Frankie wrinkled her nose at the train of her thoughts, annoyed that she was so obsessed with this man's stunning good looks. Lusting after this man was the last thing she needed and was not what she was here for. That path was just a distraction.
"What's that look for?"
Frankie blinked as John's deep voice cut through her convoluted thoughts. Her eyes snapped to his. "I beg your pardon?" She almost cringed at the smoky sound of her voice.
Get it together, Frankie!
He pointed a finger at her, making a circle motion in the air. "Your face just squinched up. What was that for?"
"Oh. Uh…" She licked her lips, wondering if she should just barrel into the truth or make up a story. She opted for truth. "I was just thinking that you're not what I expected."
His eyes narrowed as he watched her over his whiskey glass, then he took a slow sip, his gaze never leaving hers. "What did you expect?" he asked after a long pause.
Her mouth twisted to the side. "Well, considering there's only a handful of sentences about you on the internet and absolutely no photos, I assumed you'd be an old grump with a hunchback suffering from a nasty case of gout, and maybe even a hairy wart or two on your nose. You know—the type of person who typically shies away from the camera."
John's laughter boomed throughout the room. "That sounds attractive."
"Yes, well." Frankie lifted a delicate shoulder. "Most of the information I gathered was from word of mouth, and those people had never met you in person. They had only spoken to you on the phone. But none of that matters. It’s the mission that is most important to me. The fact that you're probably the most incredibly handsome man I've ever met is irrelevant."
She gasped and covered her mouth when she realized she'd said that last part out loud. She squeezed her eyes shut when his gaze lit with unmistakable mirth and his deep chuckle echoed through the room. "Please tell me I didn't say that out loud."
"Oh, you definitely did." He paused for a moment. "But…"
Frankie peered at him through one squinted eye. "But?" she encouraged after his silence lingered.
"But I'd be lying if I said you weren't the most beautiful woman I've ever laid eyes on."
Frankie nearly choked at his admission. That path was dangerous.
"And I'd also be lying,” he continued, “if I said that I haven't daydreamed every moment of the last two hours of taking you into that bedroom and finding out just how many different ways I could make you scream."
Frankie's mouth dropped open while heat bloomed deep in her belly. No man had ever talked to her like that, and while she knew she should be offended, she absolutely loved it. Maybe she was a little more like Sharon than she’d care to admit.
She held his gaze, locking on the smoldering desire clear in his deep blue stare, flustered and uncertain what to say to that. "Well, then." It wasn't often when someone rendered her speechless.
He threw her a brash grin. "Yes, well then."
The cheeky American. Sharon would absolutely adore him.
She cleared her throat and with a monumental effort, changed the subject. "I brought something with me from London that might interest you."
His skeptical grunt was her only answer, but his gaze never left hers.
"We have more in common than you may realize,” she remarked. “A passion for the environment is in your blood, your DNA, handed down to you from your forefathers. That same passion is also in my blood.
“In the summer of 1950, my grandmother traveled to America before she was to be wed. She visited many areas around this country, but it was in Wisconsin where she found her passion for restoring forests damaged during the war."
His eyebrows jumped, but he remained quiet as he sipped his whiskey. In that small movement, she knew she had his attention.
Frankie held up the journal and waved it in the air. "She recorded her travels in here and wrote about arriving in a small town in northern Wisconsin where she ran into a man while on a hike. In fact, the majority of this journal is about her time here."
A muscle in John's cheek moved, but still he said nothing, still pinning her with that heated gaze. In fact, if it weren't for that telltale twitch, she'd have thought he didn't care.
"The man's name was Ben Robbins, and he claimed to be the conservator of these forests. That summer, this man, who I believe was your grandfather, taught her everything he knew about the environment and inspired her work in the field."
Frankie watched, fascinated, as John's face transformed, his eyes widening and mouth going slack. She held her breath as he slowly sat upright, his spine rigid. "Are you telling me your grandmother was Meredith Blake?"
It was Frankie's turn to be dumbfounded. How in the world could this man whom she had never met before, who hadn't known she even existed only hours earlier, know her grandmother's name? Meredith Blake was a celebrity in certain scientific circles, but mostly in the UK environmental groups. In America, she would just be another British activist.
