From his picture, she hadn’t realized just how massive Flint was, which shouldn’t have surprised her – bear shifters tended to be huge.
He filled the doorframe, the top of his head brushing it. Today he wore a suit which fit him so well it must have been custom tailored, with a silky looking blue shirt and a dark navy tie.
He moved with a lumbering grace, like a very talented quarterback, instantly taking command of the room. He flicked his gaze in annoyance at Blanche and Maybelle, and then settled his caramel-brown glare on Coral.
Oh, my. The physical effect his picture had on Coral was nothing compared to the effect he had on her in person. She felt as if she’d been zapped with a bolt of lightning which sizzled through her body to the tips of her fingers and toes. Her panties went damp, and she pressed her thighs together, praying that he couldn’t scent her arousal. Did bear shifters have a good sense of smell? She couldn’t remember.
Her sense of smell was excellent, and she could smell his patchouli cologne and his unique masculine musk, and the faint scent of honey and berries. She swallowed hard and struggled not to squirm where she sat.
His thick brown brows drew together in exasperation.
“My secretary told you, I’m busy,” he rumbled.
“I only need fifteen minutes of your time, for an interview for our feature section,” she said, forcing a bright smile onto her face.
“I already told you no. This isn’t news; it’s a puff piece. Go bother someone else.”
Now she was torn between the urge to tear his throat out with her fangs, and the urge to straddle him and hump him like a dog. Damn the man.
“Actually, it is news,” she said through clenched teeth. “You are renovating your family’s historic home, and their business, and expanding the business operations, which is news-worthy.”
“I already told you, my answer is no,” he growled.
“I’m not going to give up,” she said, barely managing to keep her tone civil. “And why are you so secretive? Since when does a business owner refuse good press and publicity? Is there something else going on here?”
She thought she saw an odd flash of alarm in his eyes when she said that. Had she stumbled on something? Did he have something to hide? And for that matter, why would a man who owned a successful business on the other side of the country suddenly drop everything to build up a tiny little jam and honey factory? It didn’t make sense. His family was comfortably well off, the business was small but successful, and they certainly didn’t need his help.
“Fine,” he said quickly, but with a scowl. “I’ll meet you at the Donut Hole tomorrow morning at 8 a.m. Fifteen minutes. No more.”
“I need to have my photographer there so he can get a picture of you,” she said. Fifteen minutes would be about all she could stand of this stuck up jerk anyway.
“No,” he growled. “I’ll have Velma send over a publicity still to your office.” He nodded his head at the receptionist.
And he quickly turned and banged his way back through the door, slamming it shut behind him. She could hear his big feet pounding down the hallway. He’d practically run out of the room in his rush to get away from her.
“What. An. Ass.” Oops, she’d used her out-loud voice.
“I’ll say,” Blanche agreed. “If I was fifty years younger, I’d be all over that.”
“Of course you would, because you’re a shameless tramp,” Maybelle said.
“Let’s go, ladies, I have obits to type up,” Coral said glumly.
She’d gotten what she wanted, which was an interview, so there was no reason for her to feel so rattled. She’d dealt with plenty of rude people who didn’t want interviews before; why was she letting this jerk get under her skin?
Well, there was the fact that he was totally hot and clearly not the least bit interested in her, which kind of stung, although it shouldn’t. It was exactly what she’d expected.
Funny thing, her sister Ginger had told her that in Blue Moon Junction, men tended to be attracted to larger women. Well, this one wasn’t.
Outside the house, she opened the front door of her car for Blanche, and then the back door for Maybelle, and once they’d climbed in she pulled away, trying without success to shake the gray cloud of gloom that had descended on her.
***
Flint stood at the window of the second story room of his house, watching her go. Damn it. In general, he hated reporters, and he really wanted to hate her, but he couldn’t. He watched her open the door for Blanche and Maybelle. He watched her hold Blanche’s arm as she helped her get in the car.