A Word with the Bachelor by Teresa Southwick Page A

around her neck. “I thought you had a point.”
    â€œStream-of-consciousness writing is like stretching your muscles for work.”
    â€œShouldn’t I put that energy into something productive?”
    â€œThe point is to not think about work. Free your mind and let the ideas flow.”
    His expression was still skeptical, but he asked, “What should I write about?”
    â€œLike I said. Anything that pops into your mind.”
    Jack looked down at the dog, who had thrown himself on the ground at his feet. Automatically he picked up the animal and rubbed his hand over the hairless back. “I still say it’s a waste of time.”
    This man was results-driven. He’d spent over a decade in an organized, mission-oriented environment. The creative process was the polar opposite. But if she could give him a focus, he might be more inclined to give it a try.
    As they headed back to the house, she watched him with the dog. His protectiveness with the animal. The way he automatically picked up Harley when he got tired. Jack had done the same thing that first day when she’d arrived. There was a bond between the two and that homely little creature might just be what he cared about most in this world.
    â€œWrite about Harley,” she suggested.
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œStream-of-consciousness warm-up exercises. Think about your dog and jot down whatever comes into your mind.”
    With the dog curled happily in his arms, Jack stared at her for several moments. She wondered how it would feel to be safely tucked against his wide chest, wrapped in his strong arms.
    Then he shook his head. “It’s official. You’re crazy.”
    About you , she thought.
    For a moment Erin was afraid she’d said that out loud. Fortunately, the words stayed in her head, where they belonged. He already knew she was attracted to him. If she confirmed it he would say I told you so and send her packing.
    * * *
    Erin didn’t want to get out of bed after a lousy night without much sleep. And that was all Jack’s fault. He was a bundle of contrasts. Gruff and argumentative with her; tender and protective of his unattractive pet. He measured out a quarter cup of organic chicken or grass-fed beef for Harley’s meals! He was a really off-putting combination of macho and mush.
    And she knew very little about him. Was there a girlfriend? Wife? But those questions fell into personal territory, which technically made it not her business. And don’t even get her started on the geographical situation here. Last night she’d heard him pacing like a predatory tiger.
    Back and forth. Back and forth. At least an hour. Maybe more.
    Then it got quiet and she’d waited for him to come downstairs to bed. That kept her tense and wide-eyed for a long time. Her body tingled and her skin was hot whenever he was in the master bedroom just across the hall from where she slept. She would challenge anyone to try sleeping when every nerve ending was sparking like a live electrical wire.
    After starting a reread of his bestselling book, she finally fell asleep sometime after one o’clock. Now it was six in the morning. Soon she’d need to start breakfast, then meet Jack at nine in his office. If she hauled her hiney out of bed there was just enough time to get in some yoga. Maybe some flexibility poses would flex thoughts of the difficult man out of her mind.
    She put on her nylon-and-spandex capris and the stretchy, racer-back tank top she wore for workouts, then rolled out her mat. Mountain pose was first. Standing straight, heels down, shoulders directly over hips. Breathe. Then raised arms. Grounded in her heels, shoulders away from ears and reaching through her fingertips. She held that for the required time and went into the standing forward bend. Exhale and fold down over legs. Let head hang heavy with feet hip distance apart. That was followed by the garland pose, which she hated.
    For the