Slow Hands Read Online Free Page B

Slow Hands
Book: Slow Hands Read Online Free
Author: Debra Dixon
Pages:
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said anything, and then realized that while he was dressed in a bath towel, nothing he could say would sound the least bit dignified. Disgusted, he snapped the shorts against the railing and walked away. When he entered the master bedroom, he grimaced. Yesterday’s clothes still lay where he’d dropped them—first when he’d changed for class and then again when he’d stripped for bed.
    The floor of his room might as well have been a chess game played with cast-off clothing. Crumpled socks represented pawns. Cowboy boots and tennis shoes became castles. Blue jeans were knights, and boxers in paisley and plaid were well-guarded kings.
    He stared at the clothes, realizing what a difference a couple of years could make. Two years earlier his father had still been alive—grieving over the loss of his wife, but alive. Two years earlier Sam’s clothes had hung neatly in closets or been carefully tucked away in drawers. He’d used a custom-made valet for his cuff links and ties. His priorities had been different then too, Sam remindedhimself as he dressed quickly. Back then he’d wanted a trophy wife, top-of-the-line golf clubs, and an expensive house on the eighteenth hole.
    After his father’s death he’d spent a year and a half in a guilt-driven depression before his sister finally made him see that he couldn’t change the past. He could, however, change the future. So he’d found a buyer for his export company—a buyer who also paid him a healthy consulting fee each year.
    Changing the habits of a lifetime had taken another six months, but in doing so he discovered what he wanted out of life. He wanted family—kids, a big dog, and someone comfortable to wake up with. He wanted holidays and fights over the Sunday paper. He was thirty-three years old and ready to settle down.
    Which was why he had no business falling in lust with one of his work-obsessed students.
    Sam grabbed the boots from the floor and cursed his luck and Clare McGuire. They amounted to the same thing. Clare wasn’t the type to fight over the Sunday funnies. Probably didn’t read the comics. Probably didn’t even talk at the breakfast table. Everything about her was wrong for a man looking for a family.
    Then why does she get to you?
    “Hell if I know,” Sam answered himself, and strode purposefully out of the house. The large oval of etched glass rattled in the front door as he slammed it behind him.
    Sam didn’t feel the smallest twinge of guilt, but he was certain the game of hide-and-seek Clare had been playing was about to end. For three days he had tried toget her on the phone. If he called her at home, the machine answered. If he called her at work, her male secretary, Joshua, answered, made an excuse, and took a message that went straight into the garbage can. However, today’s message couldn’t be crumpled and tossed.
    This message was going to be delivered in person. Sam stood in front of Joshua’s desk and looked him squarely in the eye.
    Joshua put down the phone and collected himself. Sam decided Clare’s secretary looked like a Joshua. He had a boyish innocence, but he couldn’t tell a good lie to save his life. Even several days of practice hadn’t improved his technique.
    “I’m sorry, sir. Miss McGuire won’t be able to see you. She has a … prior appointment,” the young man advised as he settled his wire-rimmed glasses more firmly on his face. Only the slight waiver in his voice exposed his nervousness.
    “What appointment?” Sam asked, deciding that Clare’s vague excuses needed to be tested.
    “What appointment?” Joshua’s words were almost a squeak.
    “Yes. Is she meeting someone? Is someone coming here? Can I wait until she’s free? Is she sneaking out to play on a beautiful Friday afternoon? Or did she just tell you to get rid of me?” Sam tilted his head in a silent demand for an answer.
    Guilt showed plainly on Joshua’s face as his eyes slid toward Clare’s closed office door. “Look, Mr.

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