“Oh.” She gave a small shrug of bewilderment. She glanced uneasily at the lovely, sprawling, ultramodern mansion to the left of her, the one that must belong to his friend.
“I was just giving you fair warning. You might have another run in with Charger, or some other dog. Here, Charger.” He calmly held out a large, outspread hand and the dog bounded over to him. She spun fully to face him, unable to hide her smile at the vision of the rambunctious dog hopping up to reach his master’s touch.
“I guess you knew him pretty well when you named him,” she said.
“Yeah. I imagine he even charged out of the womb.”
Charger frisked around a pair of long, strong-looking legs. He was a tall one. Six foot three or four? Her gaze stuck on his crotch.
The wet trunks were revealing. Very. Heat flared in her cheeks.
“He interrupted your pace,” he said.
She jerked her gaze guiltily up to his face. He waved at her jogging attire.
“Oh. It’s okay. I never go that fast, anyway. And I’d just gotten started,” she assured, her breathlessness at odds with her reply. “What breed is he?” Harper asked, nodding at the dog, hoping to distract him from her face. With her coloring, her blushes were annoyingly obvious.
“A Lab-pointer mix. I think, anyway. He didn’t come with any papers. I got him from the local shelter.”
“The Tahoe Shores Animal Shelter is close to the offices of my new job. It’s huge. I heard it was the largest in Nevada.” Maybe that’s why everyone is so dog-crazy around here.
“You work at the Sierra Tahoe Gazette?” he asked. He noticed her surprised glance. He gave a small shrug. Harper experienced a stirring deep inside her, and realized it came from that small, sexy . . . yet somehow shy smile. But that couldn’t be right. How could a man as cold and imperious as he’d seemed just seconds ago come off as shy?
“This is a small town. The Gazette’s office is the only building close to the shelter . . . besides the North Shore Fire Department.” His gaze dropped over her slowly, and that flickering of her body swelled to a steady, pleasurable flame. “Although you are in good shape. Are you a firefighter?”
She laughed. No, he definitely wasn’t shy. “You were right the first time.” She stuck out her hand. “Harper McFadden. I started last week as the news editor at the Gazette.”
He stepped closer. His hand felt damp and warm. It enfolded hers completely. She tried to make out the color of his narrowed eyes and saw shards of green, brown, and amber. Her heart gave a little jump.
Agate eyes.
“You left your job at the San Francisco Chronicle as a reporter.”
Her mouth dropped open. “What?” she asked hollowly, almost certain she’d misheard him. Did his godlike attributes go beyond his phenomenal looks and aloofness? Was he omniscient as well?
She pulled on her hand, discombobulated, and he slowly released it from his grasp.
“I’ve read your articles in the Chronicle. I have offices in San Francisco. That piece you did on San Francisco’s homeless children was top notch.”
“Thank you,” she managed, still knocked a little off balance.
He nodded and took a step back, as if he’d realized his unsettling effect on her. He did unsteady her, just not in the way he probably thought.
“You don’t plan to write anymore?” Her spine stiffened a little. Force of habit. She’d been hearing that question a lot lately, usually accompanied by disappointment or bewilderment. Had she heard a hint of disapproval in this man’s tone, or was it her own lack of confidence in her recent career change tainting her interpretation? The latter, of course. Why would a stranger care enough to be condemning?
“I wouldn’t say that. I just wanted to experience a different side of the newspaper business,” she replied neutrally.
“I love Tahoe Shores as much as the next resident, but . . . aren’t we a far cry from San Francisco?” He reached down to distractedly scratch Charger, but his gaze on her remained sharp.
The easy richness of his voice beguiled her, but it was his calmness, his absolute, easy confidence that truly nudged her to let down her guard. There was a grace to him that one didn’t usually see in such a masculine, virile man. It was that intangible quality that had called a walking god to mind.
She kept her gaze on his face, but it was just as distracting. He wore a thin, well-trimmed goatee that highlighted a sensual mouth. The hair on his face, chest, and head was wet at the moment, but appeared to be brown. Harper couldn’t stop staring at his firm, well-shaped lips. She forced her gaze away and found herself watching his long fingers rubbing the dog’s neck instead. It didn’t help matters any.
“Sorry,” he said after a short pause. “That’s none of my business, is it?”
“No, it’s not that. I just needed to get away from the grind.” She tossed up her hands and glanced out at the aquamarine alpine lake, clear blue skies, and surrounding pine-covered mountains. “I wanted to try editing, and there was an opportunity here.”