I posted this one a little while ago on another forum.
I feel bad since I've been a member here for a while, but seldom stop by. I'll have to remedy that.
Chance Encounter
Chapter One
CRASH!
Patrick Boyce looked in his side view mirror in frustration. All he wanted to do was stop for five minutes and get a cup of coffee before his presentation. Instead, he thought gloomily, he would have to call and beg to postpone a half-million dollar contract proposal. Not a good start to a Monday.
He threw open his car door, uncharacteristically angry and stalked to the Mini Cooper with the black tinted windows that had backed into his rental. Fully intending to give the driver a tongue-lashing for backing out without paying attention, his mouth formed the words as the Mini's car door opened.
They died in his throat as the driver, a very pretty blonde, rose from the car... and rose... and rose... until she ended up over a foot above him. She had a sheepish grin on her face that looked insincere, and a gleam in her eye that made him instantly wary.
"I'm so sorry!" the woman blurted in a husky, sexy contralto voice.
It still sounded insincere also, but her voice, and her almost painfully pretty face way above his, helped simmer his boiling anger. Or maybe it was the fact that she dwarfed him and looked extremely fit, if the way a normally loose-fitting tracksuit top was stretched snugly over her upper body was any indication of the figure beneath.
"Well, yeah," Patrick replied, more in control now that the offending driver turned out to be both appealing and threatening all at once, "that's what insurance is for."
"Um, yeah," the tall woman replied.
"You DO have insurance, right?" he asked pointedly, craning his neck to look high above to her eyes.
"Oh, sure, sure," she said dismissively. "That's not a problem."
"Good," Patrick said, still wary. "Should we go inside to exchange information?"
"That's fine," the woman replied, "unless you have to be somewhere. You look like you're ready to jump in your car and run."
"I just need to make a phone call," he said. "Tell you what, you find a seat inside, I'll make my call and join you in a second."
She regarded him again in that unsettling way he noted when she first got out of her car. Her bright blue eyes held him with a force that felt almost felt physical.
After an uncomfortably long moment, she nodded and smiled, showing a dazzling white smile.
"Whatever you say, handsome," she drawled.
Patrick was taken aback. Was she flirting with him, after just hitting his car? Maybe she really didn't have insurance.
"Okay," he said cautiously. "See you in there."
He watched her walk into the coffee shop, hips swaying sexily. He had to admit, for such a tall woman, she was incredibly well put-together... but the fact that she was trying such blatant charm, especially after hesitantly saying she had insurance....
He watched her enter the shop and quickly jotted down her license number, then made his call. The excuse was received neutrally, and a reschedule for the same time the following day was made. Patrick hoped his fender-bender didn't just cost him half a million dollars.
Entering the coffee shop, he found to his relief that the woman hadn't skipped out the back door to take her car while he was looking for her. As it was, it was impossible to miss her: even sitting she was head and shoulders higher than all the other seated patrons, and nearly as tall as those standing. She was also far and away the prettiest woman in the place, and the most physically impressive person by an even greater margin.
He slid into the booth across from the woman, and immediately his legs collided with hers, which were stretched well into the space his legs would occupy beneath the table. Amazingly, his legs glanced off hers, stopping him cold. Hers didn't move an inch. He winced as his knee started to throb from the hard impact.
She laughed lightly.
"Oops," she said. "Long legs. Here, let me move a bit."
He watched in amazement as her already tall frame rose a few more inches. Apparently she was slouching in her seat!
He opened his mouth to ask the question on his mind, then closed it again.
"Six-feet-eleven inches," she said, her icy eyes surprisingly warm. "It's okay, everyone always asks. I'm actually just a hair under seven feet, but I find that six-eleven is intimidating enough to a lot of people. Saying I'm seven feet tall for some reason is intimidating to almost everyone."
"Um, oh, thanks," he said. "Sorry if that's a touchy subject for you."
"No, not at all," she said easily. "I love being tall. It's easy to spot me in a room, people definitely pay more attention to you, and between you and me,” the woman leaned toward Patrick conspiratorially, “ I like being the bigger partner in the sack."
Patrick choked on the coffee he had just sipped, and the woman reached her long arm across the table and slapped him rather forcefully on the back. She looked pleased at his discomfiture.
"Guess I shouldn't have said that while you were drinking," she said in a purr. "Are you the shy type... um... what did you say your name was?"
"Patrick," he gasped, somewhat dazed from the blow.
The amount of muscle the woman put into slapping his back from such a strange angle was simply mind-boggling. She had dashed him against the side of the table from the force of bending her wrist, and he was still trying to catch his breath. His coffee sloshed around in the lidded cup, splashing a small amount onto his hand.
