Power Play. Nancy Warren

with his scrumptious abs and the waistband of his gray sweatpants. She could smell him. He smelled athletic, of clean sweat and hard work. If she ran her hands over his body his muscles would still be warm and pliable from exertion.

      “Good guess.” He sounded amused. Again.

      “It’s part of my responsibility to help with all the little details that may have been overlooked.” She glanced at the stack of cards waiting to be painstakingly written, and lied through her teeth, “I really don’t mind.”

      “I’m sure you’ve got better things to do.”

      “Honestly? I’m missing another potluck dinner. And the choosing of the embarrassing baby and child photos to be shown on the projector at the reception. Frankly, I prefer this job.”

      “As soon as I’m cleaned up, I’m meeting a few of the guys for a pizza. You want to join us?”

      She was genuinely surprised by the offer. And she smiled her thanks at him. “Thank you. But if I don’t keep going, I’ll never get these done. Besides, I’ve got a yogurt and a couple of granola bars if I get hungry. I’ll be fine.”

      “Suit yourself.” Then he ambled into the bathroom and soon she heard the shower running.

      Three place cards later, he was out again, freshly shaved and smelling of soap and shampoo. In her peripheral vision she noted he was wearing nothing but a towel, and that the hair of his lower legs was dark and his big feet were leaving damp prints on the carpet.

      When he was past her, she allowed herself a quick glance at his back view, on the grounds that a hardworking calligrapher needed a little treat now and then. She was happy to note that his hairiness didn’t go as far as his back. That was smooth of skin and heavy with muscle. This guy did more than play hockey to stay in shape. Her professional eye noted that his right deltoid was more developed than his left. He was definitely right-handed.