Free Extreme Exposure by Pamela Clare Page A

not only a man—and an unbelievably sexy man at that—but also an ostensibly decent man. She hadn’t imagined anyone actually ran for office these days simply because they wanted to help people.
    They sat for a moment in silence.
    “You like children then?” She was certain she knew his answer, almost dreaded it.
    Please let him say he hates kids.
    “I adore kids. They have such a unique way of seeing things. If we stand any chance of making this world a better place, it’s through them.”
    She ran her fingers over the damp stem of her wineglass, finding her mental checklist of reasons she shouldn’t spend time with him growing perilously short.

    “Is Melanie your only sister?”
    He shook his head. “I’m the eldest of four—one brother, two sisters. My parents got divorced when I was nine. The younger kids went to live with my mother and her family in Texas, while I stayed with my father here in Denver. Melanie just moved here two months ago. We’re just getting acquainted really.”
    “That sounds like a lonely way to grow up. It must have been hard being so far away from your mom and the other children.”
    He shrugged. “I suppose so. I think my mother thought of me as being my father’s son, while my brother and sisters were her children.”
    Kara couldn’t imagine a mother abandoning her own child that way. “Are you and your father close?”
    A troubled look crossed his face, and his gaze dropped to the table.
    “I’m sorry. Is that too personal?”
    “No, Kara. You can ask me anything you like.” He looked up, gave a sad smile. “My father died last May. A car accident on I-25.”
    And then she remembered seeing it in a headline. She hadn’t even bothered to read the article. To her it had been nothing but another news story, ink on newsprint. To him it had represented overwhelming grief, the loss of someone he loved. “I’m so sorry.”
    He reached across the table, took her hand in his, and caressed the back of it with his thumb. The contact was white-hot, made her breath catch in her lungs.
    “Thanks. And, yes, we were close.”
    The waiter approached with the dessert tray.
    “Have you ever had Laudisio’s tiramisu?”
    Kara shook her head, almost unable to speak. She’d seen a program on the Discovery Channel once, something about how the human hand has more nerve endings than most other parts of the body. She decided it must be true, as every nerve from her fingertips to her wrist was alive and tingling.

    “Then you really must try it. We’ll split one order of tiramisu with two glasses of the Reciotto della Valpolicello 1997 Mazzi.”
    “Yes, sir.” The waiter hurried away, a big smile on his face.
    “Enough about me, Kara. You’ve been ‘interviewing’ me all evening. Now it’s my turn.” He leaned forward in his chair, his hand still holding hers. “Tell me about your family.”
    Distracted by his touch, by the heat of his gaze, she fought to find her voice. “There’s nothing to tell really. It’s just my mom and I. My father left when I was a baby. I’ve never even met him.”
    He interrupted his relentless caresses to give her hand a sympathetic squeeze. “That must have been hard on you both.”
    Unable to help herself, Kara stroked him back, running a finger slowly across his knuckles. She felt dizzy, almost drunk, but it wasn’t the wine. “My mother would never admit that. According to her, it was the best thing he could have done for either of us. She’s a bit of a . . . free spirit. She never remarried and swore she had no use for a man in her life.”
    “Regardless of how she felt, it must have been difficult for you to grow up without a father.”
    A strange pain Kara hadn’t allowed herself to feel since she was a teenager crept into her stomach. She forced it down, irritated with herself. She hadn’t thought about her father for years, and she couldn’t imagine why Reece’s question—no different from those she’d asked him—should