Completely unfazed, the woman extended her hand.
"Brianna Cummings, Patrick," she said, taking his free hand without waiting for him to offer it. "It's a pleasure to meet you. A shame it's under these circumstances, but I'll take what I can get."
She winked as she said the last, leaving Patrick thoroughly confused.
"Um, likewise," he said, reeling from the various ways Brianna was overwhelming him.
He had no idea what to make of her. She was very forward, grabbing his hand right off the table to shake it in a very firm grip, then continuing the contact for just a bit longer than courtesy would dictate, like she was exploring the fit of his hand in hers.
"Patrick Boyce," he said lamely, realizing she had given him her full name.
She smiled without replying, but held his eyes with hers.
"So, Patrick," Brianna said, "when you got out of your car, I thought you were going to read me the Riot Act. But your demeanor changed as soon as I got out of mine. Was it something I did?"
He was again caught off-guard. Was she baiting him, or asking something she already knew the answer to?
"Er, no," he said, trying to find his feet. "It's always a bad idea to act on impulse. The first thought I had was that some ignorant jerk was pulling out without paying attention." He backtracked hastily. "NOT that I'm saying you're an ignorant jerk... or that you weren't paying attention."
He closed his mouth, realizing he must have sounded like a fool. The sly look on Brianna's face didn't help.
"Ah," she said. "I thought it might have been the fact that I'm so much taller than you. That's not a big deal, is it? But really, feel free to let me have it. Very blatantly my fault. Totally. I won't fight it or try to pull any nonsense."
He nodded, not knowing how to respond. Still at a loss, he placed his insurance documents that he had set on the seat next to him on the table.
"Thanks, good to know," he said. "So here is my information. Who are you insured with?"
She nodded.
"Right," she said, and snatched his insurance card from its little folder, prompting a startled look from Patrick. "Well, Pat, I left all my stuff in the car, so I'll have to go out and get it. And I honestly couldn't even tell you who they are, I just pay the bill automatically, so I don't even get a monthly statement by mail. The card goes in the glovebox and I forget about it."
Patrick looked warily at her, but she seemed to ignore his troubled look. The look softened somewhat as she deftly maneuvered out of the booth and stretched upward to her astonishing height. From his seated position, she looked twenty feet tall.
She laughed at his look.
"Yeah, I usually have that effect on more, um, conventionally sized people," she said. The comment sounded like it was said to disarm him, though the delivery wasn't what he would call tactful. "Don't be concerned about staring. I'm used to it."
Patrick looked pointedly away from her, realizing he WAS staring, but her hand reached down and took his chin, aiming his head right back at her.
"Really, not a problem," she said, holding his chin in her hand, again, longer than courtesy would dictate. But then, Patrick thought, what exactly did courtesy have to say about grabbing a complete stranger by the chin?
"Just don't get a crick in your neck from that position," she laughed. "You're practically aimed at the ceiling from way down there. Just aim about chest-high, that way you won't pull a muscle."
He couldn't tell if she was poking fun at herself, at him, or if the comment was totally off the cuff. Brianna was a thoroughly confusing woman. She was surely used to people staring at her chest, though, and maybe that's why she said it, he thought. Her chest was very large for such a tall woman. Most tall women he'd met in the past were practically flat-chested, but with Brianna he could bury his entire face in the curves beneath her shirt. And when had her tracksuit zipped down to partially expose the tight top beneath?
He realized with a start that he was ogling her breasts, and his eyes darted away, but not before he saw what looked like a satisfied smile cross Brianna's lips. She spun around and strolled out of the room, and he noticed that most of the men's heads along her path turned in time with her as she passed. She certainly was a good-looking woman, and surprisingly curvy for someone so tall, he noted, before admonishing himself for staring again.
His mind seemed to not take the hint. Her legs seemed to stretch on to infinity, he caught himself thinking as he watched her leave the shop. He shook his head again to banish the thought. It was like he couldn't help himself.
The sexual thought was replaced by alarm as she walked out of sight. What if she decided to just take off? It wasn't like either car was too damaged to drive....
Startled, he hopped up and went to the window to get a better look at the parking lot where they were parked. As he approached the window, he noticed Brianna bent practically in half as she rooted through her glove compartment and breathed a sigh of relief. After that, his libido took over, and he watched as the pants of her tracksuit clung to her very round posterior and shapely thighs. As tightly stretched as they were, he could see every curve of her lower body clearly defined.
