A Chance Encounter Read Online Free Page A

Rabbit food, he thought tersely. But then, if Barry hadn’t conned him into going to that restaurant, he’d never have met this enigma of a woman—or found the story. And she was worth it. “Katie Riordan. Nice Irish name.”
    “And I’ve got a temper to go with it, Mr. Grant. Now, what do you want?”
    Taylor lifted his finger, running it across the tops of several books. Dust. This place needed a good feather duster and at least a week’s worth of loving attention. The purple carpeting was spotless, however, and Taylor saw no signs of poor housekeeping other than the dust and the general disorder. Her dark blue eyes clashed with his gray ones. “Is that a subtle threat, Katie Riordan?” he teased softly, his voice a cat’s purr.
    She licked her lips nervously. “No, of course not! I just want to be left alone, Mr. Grant, that’s all. I want nothing to do with reporters.”
    “Then don’t think of me as a reporter—just see me as a man.”
    She watched a smile tug at his sensual mouth and saw a new warmth flood his icy gaze. Groaning inwardly, Katie felt a blush rushing to her already hot cheeks. The nerve of the man! He was deliberately teasing her, her intuition warned. A cat playing with a helpless mouse. And she was dinner. Her cobalt eyes flashed indignation. “Save your teasing for someone else, Mr. Grant. I’m not interested.”
    “Are you married?”
    “No, but—”
    “Ah, you have a significant other.”
    She shot up off the old chair, which squeaked shrilly in protest. “I’m not a quarry to be pursued! Just tell me why you’re here, and then leave!”
    Taylor turned slowly to face her. In that blinding moment she took his breath away. She really did look like a gypsy from the pages of a travel brochure, black hair swirling around her shoulders, the peasant outfit hiding her slight but very provocative figure, hands curled into small fists at her sides. His smile broadened. “Why don’t you like reporters, Katie? Is it because you have something to hide?”
    Her jaw went rigid, and her eyes flashed defiance. “Take your suspicions, Mr. Grant, and remove them—and yourself—from my store!”
    Taylor wandered back to her. Carefully he monitored her expression. She had a fascinating face. It wasn’t beautiful in the sense that a model’s was, but it was unique. Each nuance of emotion flitted across her flushed features. He wondered what the texture of her flesh would be like and ached to reach out and brush a fiery cheek to find out. And those incredible eyes held mystery. He wanted to lean over and kiss each delicately framed lid, watch them open with desire. She was ethereal; that was the one word that described her. Would she disappear like mist on a summer’s morning? Flee like a frightened doe startled by a stalking hunter? Yes, she appeared defenseless!….
    “Tell me,” he said. “Are you a fey spirit, or are you a fake?”
    Katie blinked, and took a step away. “I’m not a fake. Don’t take that accusing tone with me.”
    Taylor quickly masked his longing. This sorceress was indeed casting her spell on him. And she had done nothing but glare at him defiantly, with only a trace of fear in her wide, trusting eyes!
    “There’s no need to be afraid of me,” he said, suddenly upset at the idea that she would fear him. He seldom lost his temper with a woman, though Mary Ann had goaded him often enough.
    “I don’t fear you, only what you’ll put into print,” Katie said, her voice suddenly weary. Her mouth lost some of its tension, and she chewed on her lower lip. “And you’re going to write a story about me, aren’t you, Mr. Grant?”
    Why the hell did he feel guilty for doing his job? “Look,” he said more roughly than he intended, “you did something to that man, and I want to know what it was.” He paused. “Do you really own this bookstore?” he asked, wanting to change the subject.
    “Yes,” she answered, all her defiance dissolving.
    Taylor cursed