A Hopeful Heart and A Home, a Heart, A Husband: A Hopeful Heart. Lois Richer

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      After twenty-three laps, Melanie was definitely winded, but after thirty-two she was relaxed. The huge pool area was one of the apartment’s perks she really enjoyed. Some people jogged, and some did aerobics. Melanie had always preferred swimming.

      Slowly, she pulled herself out and walked the few steps to the whirling hot tub. She never could stand the overpowering temperature for very long, but it soothed and rejuvenated like no other remedy for stress. Eyes closed, she reclined and let the bubbling waters do their work.

      “Miss Stewart, how nice to see you again.”

      Melanie blinked, almost believing the man standing in front of her was a dream. Goodness knows, he was certainly dream material. Tall and dark, clad in a black swimsuit, he exemplified male macho.

      Melanie gulped as she moved her gaze from his strong, muscular legs to his lean hips and tapered waist, across the broad expanse of his golden chest covered in fine whorling black hairs to his sharply featured face. He was hunk material, all right, she told herself, trying to calm her thudding heart.

      The time since their last meeting had not dulled her irrational attraction to him in the least.

      “Mr. Stewart.” It was a miracle anything emerged from her parched throat. For the life of her, Melanie couldn’t think of a thing to say.

      “Still mad, huh?”

      Grinning, Mitchel Stewart walked to the edge of the pool and dove into its still waters. The ripples that spread seemed amazingly like those circles of excitement that rippled through her. She watched him swim with even strokes, broad shoulders and muscular arms cutting cleanly through the water.

      Melanie gave herself a mental shake and turned her eager eyes from watching his graceful form. Instead she sank deeper into the hot water, hoping it would ease new tension. She closed her eyes and deliberately blanked out his presence.

      “May I join you?” The question was perfunctory. Mitchel Stewart didn’t bother to wait for an answer. He sank down beside her, his thigh brushing hers. Melanie edged away, giving him more room.

      His dark eyes twinkled at her as he spoke.

      “Okay, you win,” he declared. “I think you have sufficiently paid me back with Mrs. Strange and her daughter.” A rueful look passed over his face. “Some would even say you’re points ahead.”

      Melanie burst out laughing. Agatha Strange was a lonely old soul whose fondest wish was to have her spinster daughter married before the old woman passed on, as she phrased it. When Mrs. Strange had come to her with a problem about her will, Melanie’s plan had hatched. Who better to handle the old girl than attorney extraordinaire Mitchel Stewart? Gleefully, she had told the elderly woman about Mitchel, while managing to imply that he was single and desperately looking for love.

      Throughout the week, bits and pieces of their exchanges had been relayed to Melanie until even she felt sorry for the man. Deidre Strange, the daughter, was at least twenty years older than Mitchel and about sixty pounds heavier. Truly, a perfect match.

      His big blue eyes gazed woefully into hers.

      “Could we please start again?” He sounded like a little boy trying to atone for stealing the last chocolate chip cookie. Melanie couldn’t help it, she grinned. He thrust out one large, tanned hand.

      “Mitchel Stewart. Mitch to my friends. Just moved into the building.” He began to list his many attributes. “Single, good health, age thirty-two, six foot four, one hundred eighty-five pounds, legal counsel to corporate accounts.” His bright eyes sparkled mischievously. “Same information I gave Mrs. Strange.”

      Giggling, Melanie shook his hand as she answered.

      “Melanie Stewart, no age and definitely no weight.”

      “Okay.” He dragged the word out. “So, Melanie, what’s your favorite food?”

      She joined in the game easily enough. Mitch appeared to hold no ill feelings, and she had more than paid him back for his high-handedness.

      Besides, she was a little embarrassed at her behavior. Her temper had always been a sore spot. Whenever she lost it, she invariably regretted her lack of control. Maybe she could redeem herself. She focused on the conversation.

      “Chinese, especially the vegetables. What’s yours?”

      Mitch lounged comfortably beside her, his long legs stretched out. Dark head tipped back, he thought for a few minutes before answering. “Food.”

      Melanie frowned. “Pardon?”

      “I like just about everything as long as someone else cooks it.” His mouth slanted mockingly as he leered at her. “I can make a mean raspberry punch, though.”

      “Oh. Well, good,” Melanie answered lamely, refusing to acknowledge the spark of awareness that flew each time he brushed against her.

      It was the heat, she told herself. She should never have remained in the Jacuzzi for so long. The reason she had, of course, was her swimsuit.

      It had been a lapse in judgment. She knew that. Her bust was too full and her hips too round to wear something this defining. Nevertheless, the heat was unbearable, and she had to leave. Now!

      “Excuse me, I have to get out.” Melanie moved slowly and calmly up the stairs, aware of his eyes on her legs. Once out of the heat, she could draw cooling air into her lungs. She reached for her towel and quickly tugged it over her shoulders, trying to ignore him as he sat there watching her.

      “Did СКАЧАТЬ