Again, he realized he was staring and moved to take his seat, but just at that moment, Brianna pulled herself out of the car and turned, looking right in his direction. He froze as their eyes met, and her face broke into another sly grin. She rose and stretched languidly, showing off for him, then walked toward the front door.
Patrick, flushed a brilliant shade of red, and returned to his seat, unable to look up as he heard her approach. Thankfully, she didn't say anything. She slid into the suddenly-claustrophobic booth, her legs rubbing against his, pushing them out of the way.
The moment stretched on, with neither of them saying a word.
Patrick sat, eyes downcast, taking sips of his coffee. His mind whirled as he and tried to figure out how he'd respond if she said anything. The moment stretched on, until Brianna's driver's license and insurance card slid into his view, propelled by two very long fingers as they slid across the table.
He looked up, still red, and their eyes met again. Hers were smug and strangely inviting, even warm.
"Everything look good?" she asked with a little lift of her eyebrow.
"Er, excuse me?" he said quickly.
Her smile broadened.
"Do you need anything else?" she asked, gesturing to her ID cards.
"Wha... oh!" he said, quickly looking down. "No, no, this is fine."
She had him so flustered he could barely remember his own name! When was the last time he had been so out of his depth around a member of the opposite sex? Grade school?
Patrick began jotting down her information, noting that she lived less than a block from his hotel in town, and then wondered why that thought had entered his head.
"So... Patrick," she said, her voice honeyed as it lingered over his name, "let me ask you a question."
Oh, boy, here it comes, he thought.
"Do I make you nervous or something?" she finished. "Is it because I'm so tall?"
He froze. That was a damn good question.
"No," he said automatically. "Of course not."
"Then why do you look like you're going to have a stroke? Am I doing something to bother you? Just let me know what it is, and I'll stop."
He froze. Was she doing anything to get him all hot and bothered other than being so tall and beautiful and stacked? She was hardly dressed provocatively, though nothing short of a burlap sack could hide such an extravagant figure. It was hardly like he could answer her in that way. 'Stop being so damn gorgeous so I can be upset at you for running into my rental car,' would hardly be a diplomatic answer to her question.
She waited patiently, her eyes searching his face.
"I guess I just have a lot on my mind," he finally said. "I was going to a very big meeting when this happened, but I had to call to postpone. I'm concerned I just killed the deal."
He backpedalled when her face became clouded.
"No, it's... there's nothing to be done, right?" he said, thinking he had upset her. "It was a blessing in disguise. It gives me more time to tune my pitch. Don't get worked up about it."
"Oh, I'm not," she said, looking down at him, "but I do agree this was a blessing in disguise."
Patrick was confused yet again. It seemed to be his standard mode of behavior around Brianna.
"You're not?" he asked, realizing how pathetic it sounded the moment the words left his lips.
"Of course not. Shit happens," she said easily. "It's not like I set out to intentionally ruin your meeting."
Her eyes were so piercing and blue, he noted, as they bored into him. Jesus, she's so pretty he thought. Had he never spoken to her, only seen her face, he would have gotten the mistaken impression that they were icy and cold, but her lively expresssions allayed that immediately. This was definitely a warm, sensual woman.
"How about you let me buy your coffee?" she asked, producing a purse so small that it looked ridiculous in her large hand. "I'd like to have another before I go, and you're welcome to join me, unless you really are going to have a stroke by being around me. I don't want that on my conscience, and caffeine, in that case, is the last thing you need."
He froze and looked at her. There must have been alarm in his look, because again the sexy smile appeared on her face, and she reached across the table to chock him lightly on the shoulder. At least, it seemed like it would be a light punch from her casual motion, but his shoulder rocked back from the blow like she'd wound up and punched him. Hard.
"I'm joking!" she laughed. "Of course you're not going to have a stroke, you're only...."
She paused as she looked down at his ID.
"Thirty-six," she finished. "I'd have guessed thirty at most. You age well, Patrick."
He couldn't figure if she was flirting with him all this time, patronizing him, or what the intent was. Those icy-blue eyes were impossible to read.
He tried to laugh, but it came out as more of a squeak, so he raised his arm to reach for his coffee... or tried to. His entire right arm had gone numb from Brianna's surprisingly strong punch on the shoulder. He instead reached awkwardly with his left and took the cup.
The next time Patrick looked up, he realized Brianna had gotten him another coffee, not waiting for him to accept or decline his offer.
"You're wound pretty tight, aren't you?" Brianna asked him as she stood above him drinking her second cup of coffee. Not sipping, drinking, as though the steam curling up from the little slit in the lid didn't mean it was scalding hot.
"Usually, no," he said. "It must be the circumstances."
