed to ask for special treatment.

      Annalise wished a hole would open up and swallow her. “Of course, then.”

      She stared at the floor numbers as the door closed, not trusting herself to engage in polite conversation.

      She needn’t have worried about the man being chatty. He leaned against the back wall of the elevator, closed his eyes and slumped as if he would fall asleep right then and there. Except there was nothing relaxed in the tightness around his eyes or the brackets around his mouth or the squareness of his jaw.

      Annalise took a moment to gather herself the way she’d learned in therapy so many years ago, rationalizing that her edginess had been provoked by too many triggers in quick succession, the worst one brought on by her own need to know that someone in the world cared.

      When she’d knocked on her mother’s apartment door while she’d been on shore leave, Annalise had half expected, even hoped, to be told that her mother had moved and failed to leave a forwarding address.

      But she’d been there. Bright pink lipstick had leaked into the pursed lines around her lips and coated the end of the cigarette stuck into her mouth. Age spots showed on her chest and arms, exposed by her cheap orange tank top.

      “Anna?” her mother had smoothed down her over-processed hair. “I hadn’t expected …”

      Scented candles perfumed the air. Annalise recognized the odor. Her mother had always thought men were turned on by heavy oriental scents. The smell made her stomach turn.

      “I was in town and just thought I’d drop by.”

      The furtive look her mother sent over her shoulder to whoever was waiting in the back bedroom was less than welcoming.

      “I don’t really have the time to come in and visit,” Annalise assured her.

      The relief was obvious in her mother’s eyes. “Maybe another time.”

      Her mother had closed the door between them without saying goodbye.

      It had been over two years. What was another couple of years between family?

      Being in her home city, seeing her mother in the old apartment she herself had once lived in, consulting with the little girl’s doctor in the same building where she’d attended those therapy sessions, and then meeting with her friend had been a bit much for one day.

      And this man next to her, this man who exuded power and testosterone, this man who she was too aware of being just inches away from her, had her all off balance. Something was different about him.

      The elevator bumped, threatening Niko’s balance. He shifted his weight. From beneath his half-closed lids, he watched Dr. Walcott do the same.

      Something was different about her, something that intrigued him. An air? An attitude? A challenge?

      Only problem was, Dr. Walcott didn’t seem interested. Could he change her mind? When had he last been challenged?

      He rubbed his hand across his heavily stubbled face.

      When he saw her eyeing him, he said rather self-consciously, “This boat has plenty of hot water, right?”

      “The only reason you’ll take a cold shower onboard this ship is because you take one voluntarily.”

      “I don’t see that happening.” He flashed his dimple.

      She responded with the slightest of tight-lipped curves at the corners of her mouth. Polite, but just barely.

      So much for winning her over with his innate charm. But, then, he wasn’t at his best.

      A shower and shave and maybe a nap first. Then he might seek out the good doctor on the grounds of professional curiosity. She’d give him a tour of the facilities. He’d buy her a drink. They’d have a private meal on his room’s veranda and watch the sunset together—and maybe the sunrise, too.

      “How is room service?”

      “Very serviceable.” She bit her lower lip then squared her shoulders and took a breath as if she were about to plunge into the deep end of the pool. “I use room service quite a bit. They are very prompt. You should try the salmon mousse.”

      “And maybe a bottle of pinot grigio to share with a new friend?” With the shipboard doctor, he wouldn’t have to worry about expectations and entanglements.

      “I’ve never tried it that way. But, then, I’m not very good at sharing.” She glanced down at his bare finger. “I’m sure your girlfriend would enjoy the romantic gesture, though.”

      “No girlfriend at the moment.”

      She nodded her acknowledgement while she adjusted her grip on her cart, pulling it more decisively between them.

      He’d gone too far, too fast. Message received.

      He leaned back and closed his eyes, giving them both space.

      He might be a romantic but he was a lousy long-term lover.

      His ex-fiancée would be glad to expound upon that.

      Impatient by nature, Niko had known there was some deep-seated, instinctive reason he’d never agreed to a wedding date. When she’d insisted he choose, either her or his work, he’d finally understood what that reason was.

      Any woman who couldn’t love him for who he was didn’t love him at all. Sadly, after they’d both said their goodbyes, he’d realized he hadn’t СКАЧАТЬ