Since the stranger refused to stop studying her, Greer responded in kind. People-watching was one of her favorite pastimes anyway.
As handsome went, he wasn’t particularly. His hair was sort of cinnamon-brown, crisply curling and healthy-looking. The sun had baked his skin to a warm gold. A small mustache trailed the shape of his smooth upper lip; he had a square chin and clean, strong features. Nice-looking but not outstanding. His eyes, though, were wonderfully unusual, an absolutely brilliant blue, keen and intelligent, full of life.
He didn’t give all that much away with his facial expressions, but his body language said a great deal. His blue work shirt fit snugly over a broad chest, and his jeans hugged the long, smooth muscles of his thighs. His shirt was open at the throat, and a worn leather belt settled on his lean hips. The message wasn’t rough-and-tough machismo, but a certain bold sexuality came with the man.
Again, Greer guessed that he was single. No self-respecting wife would have let him loose with that tiny hole in his worn jeans-not that high on the thigh. Assuming from his northern accent that he was new in town, Greer doubted that he’d have any problem finding female companionship in North Carolina. Even his lazy smile carried a teasing hint of sexuality.
Fine by her. On one level, certain wary instincts automatically kicked into operation when she was near a certain kind of man. On another level, Greer had erected well-entrenched defenses against her own susceptibility. Other women would see the sexuality of the lean and hungry figure. Greer’s only concern was that he looked slightly underfed. She swallowed a bite of lasagna. “What do you do?” she asked curiously.