"But not the company, right?" she asked, watching him. She slid back into the tight booth and again battered his legs with hers.
"No, not the company," he said. He was shocked to realize he rather enjoyed the company. She seemed like the type of spontaneous person that one could never guess the next sentence to come from her mouth.
"That's good," she replied. "I was worried I had given you a terrible first impression. Tall, gawky, bad-driving basketball player or somesuch."
He looked up at her and she again started to laugh.
"Trust me, I get that all the time," she said. "I must play basketball, I'm in the WNBA, and so on and so on. For the record, I can't dribble a ball to save my life. Frankly, I've never cared to touch a ball that big before, not even in gym class as a kid."
"Not a professional athlete, check," Patrick said, finally getting his feet under him. "I would have guessed athlete by your build. What do you do, Brianna?"
Her smile became devious.
"Guess," she said, drawing out the word sensually.
The first guess that popped into his head was Phone Sex Operator with that sultry, husky voice, and he immediately dismissed the thought, taking his first long look at the woman seated across from him.
Brianna had a remarkable body. Her shoulders were surprisingly broad, and his memory of her bent in half, rooting through her car told him that the lower half looked as impressive as the upper half, perhaps even moreso. She was extremely pretty; model-pretty, he thought, though she wasn't made up to impress. She looked more like she was ready to go to the gym, or maybe a jog.
"I might need some hints," Patrick said, beginning to loosen up for the first time since taking his seat. "Is it a physical job?"
She nodded, a pleased look on her face.
"Yes. Very physical."
"Very physical, but not a competitive athlete," he mused aloud. "Exercise-related, though, judging by your build. Personal trainer."
"Wow, perceptive. I'm impressed," she remarked. "Shall I guess yours?"
"Mine will be a bit tougher," he replied. "You can't exactly tell by looking at me."
"Office-job, though you keep in shape... maybe with a personal trainer."
Patrick laughed politely.
"Thank you for the compliment, but no, no personal trainer, and yes, it's an office job."
"Office job, exercises... lawyer."
"No."
"Businessman, marketing maybe?"
Patrick shook his head.
"Businessman is part of it, but not what I trained for. Graphic design. I own a small firm."
Brianna looked disappointed.
"Now why did you do that? I would have gotten there," she said, her eyes narrowing.
"Yeah, in about a week," Patrick laughed. "It's not exactly a common job."
She smiled slightly.
"Have lunch with me," Brianna said completely changing gears.
Patrick was again caught flat-footed.
"Er... what?" he asked.
Brianna patted Patrick's cheek, a much more familiar gesture than he was prepared to receive. He was half-prepared to go spinning out of the booth from the force of the blow, but it was soft, a caress, actually. The arousal that was already simmering with the sexual tension he felt rocketed into the sky, shocking him yet again. He was apparently so mesmerized by Brianna's off-the-cuff behavior he didn't even realize he was partially erect until it surged and strained his pants from her touch.
Her hand slipped from his face as she downed the last of her coffee, still steaming, in one long gulp. He also felt like she regretted the loss of their contact from her mournful look.
"Sadly, I have to go," Brianna said with a sigh. "I'm already late for my first appointment. He'd wait all day for me, though. This session is more about being gawked at than helping someone get in shape unfortunately, but a client is a client, and he pays double my normal rate. I called it an ogling fee when he first approached me, and he didn't blink at the extra cost. I could care less, honestly, but, had it been someone else, you for example, I may well have ended up paying YOU to work with me."
"But... what about the insurance?" he asked, his voice sounding confused in his ears.
"Call in the claim, I'll admit fault," she replied as she rose. "Just don't tell them I fled the scene. We can say it was mutually agreed upon that I could go... yes?"
Brianna's expression didn't change, but Patrick was cowed, regardless, as she stood to her full stratospheric height.
"O-of course," he said.
"Good boy," she said, accompanying her words with her million-dollar smile. "See you at lunch. There's a restaurant, DeLilah's, on 7th and Aberdeen, that makes the most heavenly roast chicken salad, and the portions, well, they're sized for someone like me! See you soon, handsome."
Patrick watched Brianna breeze out of the coffee shop in stunned silence.
"What the hell just happened?" he mused as he watched her long legs propel her out of sight.
Shortly afterward, her Mini roared out of the parking lot, nearly missing another car that froze and honked, and rocketed down the street. Patrick stared after her car, stunned from the entire encounter, then realized as he returned to the booth that Brianna hadn't taken her driver's license or insurance card before she left.
"I must be out of my mind," he said, the ghost of a smile crossing his lips as he finished his coffee.
