Texas Glory

She narrowed her eyes.

Actually, now that she thought about it, she was glad Bram was coming to the office today. Because she was no longer in a state of exhaustion, she’d be able to view Bram in a normal light.

Yes, he was handsome, but so were a multitude of other men. Yes, he had beautiful blue eyes, but so did millions of other men. Yes, he had a nice physique, a dazzling smile, a sexy laugh, but big deal. He was just a man—no more, no less. And now Bram Bishop was just a client—no more, no less.

Thank goodness, Glory thought, she’d gotten all that straightened out. She was under control, calm, cool and collected.

The telephone on her desk buzzed.

And she’d straightened out just in the nick of time, she mentally tacked on.

Glory lifted the receiver at the same moment she pressed the button with the blinking light in the row at the base of the telephone.

“Yes, Margot?” she said.

“Mr. Bishop is here for his appointment.”

Tell him I went home, Glory’s mind yelled. Tell him I died. Tell him... Glory, get a grip.

“Show him in, please, Margot.”

Glory replaced the receiver, drew a steadying breath, then got to her feet. She came around the side of her desk, as she did when she greeted all clients upon their arrival.

Bram was just a man, she mentally repeated. No more, no less.

The door to the office opened and Margot stepped back to allow Bram to enter.

Wrong, Glory thought frantically. Bram Bishop was more—much more—than any man she’d previously met. Her fully rested state was doing nothing to diminish the sensual impact he was having on her as he walked slowly toward her.

He was so tall, with shoulders so wide. His features were even more rugged, tanned and compelling than she remembered. He was wearing a white Western shirt and crisp jeans that were obviously quite new.

And those eyes...dear heaven, those gorgeous blue eyes of Bram’s were holding her immobile. Was she breathing? Oh, she hoped so. She’d be mortified if she fainted dead-out-on-her-nose from being in close proximity to Bram Bishop.

“Glory?” Margot said.

“Hmm?” Glory turned her head to look at her secretary, then blinked. “Oh, thank you.” She took the paper Margot was extending toward her.

Margot stared at Glory questioningly for a long moment, then hurried across the room, closing the door behind her as she left.

“Well, we meet again,” Glory said, sitting down gratefully in the chair behind her desk.

Her legs were trembling, she realized. Her heart was racing. There was heat—pulsing heat—thrumming low in her body. This was absurd, ridiculous and absolutely unacceptable.

“Have a seat, Mr. Bishop.”

“Bram,” he said, settling in one of the chairs opposite her desk. “After all, we’re already acquainted, Dr. Carson. You might have corrected my use of Ms., you know.”

“It didn’t seem important at the time,” she said. “I’ll need a minute to look over this new-client form you’ve filled out.”

“That’s fine,” Bram said.

There she is, Bram thought, looking intently at Glory. Man, he was glad to see her. He’d been really rattled when he discovered he’d lost track of her. But now he’d found her again, and she was even lovelier than the image he’d been carrying in his mind.

She was dressed very much as she’d been on the airplane. Ultrabusiness—cream-colored slacks, a pale blue blouse and a navy blue blazer.

What would Glory look like in jeans and a T-shirt?

And, oh, man, what would Glory look like with her hair falling free?

“You didn’t answer any of the questions on the form, Bram,” Glory said, “beyond name, address, telephone number and age. There’s a whole section here on how long you’ve been married and so forth.”

Bram propped one ankle on his opposite knee.

“I told you on the plane that I wasn’t married,” he said, no readable expression on his face.

Glory slipped the paper into Bram’s file, then folded her hands on top.

“Yes, so you said. But I thought since you’d made an appointment to consult with a marriage counselor that perhaps you actually were married.”

“No.”

Hooray! Glory thought. No, forget it. Glory, just stop it. Get it together. Professional conduct at all times, remember?

“I’m planning on getting married,” Bram said.

“Oh, I see,” Glory said. “Well, that’s nice.” No, that was terrible, just awful, really depressing, and... Oh, Glory, please stop. “Congratulations.” She cleared her throat. “When’s the big day?”

Bram shrugged. “I have no idea. Soon, I hope.”

“So! What brings you here?”

You, Bram thought. But Glory had been more relaxed, more open, on the plane. In her professional setting, she was stiff as a board, her smiled forced and phony.

If he marched around the desk, hauled her into his arms and kissed her senseless, would she loosen up? No. she’d probably deck him.

Easy does it, Bishop, he told himself. Take it slow and easy.

“Well, here’s my theory,” Bram thought. “If a person consults a marriage counselor before he gets married, he stands a better chance of not gumming up the works after he’s married. Get it?”

Glory frowned slightly. “Well, I... Well, the idea has merit, I suppose. I’ve never done any prenuptial counseling, but... Don’t you think your fiancée should take part with you in these proposed sessions?”

A slow smile broke across Bram’s face, widening into a grin.

“I don’t have a fiancée,” he said.

“I beg your pardon?”

“I want to get married. I fully intend to get married,” he said, his smile fading. “I just haven’t been able to find the right woman yet. In the meantime, I’m going to prepare myself to get married, sort of like boot camp. You know what I mean?