Read Message From Viola Mari for Free Online Page B

it against his and then sipped. Its dry taste made my tongue tingle.
    “So tell me how you spend your time when you’re not studying rocks and oceans or taking writing classes.”
    “Ha, the inquisition begins.” I laughed, leaning toward him. How to say this without revealing any telling information.
    “Well for one, I love swimming. I swim to the buoy and back in the Cove most mornings.”
    “A swimmer? I had you pegged as a triathlete.”
    “Why on earth would you imagine that? The last time I tried cycling, I ran into a telephone pole.” The plan was short and sweet, not detailed and embarrassing.
    “You just look like you’re in great shape.” His gaze roved over my body. I crossed my arms over my chest defensively while electric sparks tickled my nerve endings.
    “Well it’s pretty clear you work out, too.”
    “I run and lift weights. Most years I run in the La Jolla Half Marathon.”
    “Really? I ran that race last year, but I don’t remember seeing you. I mean if I had, I would have…Oh, never mind.”
    “What?”
    “It’s nothing important.”
    “Okay, so at least finish your sentence so I won’t obsess about it all night.” He leaned in toward me, resting his elbow on the table and his fist against the side of his face. The flecks of gold that ignited his green eyes made me think he had a pretty good grasp of the racy imagery bouncing around inside my head.
    “All right, fine. It’s just that I’m sure if I’d seen you, I would have remembered. You’re not a guy I’d overlook.”
    He smiled. “That kind of honest compliment should keep my ego comfortably inflated for a month. So you swim, run and avoid cycling like the plague. Any other recreational activities you enjoy?”
    “Recently, I’ve taken up golf and tennis, but I can’t say I enjoy them much.”
    “If you don’t like them, why do you bother?” He raised his face from his fist and stroked the side of his face with one finger.
    “It’s a long story—I’d really rather not trouble you with the details.”
    He raised an eyebrow and grasped his chin between two fingers. “Let me guess. A well-meaning family member suggested you learn how to play the yuppie sports so you can meet some eligible bachelors.”
    I don’t remember writing that in my manuscript! “And what makes you think that?” I pouted and crossed my arms, leaning away from him.
    “I’m pretty observant, you know.”
    “I see. What else about me is crystal clear, Mr. Teacher Psychoanalyst?” Why ask when I really don’t want an answer?
    “Ah, yes.” He tucked unruly gold curls behind his ear. “I do have some theories. I think you bury yourself in work because it protects you from what scares you the most—getting close to people.”
    “What kind of data did you use to come up with that brilliant conclusion?” A sensual combination of anger and raging attraction burned in my chest and quickly moved down between my thighs. I shifted uncomfortably in my chair. For some reason, the more he enraged me, the more enticed I became. I’m going to have to have a long talk with a therapist about this.
    “Signing up for a writing class you didn’t want to take was my first clue. Agreeing to play sports you hate is the second. At work, you focus on the goals you want to achieve. Everywhere else, you try so hard to please people, your own needs get lost in the shuffle.” He leaned in closer.
    “Why are you telling me this?” Resisting the intoxicating pull of his magnetic field, I pushed my chair a couple of inches back and dropped my hands in my lap.
    “Because I think we could enjoy each other’s company more if you gave yourself permission to just do what you wanted once in awhile. Please, give me your hand.”
    I placed my hand on the white linen tablecloth, allowing him to entangle his fingers with mine.
    I teetered on the edge of something I wasn’t prepared for. Revealing myself, sharing my emotions. How can I let a man in my life now?