I feel bad since I've been a member here for a while, but seldom stop by. I'll have to remedy that.
Chance Encounter
Chapter One
CRASH!
Patrick Boyce looked in his side view mirror in frustration. All he wanted to do was stop for five minutes and get a cup of coffee before his presentation. Instead, he thought gloomily, he would have to call and beg to postpone a half-million dollar contract proposal. Not a good start to a Monday.
He threw open his car door, uncharacteristically angry and stalked to the Mini Cooper with the black tinted windows that had backed into his rental. Fully intending to give the driver a tongue-lashing for backing out without paying attention, his mouth formed the words as the Mini's car door opened.
They died in his throat as the driver, a very pretty blonde, rose from the car... and rose... and rose... until she ended up over a foot above him. She had a sheepish grin on her face that looked insincere, and a gleam in her eye that made him instantly wary.
"I'm so sorry!" the woman blurted in a husky, sexy contralto voice.
It still sounded insincere also, but her voice, and her almost painfully pretty face way above his, helped simmer his boiling anger. Or maybe it was the fact that she dwarfed him and looked extremely fit, if the way a normally loose-fitting tracksuit top was stretched snugly over her upper body was any indication of the figure beneath.
"Well, yeah," Patrick replied, more in control now that the offending driver turned out to be both appealing and threatening all at once, "that's what insurance is for."
"Um, yeah," the tall woman replied.
"You DO have insurance, right?" he asked pointedly, craning his neck to look high above to her eyes.
"Oh, sure, sure," she said dismissively. "That's not a problem."
"Good," Patrick said, still wary. "Should we go inside to exchange information?"
"That's fine," the woman replied, "unless you have to be somewhere. You look like you're ready to jump in your car and run."
"I just need to make a phone call," he said. "Tell you what, you find a seat inside, I'll make my call and join you in a second."
She regarded him again in that unsettling way he noted when she first got out of her car. Her bright blue eyes held him with a force that felt almost felt physical.
After an uncomfortably long moment, she nodded and smiled, showing a dazzling white smile.
"Whatever you say, handsome," she drawled.
Patrick was taken aback. Was she flirting with him, after just hitting his car? Maybe she really didn't have insurance.
"Okay," he said cautiously. "See you in there."
He watched her walk into the coffee shop, hips swaying sexily. He had to admit, for such a tall woman, she was incredibly well put-together... but the fact that she was trying such blatant charm, especially after hesitantly saying she had insurance....
He watched her enter the shop and quickly jotted down her license number, then made his call. The excuse was received neutrally, and a reschedule for the same time the following day was made. Patrick hoped his fender-bender didn't just cost him half a million dollars.
Entering the coffee shop, he found to his relief that the woman hadn't skipped out the back door to take her car while he was looking for her. As it was, it was impossible to miss her: even sitting she was head and shoulders higher than all the other seated patrons, and nearly as tall as those standing. She was also far and away the prettiest woman in the place, and the most physically impressive person by an even greater margin.
He slid into the booth across from the woman, and immediately his legs collided with hers, which were stretched well into the space his legs would occupy beneath the table. Amazingly, his legs glanced off hers, stopping him cold. Hers didn't move an inch. He winced as his knee started to throb from the hard impact.
She laughed lightly.
"Oops," she said. "Long legs. Here, let me move a bit."
He watched in amazement as her already tall frame rose a few more inches. Apparently she was slouching in her seat!
He opened his mouth to ask the question on his mind, then closed it again.
"Six-feet-eleven inches," she said, her icy eyes surprisingly warm. "It's okay, everyone always asks. I'm actually just a hair under seven feet, but I find that six-eleven is intimidating enough to a lot of people. Saying I'm seven feet tall for some reason is intimidating to almost everyone."
"Um, oh, thanks," he said. "Sorry if that's a touchy subject for you."
"No, not at all," she said easily. "I love being tall. It's easy to spot me in a room, people definitely pay more attention to you, and between you and me,” the woman leaned toward Patrick conspiratorially, “ I like being the bigger partner in the sack."
Patrick choked on the coffee he had just sipped, and the woman reached her long arm across the table and slapped him rather forcefully on the back. She looked pleased at his discomfiture.
"Guess I shouldn't have said that while you were drinking," she said in a purr. "Are you the shy type... um... what did you say your name was?"
"Patrick," he gasped, somewhat dazed from the blow.
The amount of muscle the woman put into slapping his back from such a strange angle was simply mind-boggling. She had dashed him against the side of the table from the force of bending her wrist, and he was still trying to catch his breath. His coffee sloshed around in the lidded cup, splashing a small amount onto his hand.
