Callan's Proposition. Barbara McCauley

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СКАЧАТЬ than be rude and laugh, she composed herself, straightened her glasses and simply nodded.

      He slid into the seat across from her and filled the booth. Filled her senses. He looked and smelled like a man who’d marched through mud and muck, and she wondered why the earthy scent of him fascinated her so. Or why she found the gray powder covering his hair and chambray shirt so attractive. Rugged was the word that came to mind. And virile.

      Normally Abigail found Callan Sinclair’s presence intimidating. At six-three, his height alone was enough to make a person—man or woman—take notice. And he certainly was powerfully built, with solid muscles and a broad chest. He was also incredibly handsome, she thought, with his thick, black hair and devastating smile.

      But he wasn’t smiling now, she realized, and she was the reason.

      He placed his large hands flat on the wood tabletop and leaned close. He had wonderful hands, she thought, staring at them. A man’s hands, large and rough, with short, blunt nails and a long, jagged scar on his right thumb. She had the craziest desire to cover those hands with her own, to feel their roughness under her smooth palms.

      When she lifted her eyes to his, the intensity of his dark gaze seemed to suck the air right out of her lungs. She couldn’t remember ever having had his undivided attention like this or having him look at her, really look at her as he was looking at her right now. For the first time in the past year, she didn’t feel as if she were invisible.

      She wasn’t certain she liked the feeling at all.

      “Mr. Sinclair—”

      “I refuse to accept your resignation.”

      His deep, familiar voice had never sounded so gruff before, so firm. He cares about me, she thought in amazement, then quickly chided herself. As an employee, of course.

      She folded her hands primly in her lap and held his level gaze. “I apologize for leaving so suddenly, but I’m certain that Francine will work out for you. She’s really quite—”

      “I said—” he leaned closer, lowering his voice, but it still sounded like a shout “—I refuse to accept your resignation. Francine is history. I want you, Abigail.”

      His words thrilled her, yet flustered her at the same time. I want you, Abigail. She felt herself sway toward him.

      As a secretary, you ninny, Abigail yelled silently at herself. She blinked, then pulled back. Because she didn’t know what to say, she took another long pull on her drink. It didn’t burn at all now; it tasted wonderful. She realized it was nearly gone and didn’t want it to be.

      “May I buy you a drink, Mr. Sinclair?” She’d never bought a man a drink in her life. Except for Lester Green at the insurance company she’d worked for in New York, but that was a root beer from the soda machine, so she didn’t think it counted. And Lester didn’t have sexy eyes like Mr. Sinclair did. He had eyes like Eeyore.

      That thought made her giggle. Her ex-boss raised one brow and looked down at the glass in front of her. “What do you have?”

      “Iced tea.”

      “Iced tea?”

      “Manhattan iced tea,” she repeated and took another sip.

      He coughed, then raised both brows. “You mean a Long Island iced tea?”

      “That’s it,” she said with delight. “Would you like one?”

      “Have you ever had one before?” he asked carefully.

      “Of course not, silly.” She clapped a hand over her mouth. “Oh, Mr. Sinclair, I’m so sorry.”

      “Why don’t you call me Callan for right now?” he said with a sigh, then turned and made a gesture to a man standing behind the bar.

      A man who looked strangely familiar, Abigail thought, and slid her reading glasses down her nose so she could get a better look. “Do you know that man?” she asked.

      “My brother Reese,” he answered. “He owns this place.”

      Reese Sinclair. Abigail nearly groaned. He’d been in the office several times over the past year. In her dis-composed state, she’d forgotten he owned Squire’s Tavern. So that was how Mr. Sinclair had found her so quickly.

      Darn it, darn it, darn it.

      “Mr. Sinclair, I truly am—”

      “Callan,” he reminded her.

      “Callan,” she said awkwardly. She’d never called him by his first name. “I’m sorry for leaving your employment so suddenly. I’m afraid I had no choice.”

      The waitress brought a frosted mug of beer and a steaming cup of coffee, then quickly left. Callan pushed the coffee at her.

      She didn’t want coffee. For the first time today, her stomach wasn’t in knots, and her chest wasn’t aching. She felt calm and relaxed and just a little giddy.

      And hot. She felt hot. She unloosened another button and, ignoring the coffee, took another sip of her drink. She still felt hot, so she slipped her jacket off.

      Callan’s beer sloshed over the side of his mug when she fanned the open vee of her blouse. He frowned at her and set his drink back down. “You owe me an explanation, Abigail. You can’t just leave me and not even tell me why. Did you find another job?”

      “No.”

      “Do you want more money?”

      She lifted her chin at his insult. “Certainly not. If I’d wanted more money, I would have asked you.”

      “So why did you quit?”

      “I can’t tell you. It’s personal.”

      Callan’s eyes darkened with concern. “Are you sick?”

      She shook her head.

      “Pregnant?”

      “Heavens, no!” Her eyes went wide at the absurdity of that question.

      He thought for a minute. “You’re engaged.”

      She blinked slowly, then her gaze dropped, and she took another sip of her drink.

      “That’s it?” He leaned closer, surprise on his face. “You’re engaged?”

      Her heart started to pound. She wanted to deny it, tell him that her being engaged was absolute nonsense, but even with alcohol rushing through her veins, she still couldn’t lie.

      “Something like that,” she mumbled, and felt her cheeks burn.

      “Something like that?” He narrowed his eyes. “Who?”

      “Excuse me?” she repeated.

      “Who is it?” he asked.

      “Bloomfield isn’t all that big a town, maybe I know him.”

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