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replied briskly instead, stepping off the porch. Waving in the general direction of the house, she added, “Help yourself to whatever you want for breakfast, if you don’t have time to wait for the rest of us.”
    She took off at a slow jog. Instead of taking the hint, however, Hank fell into step beside her. She heard the clank of a can as he tossed it in the direction of theporch. Soda? For breakfast? Good God, the man would be dead before his fortieth birthday.
    “Mind if I join you?” he asked.
    “Would it matter if I did?”
    “It might. Try me.”
    “Stay,” she ordered as authoritatively as if he were a resistant puppy. He’d obviously had no obedience training. He stayed right beside her.
    “I guess that answers that,” she said with a sigh. She glanced sideways and noted that he was wearing a University of Miami Hurricanes sweatshirt that had clearly been through several seasons. The neckline had been stretched, the sleeves cut out. His cutoff jeans revealed powerful legs, corded with muscles. For a man who ate garbage, he looked awfully solid. And strong. And tempting. She dragged her gaze away.
    “How far do you usually run?” Hank asked.
    “Five miles.”
    He uttered a choking sound. Ann grinned. Despite his awesome physique, she doubted if Hank Riley ever ran farther than the corner grocery to grab another six-pack. She deliberately picked up her pace. He easily lengthened his stride to match hers.
    “Do you do this every morning?” he asked.
    “Just about.”
    “Ever do a marathon?”
    “I used to. Now I don’t have the time to train properly.”
    Hank muttered something that sounded like, “Thank God.”
    “What about you?”
    “I don’t run,” he said, confirming her suspicion. She figured that gave him maybe another mile before he started huffing and puffing.
    “I do work out at the gym every day, though,” he said, sending her hopes plummeting. “I was going to look for a place down here, but maybe I’ll just go running with you instead. I hate to exercise alone, don’t you?”
    Actually Ann had always considered the solitude the height of heaven. To declare that now, though, would only lead to all sorts of speculation on Hank’s part. She could tell he was grinning at her. She glanced over. Yep, the smirk was in place all right. There was also a disconcerting gleam in his eyes as he surveyed her from head to toe, lingering an unnecessarily long time on her bare legs.
    “You have great legs,” he observed with the authoritative tone of a connoisseur.
    Ann could feel the heat begin to rise and it had nothing to do with the exercise. If he expected her to thank him for the compliment, he could wait from now till she won the Boston Marathon.
    “Why do you always cover them up with those long skirts?” he persisted.
    She frowned at the implied criticism. “I happen to like long skirts.”
    “Why?”
    “Do I need to have a reason?”
    “In the overall scheme of life, probably not. As a psychologist, though, I’d think you’d be a little curious about your motivations.”
    “Long skirts are comfortable.”
    “And concealing.”
    “I am not trying to conceal anything,” she said adamantly.
    “I hope not. With legs like yours…”
    “I do not want to talk about my legs.”
    “So it does make you uncomfortable when men find them attractive?”
    “It does not!”
    He was laughing at her again. “I thought so,” he said with that infuriatingly self-satisfied tone that made her want to rip the hairs of his beard out one by one.
    Ann finished her run ten minutes faster than usual. She’d run, in fact, as though she were being chased by the devil himself. All in all, she figured it was an apt analogy.
    Hank was late. In fact, he’d been running late ever since he’d gone jogging with Ann. He’d skipped breakfast to try to catch up, but that lost half hour in the morning plagued him the rest of the day.
    It had been worth it, though. The discovery that the woman had an