Completely unfazed, the woman extended her hand.
"Brianna Cummings, Patrick," she said, taking his free hand without waiting for him to offer it. "It's a pleasure to meet you. A shame it's under these circumstances, but I'll take what I can get."
She winked as she said the last, leaving Patrick thoroughly confused.
"Um, likewise," he said, reeling from the various ways Brianna was overwhelming him.
He had no idea what to make of her. She was very forward, grabbing his hand right off the table to shake it in a very firm grip, then continuing the contact for just a bit longer than courtesy would dictate, like she was exploring the fit of his hand in hers.
"Patrick Boyce," he said lamely, realizing she had given him her full name.
She smiled without replying, but held his eyes with hers.
"So, Patrick," Brianna said, "when you got out of your car, I thought you were going to read me the Riot Act. But your demeanor changed as soon as I got out of mine. Was it something I did?"
He was again caught off-guard. Was she baiting him, or asking something she already knew the answer to?
"Er, no," he said, trying to find his feet. "It's always a bad idea to act on impulse. The first thought I had was that some ignorant jerk was pulling out without paying attention." He backtracked hastily. "NOT that I'm saying you're an ignorant jerk... or that you weren't paying attention."
He closed his mouth, realizing he must have sounded like a fool. The sly look on Brianna's face didn't help.
"Ah," she said. "I thought it might have been the fact that I'm so much taller than you. That's not a big deal, is it? But really, feel free to let me have it. Very blatantly my fault. Totally. I won't fight it or try to pull any nonsense."
He nodded, not knowing how to respond. Still at a loss, he placed his insurance documents that he had set on the seat next to him on the table.
"Thanks, good to know," he said. "So here is my information. Who are you insured with?"
She nodded.
"Right," she said, and snatched his insurance card from its little folder, prompting a startled look from Patrick. "Well, Pat, I left all my stuff in the car, so I'll have to go out and get it. And I honestly couldn't even tell you who they are, I just pay the bill automatically, so I don't even get a monthly statement by mail. The card goes in the glovebox and I forget about it."
Patrick looked warily at her, but she seemed to ignore his troubled look. The look softened somewhat as she deftly maneuvered out of the booth and stretched upward to her astonishing height. From his seated position, she looked twenty feet tall.
She laughed at his look.
"Yeah, I usually have that effect on more, um, conventionally sized people," she said. The comment sounded like it was said to disarm him, though the delivery wasn't what he would call tactful. "Don't be concerned about staring. I'm used to it."
Patrick looked pointedly away from her, realizing he WAS staring, but her hand reached down and took his chin, aiming his head right back at her.
"Really, not a problem," she said, holding his chin in her hand, again, longer than courtesy would dictate. But then, Patrick thought, what exactly did courtesy have to say about grabbing a complete stranger by the chin?
"Just don't get a crick in your neck from that position," she laughed. "You're practically aimed at the ceiling from way down there. Just aim about chest-high, that way you won't pull a muscle."
He couldn't tell if she was poking fun at herself, at him, or if the comment was totally off the cuff. Brianna was a thoroughly confusing woman. She was surely used to people staring at her chest, though, and maybe that's why she said it, he thought. Her chest was very large for such a tall woman. Most tall women he'd met in the past were practically flat-chested, but with Brianna he could bury his entire face in the curves beneath her shirt. And when had her tracksuit zipped down to partially expose the tight top beneath?
He realized with a start that he was ogling her breasts, and his eyes darted away, but not before he saw what looked like a satisfied smile cross Brianna's lips. She spun around and strolled out of the room, and he noticed that most of the men's heads along her path turned in time with her as she passed. She certainly was a good-looking woman, and surprisingly curvy for someone so tall, he noted, before admonishing himself for staring again.
His mind seemed to not take the hint. Her legs seemed to stretch on to infinity, he caught himself thinking as he watched her leave the shop. He shook his head again to banish the thought. It was like he couldn't help himself.
The sexual thought was replaced by alarm as she walked out of sight. What if she decided to just take off? It wasn't like either car was too damaged to drive....
Startled, he hopped up and went to the window to get a better look at the parking lot where they were parked. As he approached the window, he noticed Brianna bent practically in half as she rooted through her glove compartment and breathed a sigh of relief. After that, his libido took over, and he watched as the pants of her tracksuit clung to her very round posterior and shapely thighs. As tightly stretched as they were, he could see every curve of her lower body clearly defined.
