Her mouth dropped open. “What?” she asked hollowly, almost certain she’d misheard him. Did his godlike attributes go beyond his phenomenal looks and aloofness? Was he omniscient as well?
She pulled on her hand, discombobulated, and he slowly released it from his grasp.
“I’ve read your articles in the Chronicle. I have offices in San Francisco. That piece you did on San Francisco’s homeless children was top notch.”
“Thank you,” she managed, still knocked a little off balance.
He nodded and took a step back, as if he’d realized his unsettling effect on her. He did unsteady her, just not in the way he probably thought.
“You don’t plan to write anymore?” Her spine stiffened a little. Force of habit. She’d been hearing that question a lot lately, usually accompanied by disappointment or bewilderment. Had she heard a hint of disapproval in this man’s tone, or was it her own lack of confidence in her recent career change tainting her interpretation? The latter, of course. Why would a stranger care enough to be condemning?
“I wouldn’t say that. I just wanted to experience a different side of the newspaper business,” she replied neutrally.
“I love Tahoe Shores as much as the next resident, but . . . aren’t we a far cry from San Francisco?” He reached down to distractedly scratch Charger, but his gaze on her remained sharp.
The easy richness of his voice beguiled her, but it was his calmness, his absolute, easy confidence that truly nudged her to let down her guard. There was a grace to him that one didn’t usually see in such a masculine, virile man. It was that intangible quality that had called a walking god to mind.
She kept her gaze on his face, but it was just as distracting. He wore a thin, well-trimmed goatee that highlighted a sensual mouth. The hair on his face, chest, and head was wet at the moment, but appeared to be brown. Harper couldn’t stop staring at his firm, well-shaped lips. She forced her gaze away and found herself watching his long fingers rubbing the dog’s neck instead. It didn’t help matters any.
“Sorry,” he said after a short pause. “That’s none of my business, is it?”
“No, it’s not that. I just needed to get away from the grind.” She tossed up her hands and glanced out at the aquamarine alpine lake, clear blue skies, and surrounding pine-covered mountains. “I wanted to try editing, and there was an opportunity here.”
“Might be a shortage of actual news for a news editor, though,” he said with a half smile. She saw the sharp gleam of curiosity in his hazel eyes.
“Maybe. But I could use the slow pace. The peace.” His eyebrows arched. “For a little while, anyway,” she added.
He nodded, and she had the fleeting, illogical thought that he understood. Maybe he really did. He had said he’d read her articles. Harper threw herself into her stories wholesale. Each one consumed her. Every one took a bit of her with it.
“Where are you staying?” he asked, looking down at Charger and gently squeezing a floppy ear. The dog quivered in pleasure. Harper shifted her feet restlessly as another frisson of sensual awareness passed through her.
She really needed to snap out of it.
“I just moved in last Monday. Back there. Sierra Shores.” She waved behind her to the beachside complex of townhomes. He nodded, his face striking her again as solemn and beautiful. His gaze flickered distractedly out toward the sparkling lake. He was losing interest in their conversation.
“You’re from the south,” she said impulsively.
His shadowed gaze zipped to her face. Why did he look so stiff? “Your accent,” she said by way of explanation. “I didn’t notice it at first, but it’s definitely there.” Like a hint of rich, smooth dark chocolate.
“Yeah. Most people don’t catch that. South Carolina, born and bred,” he said after a pause.
“I grew up in DC—Georgetown, actually. DC is a melting pot—so I have some experience with teasing out accents.”
A silence descended, punctuated only by the hushed, rhythmic sound of the soft surf caressing the beach. He ran his hand distractedly across his damp, taut abdomen, the action scattering her thoughts. “Well . . .” he said after a pause, waving vaguely in the direction behind her. “We should let you get on with your jog. Sorry again for the interruption.”
“I’m sorry for trespassing. I did it unknowingly.”
“Like I said. You’re welcome here.”
She wondered what his friend thought of him handing out free passes to his property, but then dismissed the thought as quickly as she’d had it. He seemed the type of man to have friends who wouldn’t argue with his proclamations.
“I hope you find what you’re looking for here. The peace, I mean,” he said.
Her heart fluttered. There it was again: a glimpse of unexpected sweetness, something that tugged at her and was in direct opposition to his potent masculinity and epic, effortless confidence.
Her strange musings evaporated in almost an instant when without another word he sauntered away from her, calling to Charger with that deep, mellow voice. After a moment, he lifted his arms to a casual boxer stance and broke into an easy jog. Charger bound into a gallop to follow him, barking ebulliently up at his master. Harper blinked, realizing she was entranced watching the rippling muscles of his gleaming back, hard, rounded biceps . . . and an incredible ass.
It took her a dazed half minute of resuming her jog in the opposite direction to realize he’d never told her his name.