Page 8 of Bride By Committee

“Piffle.”

“I don’t know how we got on the topic of my family, anyway.”

A ridiculous primness warred with an uncharacteristic grumpy note and she frowned at her reaction. What did it matter what Harry thought, anyway? She held a job of vital importance for a family she flat-out adored. If she tended to go a little overboard in her zeal to prove herself of use to the Sunflowers, it wasn’t anyone’s concern but her own. The arrangement suited those involved and that’s all that mattered.

What right did Harry have to stick his nose in her family business, anyway? Not to mention that he’d gotten it all wrong, drawing ridiculous conclusions that held no basis in fact whatsoever.

“We could go back to the other subject we were discussing, if you’d prefer,” he offered.

Had he sensed her thoughts? She wouldn’t be surprised. He was a perceptive individual. Practical people often were. “I can’t even remember what that was,” she confessed.

“We were talking about love.”

Shoot. “I think we’ve exhausted that topic, too, don’t you?”

“Not even close.”

His voice had dropped, the intonation far too low and husky. She shivered in reaction, ahint of unease giving her pause. For the first time it occurred to her that she was trapped in an elevator car with a man she didn’t know, aman with whom she’d been discussing fairly intimate topics. Not practical! aportion of her brain screamed.

Despite the conclusions she’d drawn about him, he could be anyone. He could be a thief or a murderer or someone unethical enough to take advantage of their situation. She didn’t often make errors in judgment about people, but considering she wasn’t operating at full efficiency, it was conceivable she’d made a mistake thistime.

The claustrophobia she’d experienced earlier returned full force. The intense darkness unnerved her, exaggerating the sound of her breathing. It came far too fast, in quick, shallow, panicked gasps.

She could hear his breathing, too. It escaped with slow, steady regularity, carrying a strong, masculine edge. Was that even possible? Did men have a different mode of respiration than women? It sure seemed like it. His were manly-man breaths, Me-Tarzan, You-Jane sort of exhalations. Was it deliberate? Or did it emanate from some unconscious, testosterone-driven source that men weren’t even awareof?

Idiot! she scolded. This was Harry the Economist. Mr. Practical. Mr. Safe. Apuppy dog friendly, woolly lamb, innocuous sort ofguy.

And yet… Somehow it seemed not only possible that he was somehow seducing her with his breathing, but probable. Maybe he didn’t even realize it was happening. She buried her face in her arms. Dear heaven! He could be unwittingly saturating the air with each lusty exhale and there wasn’t a darned thing she could do about it but drag the sweet, passion-laden molecules into her lungs with each helpless breath shedrew.

“You’re afraid again, aren’t you?” he murmured.

“Yes,” came her muffled response.

“How can I help?”

She lifted her head. “Just stay right where you are.” The statement escaped without conscious volition. It was also a dead giveaway.

And they both knewit.

ChapterTwo

Principle 2: The voice of love

can win the most stubborn heart…

Harry took far too long to respond. “I see.”

What in the world did that mean? “What do you see?” Madison demanded nervously.

“That you’re afraid of me. It’s rather amusing when you stop and think about it.”

“I don’t find it the least amusing.” At least he hadn’t realized that her fear had somehow gotten wrapped around a confusing mixture of attraction. She relaxed slightly.

“I apologize. It’s not the situation I find amusing. It’s that you’d be afraid of me.”

“Why? Isn’t there anything intimidating about you?”

“I’m very intimidating.” He paused a beat. “On a business level. In person, I’m pretty innocuous.”

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