“The newshound.”
There was a trace of amusement in the deep voice. Erin stole a sidelong glance as David Carlson stepped up beside her and extended his hand over the desk.
“I hope I’m not interrupting anything important. Your secretary told me to come in. I’m David Carlson of The Herald, Professor Stiles. It’s good to make your acquaintance.”
“Humph. Too early to know that.” Her boss waved an age-spotted hand in her direction. “This is my program coordinator, Erin Kelly.”
David Carlson swung his handsome, impeccably groomed head her way. She looked up into his intelligent, alert, gray-blue eyes and the oddest sensation hit her. Everything inside her went still. It was as if time stopped.
“She’ll be answering your questions.”
The professor’s voice started time moving forward again. Erin gave herself a mental shake and drew in a breath of air. “Hello, Mr. Carlson.” She smiled and extended her hand. It was swallowed by his larger one. Warmth telegraphed itself up her arm. She glanced at their joined hands, shocked by the feeling.
“A pleasure, Ms. Kelly.”
A manila folder smacked down on the only clean spot on the desk. Erin jumped, withdrew her hand from the encompassing warmth and focused her fragmented attention as Professor Stiles fastened a keen-eyed look on David Carlson.
“Erin knows as much about the grant as I do, young man, and she’s better at tolerating questions about our operation.” He slapped his hand down on the folder. “This is a copy of the grant for reference—I don’t want any misquotes.” He looked at her.
“You can tell him about the center, Erin.”
“But—?”
A wave of her boss’s hand cut her off. “I’ve no time to discuss the matter, I’m already late for another appointment. I’ll talk with you later.” He grabbed up his suit jacket and rushed from the room.
Erin could have cheerfully shaken him. The least he could have done was warn her! She snatched up the folder, clasped it to her chest and turned around. “Well, Mr. Carlson, it looks as if you’re stuck with me for your interview. I’ll do my best to answer your questions, but—as you’ve probably guessed—I’m surprised by this assignment and therefore ill-prepared.”
“That makes two of us that are surprised, Ms. Kelly.” David Carlson’s gaze lowered to her hands holding the file.
Erin’s breath caught. He was checking for a ring. A Romeo? Her caution reflexes snapped into high gear.
His gaze lifted back up to meet hers and he smiled. “And, speaking for myself, very pleasantly surprised. I’ll take dining with a lovely young lady rather than an irascible old man every time.”
Smooth, Mr. Carlson, very smooth—but then practice makes perfect. Disappointment filtered through the remnant of that odd stillness. “Dining?”
David Carlson’s smile spread into a slow grin. “It’s a luncheon appointment.”
David felt like he’d taken a hard right to the stomach. The punch had landed when he’d first looked down into Erin Kelly’s big, dark-green eyes, and it left him taut-muscled and breathless.
David frowned, motioned to the busy hostess and, at her nod, guided Erin to his favorite table at Carlo’s Villa. He’d been looking forward to a plate of chicken marsala—now he wasn’t sure he could eat. His appetite was gone. All he really wanted was to run his fingers through the smooth, thick mass of hair framing Erin Kelly’s lovely face. Her hair was the deep red-brown color of the chili powder in his kitchen cupboard.
“Thank you.” Erin smiled up at him and slid onto the chair he held for her.
David’s fingers tightened on the top rail. Her smile had the same effect as her beautiful eyes. He nodded, cleared his throat and went to take his own seat.
“Good afternoon, Mr. Carlson.” The server placed a glass of ice water trimmed with twin slices of lemon and lime in front of each of them, then laid dark-blue menus edged with gold on the burgundy-and-gray striped tablecloth. “Would you care for something to drink while you decide on your meals? Perhaps a light wine?”
“Erin?”
“No, thank you. The water is fine for me.”
David gave a mental whew! He was close to punch drunk from looking at her. He didn’t need alcohol. “I’ll have a lemonade.”
“Very good, sir. I’ll be back with it shortly.”
David glanced at his menu, then pushed it aside and feasted on the sight of Erin studying hers. She lifted her head and caught him watching her. Her eyes clouded. So she was wary of being interviewed.
“Have you decided?”
Her hair shimmered in the light streaming through the window as she nodded. She looked down and closed her menu. When she looked up, the shadow in her eyes was gone. “I’ll have antipasto…and bread sticks.” She gave a rueful smile. “I can’t resist their bread sticks.”
David grinned. “I know what you mean.” He leaned back against his chair and set himself to put her at ease. “So, Erin Kelly, what part of Ireland are your ancestors from?”
She gave a little shrug. “I don’t know. That information was never passed on.” She smiled and reached for her glass. “I have a suspicion the earliest Kelly to reach America’s shores didn’t want that knowledge made public.”
“Aha! Skeletons!” David rubbed his hands together.
Erin laughed. “Careful. Your reporter radar is showing.” She took a swallow of water and put her glass down. “What about you? Where do your people come from?”
“I have no idea. I’m just glad they had the good sense to come here.”
“Amen to that.”
She sounded sincere and utterly natural. Was she religious? David’s smile faded. It was the first flat note struck since he’d met her.
“Your lemonade, Mr. Carlson.” The server placed it in front of him, then gathered the menus under his arm. “And your order?”
David glanced at Erin. She nodded. He looked back at the server. “We’ll have the antipasto tray with choice of dressings on the side. Bread sticks—” he smiled “—double up on the bread sticks. And minestrone for me. Erin?” She held up her hand with the thumb and forefinger only an inch or so apart. He nodded. “Make that two minestrones—one large, one small.”
“Very good, sir.” The server hurried away.
David took a swallow of his drink, then put down his glass and leaned forward. “Professor Stiles seems like quite a character. Do you enjoy working with him?” Her face warmed. It was the only way he could describe it. He knew before she spoke she admired Robert Stiles.
“Yes, I do. Very much. I know he seems rather a cliché character—you know, rough exterior, heart of gold—but in his case it’s absolutely true. He started the center, and he fights like a lion when anyone threatens to stop funding the literacy program. Our slogan is When You Open A Book, You Open The World. That’s why this grant is so important. You have no idea how many adults there are who cannot read or write—or do so at a minimal level.”
She looked fully into his eyes, and for a moment he lost the thread of the conversation.
“—and when a person can read and write their possibilities are endless. At the center we see these adults go from hopeless to hopeful.” Suddenly she stopped. “I’m sorry, Mr. Carlson. I didn’t mean to make a speech.”
David put on a mock frown. “That’s David, remember? We agreed on that earlier. But, to get back to the point—please don’t apologize.