Wishing Lake by Regina Hart

luncheon.
    “Why not?” Desperation sharpened Peyton’s tone.
    “Today’s November third. Thanksgiving is another three weeks away. Irene’s already confirmed the trip with her travel agent.”
    Peyton spun back to her desk. The muscles in her shoulders knotted. “Has she confirmed the dates and the number of tickets?”
    “Yes.” Bruce’s keyboard clacked in the background. “Everything’s set. All you have to do is show up.”
    Peyton swallowed a scream of frustration. “Bruce—”
    “I’ve got to go, Peyton. When you get home, we’ll set the wedding date.”
    Peyton listened to the dial tone in disbelief. Despite her objections, her mother and fiancé had booked her on a Christmas cruise to Aruba. They’d disregarded her wishes. Again.
    And Bruce wanted to set a wedding date. Won’t he be surprised when she returns his engagement ring instead?
     
    “Thanks for agreeing to be interviewed.” Darius’s warm baritone strummed the muscles in Peyton’s lower abdomen as the reporter followed her farther into her university office Monday afternoon.
    “As long as the article’s not about me, I’m glad to give the Monitor an interview.” She was impressed by his manners as he waited for her to take her seat before folding his long, lean body into one of her two gray visitor’s chairs.
    “You still don’t trust me.”
    Peyton tensed at his accusation. “I’m just verifying that the article you’re interviewing me for is about Dr. Hartford’s retirement.”
    “That’s what I told you on the phone when we scheduled this interview.” Darius propped his right ankle on his left knee. He spread open his reporter’s notebook on his well-muscled right thigh. “What makes you think that’s changed?”
    Peyton considered opening the window behind her desk just a bit. Her office had become very warm.
    She lifted her gaze to meet the challenge in Darius’s eyes. His evasive answer didn’t put her at ease. “So it’s still your intent to write a tribute article on Dr. Hartford?”
    “Very impressive.” A taunting smile spread Darius’s well-formed lips. “Instead of giving in to the impulse to punch me in the nose, you formulated that very proper and professional question. Did you develop your patience from teaching or did you go into teaching because you have patience?”
    Peyton took her time studying the reporter’s impossibly good-looking face: his classic sepia features; broad forehead; almond-shaped, midnight eyes; long nose; high cheekbones; full, well-shaped lips; and stubborn, squared chin. He was the most attractive man she’d ever met, and at this moment, she wanted to strike him.
    “You’re right.” Peyton clung to the patience that so impressed the reporter. “I do want to punch you in the nose.”
    Darius threw back his handsome head and laughed. The sound—deep, full, and free—was infectious. Peyton struggled against her own smile.
    His laughter quieted to a grin. Even his teeth were perfect. “What do I have to do to get you to trust me?”
    “You can start by giving me a straight answer to my question.”
    “All right.” Darius sat up on his chair and became very serious. “Dr. Harris, I’d like to interview you today for the article I’m writing on Dr. Hartford’s retirement.”
    “Now, was that so hard?” Peyton folded her hands on her desk and leaned forward.
    “No, it wasn’t.” Darius’s penetrating stare caught and held Peyton’s eyes.
    She grew warm and flustered beneath his fixed regard. Her pulse beat too fast. She struggled with her breathing. Her thighs quivered. Peyton dropped her gaze. She never felt this way when Bruce looked at her. But everything about Darius—his looks, his voice, his scent—made her want to throw caution—as well as her underwear—to the wind.
    Good heavens, why was she thinking about flinging her underwear at a virtual stranger? A blush scalded Peyton’s cheeks. Her fiancé considered her cold. But if Darius could make