Free Paradise by Eileen Ann Brennan Page A

the garment.
    The corners of his mouth quirked up as he eyed the bright orange shirt. “I appreciate the offer, but I don’t think I could get even an arm in it. I’m afraid it’s been a long time since I’ve worn a ‘petite small.’”
    She stared at the shirt, then at his chest and rolled her eyes. Right .
    “Oops, I didn’t think. Of course, this wouldn’t fit you.” And that gorgeous, muscled body of yours.
    “Anyway,” she continued, resigned to enduring the sight of his yummy physique a while longer, “you were going to tell me about myself.”
    “Wait a minute. Does my being here shirtless bother you?”
    She shifted her eyes right to left, avoiding his. Of course, it bothered her. Surely, he knew the effect he had on women. How would he react if she suggested she’d like more than a tour of the swamp -- that she’d much rather have an up-close and personal tour of her guide instead?
    “Don’t be silly, of course it doesn’t bother me. This isn’t the eighteenth century, you know. You’re not the first half-naked man I’ve seen.” But, oh how I’d like to see the other half naked, too. Stop that, Roberta Miller. That’s one sure way to a major awkward and embarrassing week.
    “Good. Cause I’ve got to tell you, these damp jeans are bad enough.” He shifted his hips, which only served to accent the bulge behind his zipper. “If you wanted me to wear a wet shirt too, I’d probably develop a serious case of pneumonia. Besides, I’m not the one who tossed my clothes in the swamp.”
    She dragged her gaze from his groin to his face, trying to follow the conversation. “Are you going to throw that at me for the rest of this trip?”
    His smile traveled from his lips all the way to his eyes. “As a matter of fact, I’m seriously considering it.”
    “You creep.” She tossed her sweatshirt at him. He leaned up on his elbow and batted it back at her, laughing.
    “Hey, lady, I’ll thank you to keep your clothes to yourself. I’m not that kind of guy.” But that gleam in his eyes countered his words.
    Oh, I already know you’re that kind of guy, Eddie McGraw. Everyone at Maisie’s knows, too. That thought sobered her. A picture of Lou Ann playing with his button took center stage in her mind. For a moment, it appeared he’d changed his mind, that he was opening up, but it was only her wishful thinking. He was this charming with every woman he encountered, and he wasn’t remotely interested in her. Better to keep this strictly business.
    “So what else do you know, or think you know, about me?”
    “Aside from the obvious that you don’t like the great outdoors, you have a great set of wheels --”
    “I beg you pardon?” What kind of a crack was that?
    “Great set of wheels -- your car, I saw it in the parking lot before you covered it. The red Camaro. What is it? A…‘69?”
    That phrase sent quick little pulses fluttering in her stomach. “Actually,” she tried to cover her embarrassment, sure she misinterpreted him, “it’s a ‘67.” She waited, wishing he’d stop this stupid game, but curious to know what else he’d figured out.
    “Like I said, nice wheels. Let me see now, what else do I know about you?” He held up a hand and ticked off items on his fingers. “You’re a hard worker, independent but can be a team player. You have integrity, determination and, regardless of what you think, you are adventurous,” he finished with a self-satisfied smile. “Oh yeah, and you’re scared shitless of anything that crawls, swims or scurries on all fours.”
    She made a face at his last observation. How could he know all this when they’d met only this morning and hadn’t really talked? Well, he talked enough for both of them.
    “Okay, Sherlock, how did you draw these conclusions?”
    “Simple.” He sat up cross-legged opposite her, providing yet another close up view of his tantalizing torso. Her heart did a quick flip-flop. She couldn’t take much more of