“Professor, I suppose you’re viewing this gym in a sexual way,” he said.
“N-not exactly.” Her cheeks flamed, thinking he had lasered into her fantasies.
“Really?” he went on. “I thought you experts say exercise increases sexual endurance.” The roguish glint in his eye made her realize that he was still having fun with her interview. He wasn’t treating it seriously at all.
“Is the need for sexual endurance the reason you pump iron?” she asked, her chin up for battle.
For a split second, she thought she saw him wince at her insinuation. She wished the words hadn’t come out of her mouth so fast.
He tilted his head to one side. “Professor, my pumping is not restricted to bars of metal.” He kiddingly winked at her for emphasis.
Suddenly furious that he was ridiculing her sex research, she quickly stepped back to exit the gym when her foot stumbled over a dumbbell.
“Ohhhhh!” she screamed as she felt herself go flying.
“Rachel!” Zane called out.
Just then, his powerful hands circled her waist and lifted her. With her feet off the ground, she clutched his strapping upper arms to steady herself, feeling the forceful, protective strength of him.
Zane’s firm broad fingers were gripping her body just below her breasts. His large thumbs were pressed up againsteach swell. Suddenly her nipples ached to be squeezed and fondled by him.
Zane’s face was so near she could smell his warm minty breath. His marine eyes focused on her lips.
Her heart jolted, and her pulse pounded. More than anything, she wanted him to kiss her.
She could feel his breath quickening. The muscles of his arms tensed under her palms as he pulled her closer to his hard body. His mouth edged toward hers, and her lips impulsively moved to his.
But as his lips grazed hers, she abruptly became conscious of her unethical behavior. What was she doing? She was a representative of the university, but she was acting like a foolish woman mesmerized by a very sexy man.
Rachel immediately freed herself from Zane’s sturdy grasp and set both feet back on the floor. Maybe she shouldn’t have allowed two years to go by without being with a man. Maybe all her pent-up sexual energy was suddenly letting loose on the very masculine Zane Farrell.
She avoided his confused eyes, feeling embarrassed and ashamed. She grabbed her fallen briefcase and smoothed down her dress, which had risen to her bare thighs.
“This entire interview has been a big joke to you, hasn’t it, Mr. Farrell?” she blurted.
His jaw muscles tensed, momentarily stung by her words. “Is that what you think?”
“Darn right!”
“Am I supposed to act like Joe Serious while you’re questioning my virility?” he shot back. “You’ve been peering at me like I’m some guinea pig for sexual dissection.”
Her eyes widened in red fury. “Then why did you volunteer for the study?”
“I obviously made a tremendous mistake, didn’t I?”
“Are you saying you’re withdrawing your name from this research project?” Her voice was so high-pitched she could barely recognize it. “Because if you are, go right ahead!”
“Fine, Professor Lady!” He abruptly turned to lead her downstairs straight to the double copper doors.
Her hands were sweating against her leather briefcase handle as she hurried after him. What was she saying? She couldn’t afford to lose her first case study. The university’s administration would surely contact him to ask why he’d dropped out of their research project. He’d inevitably tell them that she’d completely ravaged the interview. She couldn’t let him ruin her very first research project!
She bit back her pride for one torturous moment.
“Can’t we discuss this matter more calmly, Mr. Farrell?” she asked, searching for the right words to get him back on track with the study.
“Zane,” he corrected as he stopped walking and faced her.
“Mr. Farrell,” she deliberately stressed.
His sparkling blue eyes grew wide with sudden amusement. Then he threw back his head and roared with laughter.
“What’s so funny?” She impatiently tapped her foot on the floor. Any second, she was out of there, any second.
“Come on, admit it. You still want me to participate in your research. Yet you refuse to acknowledge that we’ve just gotten past phase one.”
“Phase one?” she repeated, glaring at him from the corner of her eyes in defiant confusion.
“The formalities. The awkwardness. The prim-andproper front you’ve put on since you walked through the door.”
“That’s it!” she howled. “I’m gone!”
She almost dropped her briefcase in her scurrying to grab the door handle. Forget impressing the university administration. She would not be insulted by this gargantuan man!
She rushed out of his house, almost tripped on one of the porch steps, but finally made it to her Valiant. She had to get away from him—far, far away. But her driver’s door was stuck, and she couldn’t get it open.
“I hate this old car!” she bellowed as she unsuccessfully tugged and tugged to release the door.
Suddenly, Zane was beside her wanting to help. The heat of his body only inches away radiated against hers.
“Don’t try so hard, Rachel,” he whispered as if he was talking more about the interview than the car door.
With a click and a turn, he unlocked the driver’s door with great ease, which further infuriated her. He was about to politely hold it open for her, but she pushed past him into the car.
“Thank you,” she seethed as she slammed the door closed. Her face felt so hot with anger she felt ready to burst like a balloon.
She started up her Valiant. It belched out a cloud of charcoal smoke that practically surrounded her entire car.
“Professor, your car is screaming for an oil lube,” Zane called out. “I can recommend an excellent mechanic—”
“No way!” she cut in, needing badly to get back to State University, her apartment, the Los Angeles Zoo, anywhere but near Zane Farrell!
The moment Rachel’s car zoomed away, he rushed back up the stairs to the master suite. He threw off his clean duds and grabbed his oil-stained coveralls and work shirt.
Johnny Wells never meant to fool Rachel Smith. But he had no other choice.
He rushed out of the mansion to Mr. Farrell’s four-car garage. His faded maroon pickup truck looked incongruous parked next to Mr. Farrell’s emerald Jaguar, sparkling black Mercedes and red Porsche sports car.
The heavy metal door to Johnny’s old pickup squeaked as he slammed it closed. He glanced at his callused hands on the steering wheel. Dammit! Black grease was still embedded underneath his fingernails. Had Rachel noticed?
The real Zane Farrell had immaculately clean hands. He’d never had to pick up a wrench or hammer. Why should he? Mr. Farrell could afford to pay workers to do the manual labor for him. Workers like Johnny Wells.
Johnny