Free Just Like a Man by Elizabeth Bevarly Page B

underwear. This was nuts.
    Although he had been quick in completing the job he had come to do, it was long past time for Michael to be leaving. So he hurried back to the kitchen, eliminating any sign that he had been there as he went, and slipped back out the way he had come in. The rain had lessened to a fine mist, and the sun was up, if obscured by thick slate clouds. But by now the majority of the neighborhood's residents would be at work, and the few who remained at home, if they saw him, would see only a man in utility coveralls returning to a utility van with a phony license plate. Michael was in no danger whatsoever.
    Unless Hannah Frost came home from work tonight, looking for a pair of lavender-scented, peach-colored underwear.
     
    Hannah came home from work toting two overflowing bags of groceries and feeling more exhausted than she had felt in a very long time. Probably that was because she hadn't slept well the last few nights. And probably
that
was because she had lain awake in her bed for hours, pondering two conundrums that defied solution.
    The first conundrum was Adrian Windsor. She couldn't imagine what had gotten into the man, but since the fourth-grade potluck three nights ago, Adrian had called her four times—twice at home, and twice at school.
    The first time had been early Saturday morning, to reiterate his invitation to accompany him to London. When Hannah had pointed out that she couldn't possibly take time off from work—and that it would be inappropriate for her to socialize with a member of the board—Adrian had backed off.
    But then he had called her that afternoon to ask her if she wanted to see
Rigoletto
the following weekend, since he suspected she was the sort of person who loved opera. When Hannah had pointed out that she wasn't much of an opera fan—and that it would be inappropriate for her to socialize with a member of the board—Adrian had backed off.
    But then he'd called her "just to talk." Twice. At school. And Hannah hadn't known how to tell him without insulting him that she didn't like "just talking"—whether she was at work
or
at home. So she had "just talked" for five minutes and then excused herself with some fabricated reason why she had to hang up.
    It didn't take a genius to figure out that Adrian had moved from being attracted to Hannah to wanting to become her hunka hunka burnin' love. And Hannah just wasn't sure what to do about that. Other than be absolutely certain she had no intention of becoming Adrian's hunka hunka anything, burnin' or otherwise. Not just because it would be inappropriate for her to become romantically involved with a member of the board that way, but because Adrian just didn't… float her boat. Rev her engine. Toast her melbas. Burn her hunka. That sort of thing.
    And it also didn't take a genius to realize that Adrian's sudden acceleration of attention had come about, oh… a nanosecond after he'd recognized Michael Sawyer at the potluck. And Hannah still couldn't stop thinking about—or puzzling over—the way Adrian had looped his arm around her waist and tried to pull her close, as if she were his own personal love muffin. Never, ever, had he done something so boorish and ill-mannered before. And it simply wasn't in the man's nature to do anything boorish or ill-mannered, least of all manhandle a woman in Hannah's position. He could have done it only as a reaction to Michael's presence. Or, perhaps, to see what kind of reaction he might get from Michael.
    The question Hannah wanted an answer to was:
Why?
    Short of asking Adrian—or Michael, whom she also intended to avoid—she supposed she wasn't going to receive an answer. But that didn't make the question stop circling around in her brain. Nor did it keep thoughts of Michael—and, to a lesser degree, Adrian—from circling around in her brain. The worst part, though, was how thoughts of Michael continued to intrude into her brain after she fell asleep at night. And those thoughts