âWell, Iâll be damned,â Case Fortune murmured in disbelief. He wouldâve thought librarian-attire would be a pre-requisite for writing kidsâ books. Horn-rim glasses, sensible shoes, a dress that covered chin to ankle. That kind of thing.
He glanced up at the banner that stretched from one end of the bookstoreâs childrenâs corner to the other to make sure he was at the right place: Signing Today! Gina Reynolds, Award-Winning Author of TALES FROM TOADSVILLE.
Toadsville, he thought, swallowing a laugh. What kind of woman wrote stories about toads? A nerd, he decided, and shifted his gaze back to the woman in question.
But Gina Reynolds didnât look like any nerd heâd ever seen before. At the moment she was perched on a child-size chair holding a book open, so the children scattered on the floor around her could see the illustrations as she read the story to them. Seated as she was, her legs appeared incredibly long, their length enhanced by the short black skirt that hit her above her knees and the black leather boots that came just short of reaching them.
Her style of dress wasnât the only contradiction to Caseâs preconceived image of Gina Reynolds. Long strawberry-blond hair framed her face and tumbled in soft waves over slender shoulders. A faint sprinkling of freckles speckled her nose. Her eyes, a stunning leaf-green, sparkled with animation as she read to the children in a voice that changed tone and depth to match the personality of the characters in the story.
Case hadnât come to the signing expecting to find a raving beautyâand he hadnâtâyet there was something about her that encouraged a man to take a second look. Whether it was her physical attributes or her voice that demanded that second look, he wasnât sure, but the sound of her voice had him moving to brace a shoulder against the end of a bookshelf to listen, as enthralled as the children with her storytelling skills.
When she read the last page and closed the book, the children let out a collective sigh of disappointment, then immediately began clamoring for her to read another. A womanâprobably the manager of the bookstoreâquickly stepped into the circle of children to intervene.
âIâm sorry, childrenâ she said, with regret, âbut thatâs all the time Ms. Reynolds has to read to you today. If youâd like her to sign copies of your books, please form a line against the far wall.â She turned to smile at Gina. âI know that Ms. Reynolds will be happy to personalize each one.â
With surprising gracefulness, Gina rose and moved to sit behind the table set up for her, where stacks of her books were displayed. Children scrambled to form the requested line, which quickly stretched from one end of the store to the other.
Though irritated that he would have to wait a little longer to introduce himself, Case wasnât giving up. He needed Ginaâs assistance in bringing a merger to fruition, and wasnât leaving until heâd at least had the opportunity to discuss it with her. Seeking an inconspicuous spot, he slipped between the aisles of books and pretended to study the titles, while waiting for the kids to clear out.
When the last kid in line turned away, Case made his move. Quickly crossing to the table, he picked up a book from the display. âWould you mind autographing one for me?â he asked.
Bent over to gather her purse from beneath the table, she glanced up, a friendly smile ready. Though her smile remained in place, it lost some of its warmth when her gaze met hisâand that surprised him. He didnât know her and was sure that she didnât know him, yet it was definitely dislikeâor, at the very least, disapprovalâthat darkened her eyes.
Straightening, she accepted the book and laid it on the table in front of her. âAnd who would you like it inscribed to?â she asked as she flipped open the front cover.
âCase Fortune.â
She glanced up in surprise. âYou?â
âIs that a problem?â
Blushing, she quickly shook her head. âOf course not. Itâs just thatâ¦well, youâre the first adult male whoâs ever requested an autographed book.â
He shot her a wink. âIâve always prided myself on being ahead of the curve.â
Instead of the smile heâd thought his teasing comment would draw, he received a frown.
Bending her head over the open book, she scrawled an inscription, then closed the cover and handed it to him. âYou pay the clerk at the register,â she informed him curtly and reached for her purse again.
He nodded. âThanks.â
Before he could get to the real reason for his visit, the manager called from behind the checkout counter, âMs. Reynolds? Iâd like to speak with you before you leave.â