Again, he realized he was staring and moved to take his seat, but just at that moment, Brianna pulled herself out of the car and turned, looking right in his direction. He froze as their eyes met, and her face broke into another sly grin. She rose and stretched languidly, showing off for him, then walked toward the front door.
Patrick, flushed a brilliant shade of red, and returned to his seat, unable to look up as he heard her approach. Thankfully, she didn't say anything. She slid into the suddenly-claustrophobic booth, her legs rubbing against his, pushing them out of the way.
The moment stretched on, with neither of them saying a word.
Patrick sat, eyes downcast, taking sips of his coffee. His mind whirled as he and tried to figure out how he'd respond if she said anything. The moment stretched on, until Brianna's driver's license and insurance card slid into his view, propelled by two very long fingers as they slid across the table.
He looked up, still red, and their eyes met again. Hers were smug and strangely inviting, even warm.
"Everything look good?" she asked with a little lift of her eyebrow.
"Er, excuse me?" he said quickly.
Her smile broadened.
"Do you need anything else?" she asked, gesturing to her ID cards.
"Wha... oh!" he said, quickly looking down. "No, no, this is fine."
She had him so flustered he could barely remember his own name! When was the last time he had been so out of his depth around a member of the opposite sex? Grade school?
Patrick began jotting down her information, noting that she lived less than a block from his hotel in town, and then wondered why that thought had entered his head.
"So... Patrick," she said, her voice honeyed as it lingered over his name, "let me ask you a question."
Oh, boy, here it comes, he thought.
"Do I make you nervous or something?" she finished. "Is it because I'm so tall?"
He froze. That was a damn good question.
"No," he said automatically. "Of course not."
"Then why do you look like you're going to have a stroke? Am I doing something to bother you? Just let me know what it is, and I'll stop."
He froze. Was she doing anything to get him all hot and bothered other than being so tall and beautiful and stacked? She was hardly dressed provocatively, though nothing short of a burlap sack could hide such an extravagant figure. It was hardly like he could answer her in that way. 'Stop being so damn gorgeous so I can be upset at you for running into my rental car,' would hardly be a diplomatic answer to her question.
She waited patiently, her eyes searching his face.
"I guess I just have a lot on my mind," he finally said. "I was going to a very big meeting when this happened, but I had to call to postpone. I'm concerned I just killed the deal."
He backpedalled when her face became clouded.
"No, it's... there's nothing to be done, right?" he said, thinking he had upset her. "It was a blessing in disguise. It gives me more time to tune my pitch. Don't get worked up about it."
"Oh, I'm not," she said, looking down at him, "but I do agree this was a blessing in disguise."
Patrick was confused yet again. It seemed to be his standard mode of behavior around Brianna.
"You're not?" he asked, realizing how pathetic it sounded the moment the words left his lips.
"Of course not. Shit happens," she said easily. "It's not like I set out to intentionally ruin your meeting."
Her eyes were so piercing and blue, he noted, as they bored into him. Jesus, she's so pretty he thought. Had he never spoken to her, only seen her face, he would have gotten the mistaken impression that they were icy and cold, but her lively expresssions allayed that immediately. This was definitely a warm, sensual woman.
"How about you let me buy your coffee?" she asked, producing a purse so small that it looked ridiculous in her large hand. "I'd like to have another before I go, and you're welcome to join me, unless you really are going to have a stroke by being around me. I don't want that on my conscience, and caffeine, in that case, is the last thing you need."
He froze and looked at her. There must have been alarm in his look, because again the sexy smile appeared on her face, and she reached across the table to chock him lightly on the shoulder. At least, it seemed like it would be a light punch from her casual motion, but his shoulder rocked back from the blow like she'd wound up and punched him. Hard.
"I'm joking!" she laughed. "Of course you're not going to have a stroke, you're only...."
She paused as she looked down at his ID.
"Thirty-six," she finished. "I'd have guessed thirty at most. You age well, Patrick."
He couldn't figure if she was flirting with him all this time, patronizing him, or what the intent was. Those icy-blue eyes were impossible to read.
He tried to laugh, but it came out as more of a squeak, so he raised his arm to reach for his coffee... or tried to. His entire right arm had gone numb from Brianna's surprisingly strong punch on the shoulder. He instead reached awkwardly with his left and took the cup.
The next time Patrick looked up, he realized Brianna had gotten him another coffee, not waiting for him to accept or decline his offer.
"You're wound pretty tight, aren't you?" Brianna asked him as she stood above him drinking her second cup of coffee. Not sipping, drinking, as though the steam curling up from the little slit in the lid didn't mean it was scalding hot.
"Usually, no," he said. "It must be the circumstances."
