Whispers and Lies. Diane Pershing

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      Hand on hip again, she stared at him for a moment, doubt and just a little flare of—what? Yearning?—in her eyes. “Really?”

      “I mean, you were Nancy’s friend, so of course I was aware of you.”

      Not the right answer, he figured, as she seemed to digest it, then decide it wasn’t worth the effort. “Well, fine,” she said, briskly dismissing him. “Then I’ll see you on Sunday at Nancy’s wedding. Maybe we can catch up on ‘old times’ then. And now I really do have to get going.”

      The hand was on the doorknob again, so he quickly came around the examining table. “Lou, I mean it.”

      “Mean what?”

      Now, he stood looking at her and offered a rueful smile. “I’m actually noted for my charming manner, but I’m not going about this too well. I’d like for us to, you know, get together.”

      She gazed up at him, crossed her arms under her chest and narrowed her chocolate-brown eyes. He could have cut the suspicion in them with a knife. “What exactly does getting together mean?”

      Why was her attitude toward him suddenly so hostile? “You know. A drink, dinner, whatever.”

      “Why?”

      Women, most of them, usually responded favorably to Will, so this curtness, this wall of resistance she’d erected in the space of ten seconds, really threw him. “Hey, did I do something, have I offended you?” he asked. “I mean, do you bite the head off of every man who asks you out?”

      Her answering laugh wasn’t particularly amused. “Is that what you’re doing, asking me out?”

      “Sure sounded that way to me.”

      She stared at him some more, her pale brows creased in a puzzled frown. Then she took in a deep breath, exhaled it, and slowly uncrossed her arms, letting them drop to her side.

      Suddenly she didn’t seem quite so antagonistic. Instead, she seemed more…melancholy. And just a little raw around the edges.

      “I’m sorry, Will,” she said with a tired smile. “I’m kind of out of practice when it comes to this kind of thing.”

      “What kind of thing?”

      “You know. Dating.” She wrinkled her nose, as though she’d just eaten something sour. “It’s been a while.”

      Ah. He got it now. Underneath the confrontational, I-got-it-covered attitude, Lou McAndrews was shy. Unsure of herself, especially around men. Which meant there were hurts in her past, wounds that hadn’t healed. Will found himself responding to that; he wanted to touch her, to reassure her.

      But she was prickly and might not like that. At this moment, anyhow. “Well, then, okay, it’s not a date. We can downgrade to a drink or a cup of coffee. An hour, tops.”

      A hint of the old wariness was back. “You’re really being persistent. And I guess I’m flattered. But…” She let the sentence trail off.

      God, the woman was a tough nut to crack. Suspicious, too. And yet, she had every reason to be. He was totally sincere about his interest in her, but he was also here under false pretenses, and he was liking this assignment he’d given himself less and less. He’d intended to talk to her this weekend at the wedding on Sunday. But he’d had a stroke of good luck—good for him, anyway, bad for Oscar—when Nancy had asked him to take the dog to the vet. He thought he’d kill two birds with one stone, so to speak. Get Oscar some relief, ask Lou a few questions about her mother and Lincoln.

      That had been the plan, at least, before he’d observed what a busy practice she had and how quickly she seemed to want to get to her next patient.

      But there were still questions to be asked and answers to be recorded, so he plowed on. “Yeah, I’m pushing a bit. Put it down to not responding well to the word no,” he said truthfully. “I’m feeling challenged. I’m a reporter, remember? Getting past no is our stock in trade.” He followed that one up with another of his smiles, which he’d been told could melt the socks off anyone.

      And it worked. Sort of. He saw interest, hesitation, interest again. The silence between them stretched while he waited.

      Then he decided not to wait anymore. Moving away from the table, he stepped even closer to her. “Okay. Let me lay my cards on the table. I’m as surprised as you are, but the minute I saw you in the waiting room, I was struck by this weird sense of—” he shrugged “—I don’t know. For want of a better word, let’s call it attraction.”

      Her eyes widened. Obviously, she hadn’t expected this. “Oh.”

      “Yeah, ‘oh.’ You were amazing.”

      “I was?”

      “Yeah. Maybe it was the way you took care of business—briskly, but with humor. Or the way your eyes sparkled when you were barking orders to everyone. I like strong women. I don’t know. Whatever the reason, I thought I’d do what a person usually does when they’re attracted to someone. They ask if they can see them again.”

      Her face was now red with embarrassment. Mouth partly open, she gazed at him in wonder. “Holy cow,” she said slowly. “Do you do this a lot?”

      “Do what?”

      “Pick up women in offices? With words out of some soap opera script where the bad but sexy villain is trying to dishonor the foolish heroine?”

      He laughed, delighted, then splayed his hand over his heart. “Soap opera? You wound me to the quick.”

      “Well, maybe not quite that corny,” she said with a reluctant little laugh of her own.

      “But you do get my meaning?”

      “How could I miss it?” Her face was still rosy.

      “And?”

      “And what?”

      He offered a mock leer and winked. “Wanna get together, girlie?”

      Again she laughed, then shook her head ruefully. “I’m totally…not sure.” Biting her lower lip, her lively brown eyes darted left and right, searching deep, as though trying to figure out how much sincerity lay beneath his banter. He counseled himself to give her all the time she needed.

      “You, um, really are…attracted to me?”

      “Is that so hard to believe?”

      Instead of answering, another frown formed between her brows. “I guess it is.” Then she gave a helpless little shrug. “Well…okay. Sure. I mean, when did you want to do this…coffee thing?”

      “Today? Tonight?”

      “Not possible,” she said abruptly, and he could tell that part of her, at least, was relieved. “I’ve been on my feet since four this morning. Maybe next week?”

      “I’ll be back in D.C. next week.”

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