lap. All twenty pounds of it hit the
ground with a crash, punctuated nicely by Greg Healey's grunt of pain. She surmised his foot was underneath. Lana lunged
forward to retrieve her bag, and promptly banged heads with him—hard. Pain exploded in her forehead. Their subsequent
groans were audible enough to make people turn in their seats.
"Christ," he whispered hoarsely. "Are you some kind of lethal weapon?"
His breath was sweet, and just that easily she remembered how he'd tasted when he'd kissed her—like citrus and mint.
"Keep your distance and you won't have to worry about it," she whispered back, ridiculously wondering if her own breath was
as agreeable.
The lights came on suddenly, blinding her. The contents of her bag—binders, folders, papers of all kinds—lay all around
their feet. She scraped the pages together, trying to return them to some semblance of order. At this rate, she was going to blow
her entire presentation. He handed her a few items that had rolled out of reach, but he was wearing an inconvenienced frown.
"Why are you even here?" she asked, yanking the pages from his hands.
"Next on the agenda is Mr. Greg Healey," the councilwoman announced. Mr. Peterson had finished while they were arguing
at knee level. "Mr. Healey will address us as the owner of Regal Properties, the company proposing the zone change."
He gave her a flat smile. "That's why I'm here."
Lana gaped. "You? You're…my landlord? "
"Landlord?" he asked, squinting.
"Following Mr. Healey, we'll hear from Ms. Lana Martina, who owns a coffee shop in Hyde Parkland. She'll be speaking on
behalf of the business owners in the area."
She gave him a flat smile. "That's why I'm here."
He stared. "You own that coffee shop?"
"Gee, you're quick."
His frown was as black as Cuban coffee. "Then, yes, I'm your landlord. Do you mind letting me pass?"
Even under the artificial lighting she could see the fading bruises around his right eyebrow—bruises she'd inflicted. Numb,
she straightened in her seat and shifted sideways so he could exit to the aisle. His pants leg brushed her knees, sending
unreasonable tremors of awareness to her thighs. She caught Alex's wide-eyed gaze across the room. Her friend mouthed, Is
that the same guy?
Lana nodded miserably. What had a few minutes ago seemed like an embarrassing encounter was now a bona fide disaster.
She was going to have to debate the man she'd attacked? While he was still under the impression that she had taken him to her
apartment to—
Holy Toledo, she was sunk.
7
GREG STEPPED UP to the microphone, forcing his mind away from the fact that the woman who had dominated his thoughts
since their bizarre encounter a few days ago was not only sitting in this room, but planned to oppose him on the matter before
the council. The coincidence was mind-boggling. He removed a folder from his briefcase with a hand that was somewhat less
steady than he would have liked.
"Members of the City Council," he began, then turned to nod to the audience, "and concerned citizens." He scrupulously
avoided looking in her direction, but he could feel those violet eyes boring into him. "The proposal before you would resurrect
the once vital district of downtown known as the Hyde Parkland area." He directed that the lights be lowered, and recalled the
sensation of sitting next to Lana Martina in the dark. The woman's tension practically glowed. Would she accuse him of trying
to take advantage of her in front of everyone?
He cleared his throat and refocused. "This district is riddled with large, vacant buildings that once housed small factories.
They've been vandalized and are beginning to pose a pest problem. None of the buildings, sewers or utilities are up to code, or
suitable to attract the kinds of businesses necessary to revitalize the area." The words tumbled out more rapidly than he
wanted, but he couldn't seem to slow down.
"Rezoning for residential development would mean hundreds
ground with a crash, punctuated nicely by Greg Healey's grunt of pain. She surmised his foot was underneath. Lana lunged
forward to retrieve her bag, and promptly banged heads with him—hard. Pain exploded in her forehead. Their subsequent
groans were audible enough to make people turn in their seats.
"Christ," he whispered hoarsely. "Are you some kind of lethal weapon?"
His breath was sweet, and just that easily she remembered how he'd tasted when he'd kissed her—like citrus and mint.
"Keep your distance and you won't have to worry about it," she whispered back, ridiculously wondering if her own breath was
as agreeable.
The lights came on suddenly, blinding her. The contents of her bag—binders, folders, papers of all kinds—lay all around
their feet. She scraped the pages together, trying to return them to some semblance of order. At this rate, she was going to blow
her entire presentation. He handed her a few items that had rolled out of reach, but he was wearing an inconvenienced frown.
"Why are you even here?" she asked, yanking the pages from his hands.
"Next on the agenda is Mr. Greg Healey," the councilwoman announced. Mr. Peterson had finished while they were arguing
at knee level. "Mr. Healey will address us as the owner of Regal Properties, the company proposing the zone change."
He gave her a flat smile. "That's why I'm here."
Lana gaped. "You? You're…my landlord? "
"Landlord?" he asked, squinting.
"Following Mr. Healey, we'll hear from Ms. Lana Martina, who owns a coffee shop in Hyde Parkland. She'll be speaking on
behalf of the business owners in the area."
She gave him a flat smile. "That's why I'm here."
He stared. "You own that coffee shop?"
"Gee, you're quick."
His frown was as black as Cuban coffee. "Then, yes, I'm your landlord. Do you mind letting me pass?"
Even under the artificial lighting she could see the fading bruises around his right eyebrow—bruises she'd inflicted. Numb,
she straightened in her seat and shifted sideways so he could exit to the aisle. His pants leg brushed her knees, sending
unreasonable tremors of awareness to her thighs. She caught Alex's wide-eyed gaze across the room. Her friend mouthed, Is
that the same guy?
Lana nodded miserably. What had a few minutes ago seemed like an embarrassing encounter was now a bona fide disaster.
She was going to have to debate the man she'd attacked? While he was still under the impression that she had taken him to her
apartment to—
Holy Toledo, she was sunk.
7
GREG STEPPED UP to the microphone, forcing his mind away from the fact that the woman who had dominated his thoughts
since their bizarre encounter a few days ago was not only sitting in this room, but planned to oppose him on the matter before
the council. The coincidence was mind-boggling. He removed a folder from his briefcase with a hand that was somewhat less
steady than he would have liked.
"Members of the City Council," he began, then turned to nod to the audience, "and concerned citizens." He scrupulously
avoided looking in her direction, but he could feel those violet eyes boring into him. "The proposal before you would resurrect
the once vital district of downtown known as the Hyde Parkland area." He directed that the lights be lowered, and recalled the
sensation of sitting next to Lana Martina in the dark. The woman's tension practically glowed. Would she accuse him of trying
to take advantage of her in front of everyone?
He cleared his throat and refocused. "This district is riddled with large, vacant buildings that once housed small factories.
They've been vandalized and are beginning to pose a pest problem. None of the buildings, sewers or utilities are up to code, or
suitable to attract the kinds of businesses necessary to revitalize the area." The words tumbled out more rapidly than he
wanted, but he couldn't seem to slow down.
"Rezoning for residential development would mean hundreds
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