"But not the company, right?" she asked, watching him. She slid back into the tight booth and again battered his legs with hers.
"No, not the company," he said. He was shocked to realize he rather enjoyed the company. She seemed like the type of spontaneous person that one could never guess the next sentence to come from her mouth.
"That's good," she replied. "I was worried I had given you a terrible first impression. Tall, gawky, bad-driving basketball player or somesuch."
He looked up at her and she again started to laugh.
"Trust me, I get that all the time," she said. "I must play basketball, I'm in the WNBA, and so on and so on. For the record, I can't dribble a ball to save my life. Frankly, I've never cared to touch a ball that big before, not even in gym class as a kid."
"Not a professional athlete, check," Patrick said, finally getting his feet under him. "I would have guessed athlete by your build. What do you do, Brianna?"
Her smile became devious.
"Guess," she said, drawing out the word sensually.
The first guess that popped into his head was Phone Sex Operator with that sultry, husky voice, and he immediately dismissed the thought, taking his first long look at the woman seated across from him.
Brianna had a remarkable body. Her shoulders were surprisingly broad, and his memory of her bent in half, rooting through her car told him that the lower half looked as impressive as the upper half, perhaps even moreso. She was extremely pretty; model-pretty, he thought, though she wasn't made up to impress. She looked more like she was ready to go to the gym, or maybe a jog.
"I might need some hints," Patrick said, beginning to loosen up for the first time since taking his seat. "Is it a physical job?"
She nodded, a pleased look on her face.
"Yes. Very physical."
"Very physical, but not a competitive athlete," he mused aloud. "Exercise-related, though, judging by your build. Personal trainer."
"Wow, perceptive. I'm impressed," she remarked. "Shall I guess yours?"
"Mine will be a bit tougher," he replied. "You can't exactly tell by looking at me."
"Office-job, though you keep in shape... maybe with a personal trainer."
Patrick laughed politely.
"Thank you for the compliment, but no, no personal trainer, and yes, it's an office job."
"Office job, exercises... lawyer."
"No."
"Businessman, marketing maybe?"
Patrick shook his head.
"Businessman is part of it, but not what I trained for. Graphic design. I own a small firm."
Brianna looked disappointed.
"Now why did you do that? I would have gotten there," she said, her eyes narrowing.
"Yeah, in about a week," Patrick laughed. "It's not exactly a common job."
She smiled slightly.
"Have lunch with me," Brianna said completely changing gears.
Patrick was again caught flat-footed.
"Er... what?" he asked.
Brianna patted Patrick's cheek, a much more familiar gesture than he was prepared to receive. He was half-prepared to go spinning out of the booth from the force of the blow, but it was soft, a caress, actually. The arousal that was already simmering with the sexual tension he felt rocketed into the sky, shocking him yet again. He was apparently so mesmerized by Brianna's off-the-cuff behavior he didn't even realize he was partially erect until it surged and strained his pants from her touch.
Her hand slipped from his face as she downed the last of her coffee, still steaming, in one long gulp. He also felt like she regretted the loss of their contact from her mournful look.
"Sadly, I have to go," Brianna said with a sigh. "I'm already late for my first appointment. He'd wait all day for me, though. This session is more about being gawked at than helping someone get in shape unfortunately, but a client is a client, and he pays double my normal rate. I called it an ogling fee when he first approached me, and he didn't blink at the extra cost. I could care less, honestly, but, had it been someone else, you for example, I may well have ended up paying YOU to work with me."
"But... what about the insurance?" he asked, his voice sounding confused in his ears.
"Call in the claim, I'll admit fault," she replied as she rose. "Just don't tell them I fled the scene. We can say it was mutually agreed upon that I could go... yes?"
Brianna's expression didn't change, but Patrick was cowed, regardless, as she stood to her full stratospheric height.
"O-of course," he said.
"Good boy," she said, accompanying her words with her million-dollar smile. "See you at lunch. There's a restaurant, DeLilah's, on 7th and Aberdeen, that makes the most heavenly roast chicken salad, and the portions, well, they're sized for someone like me! See you soon, handsome."
Patrick watched Brianna breeze out of the coffee shop in stunned silence.
"What the hell just happened?" he mused as he watched her long legs propel her out of sight.
Shortly afterward, her Mini roared out of the parking lot, nearly missing another car that froze and honked, and rocketed down the street. Patrick stared after her car, stunned from the entire encounter, then realized as he returned to the booth that Brianna hadn't taken her driver's license or insurance card before she left.
"I must be out of my mind," he said, the ghost of a smile crossing his lips as he finished his coffee.