The First Man You Meet

‘‘Great. I’ll see you at noon at Patrick’s,’’ Shelly promised. Meeting her friend for lunch was just the antidote she needed after the terrible day she’d suffered through. But then what did she expect on Friday, April thirteenth?

SHELLY OVERSLEPT, then got caught in a traffic jam on her way to meet Jill the following morning. She detested being late, although she often was. Rather than fight for a convenient parking spot in the vast lot that surrounded the mall, she took the first available space and rushed toward the nearest entrance. Patrick’s, a cozy, charming restaurant on the mall’s upper level, was deservedly popular for business lunches. Shelly had eaten there often and especially enjoyed the spinach-and-shrimp salad.

A glance at her watch told her it was already after twelve, and not wanting to keep Jill waiting, she hurried toward the escalator. The shopping center was especially busy on weekends, she noted, as she weaved her way around several people.

Her mind must have been on the salad she intended to order for lunch instead of the escalator because the moment she placed her foot on the first tread, she lost her balance.

‘‘Oh…oh!’’ Swinging her arms out at both sides in a futile effort to remain upright, she groped at thin air. She tried frantically to catch herself as she fell backward.

Landing in someone’s arms shocked her as much as having lost her balance. Incredulous, she twisted around to thank her rescuer but this proved to be a mistake. Her action caught the man off guard, and before he could prevent it, they both went crashing to the floor. Once again Shelly expected to experience pain. Instead, her waist was surrounded by arms that were surprisingly strong. His grip was firm but gentle, protective. As they fell, he maneuvered himself to take the brunt of the impact when they landed. Sprawled as she was above him, Shelly found herself staring down at the most attractive man she’d ever seen. Her heart thrummed. Her breath caught. Her body froze.

For a moment neither of them spoke. A crowd had gathered around them before Shelly managed to speak. When she did, her voice was weak and breathless. ‘‘Are you all right? I’m so sorry…’’

‘‘I’m fine. What about you?’’

‘‘Fine. I think.’’

She lay cushioned by his solid chest, their faces scant inches apart. Shelly’s long hair fell forward, framing his face. He smelled of mint and some clean-scented soap. Her gaze wandered curiously over his features; at such close range she could see the tiny lines that fanned out from the edges of his sapphire-blue eyes as well as deep grooves that bracketed his mouth. His nose was classically straight, his mouth full and sensuous. At least his lower lip was. It didn’t take her long to recognize that this man was uncompromisingly male. His eyes held hers reluctantly, as if he, too, was caught in the same powerful trance.

Neither of them moved, and although Shelly was convinced the breathless sensation she felt was a result of the fall, she couldn’t seem to breathe properly even now.

‘‘Miss, are you hurt?’’

Reluctantly Shelly glanced up to find a security guard standing over her.

‘‘Um…I don’t think so.’’

‘‘Sir?’’

‘‘I’m fine.’’

The arms that were holding hers securely loosened.

‘‘If we could have you both sit over here for a moment,’’ the guard instructed, pointing at a bench. ‘‘We have an ambulance on the way.’’

‘‘An ambulance? But I told you I’m not hurt,’’ she objected.

The guard gently helped Shelly to her feet. Her legs were shaky and her breathing a bit uncertain, but otherwise she was unhurt.

‘‘Officer, there’s really no need—’’ the man who’d fallen with her protested.

‘‘Mall policy,’’ the guard interrupted. He hooked his thumbs into the wide leather belt and rocked gently back on his feet. ‘‘It’s standard procedure to have all accident victims checked immediately.’’

‘‘If you’re worried about a lawsuit—’’

‘‘I don’t make the rules,’’ the guard interrupted her rescuer once again. ‘‘I just see that they’re carried out. Now, if you’d both sit over here, the medical team will be here in a couple of minutes.’’

‘‘I don’t have time to wait,’’ Shelly cried. ‘‘I’m meeting someone.’’ She glanced longingly at the upper level, wondering how she could get word of her delay to Jill. It didn’t reassure her to notice the number of people clustered by the railing, staring down at her. Her little escapade had attracted quite a bit of attention.

‘‘I’ve got an appointment, as well,’’ the man said, looking pointedly at his watch.

The security guard ignored their protests. He removed a small notebook from his shirt pocket and flipped it open. ‘‘Your names, please.’’

‘‘Shelly Hansen.’’

‘‘Mark Brady.’’

He wrote down the information and a brief account of how they happened to fall.

‘‘I won’t have to go to the hospital, will I?’’ Shelly demanded.

‘‘That depends,’’ the guard answered.

This whole thing was ridiculous. She was perfectly fine. A little shaken, true, but uninjured. She suddenly realized that she hadn’t thanked this man—Mark, was it?

‘‘I’m terribly sorry about all this,’’ she offered. ‘‘I can’t thank you enough for catching me.’’

‘‘In the future, you might be more careful.’’ Mark glanced at his watch a second time.

‘‘I will be. But if it ever happens again, might I suggest you just let me fall?’’ This delay was inconvenient for her, too, but that wasn’t any reason to be quick-tempered. She studied her rescuer and shook her head slightly, wondering why she’d been so impressed. He looked as if he’d stepped off the Planet Square. Dark blue suit and tie, crisp white shirt with gold cufflinks. This guy was as original as cooked oatmeal. About as personable, too.

If she was giving him the once-over, she discovered he was eyeing her, too. Apparently he was equally unimpressed. Her sweatshirt was a fluorescent orange and her jeans as tight as a second skin. Her ankle-high boots were black, her socks the same shade of orange as the sweatshirt. Her hair cascaded about her shoulders in a layer of dark frothy curls. Mark was frowning in obvious disapproval.

The wide glass doors at the mall entrance opened, and two paramedics hurried inside. Seconds later, when the ambulance arrived, two more medical people entered the building. Shelly was mortified that such a minor accident would result in all this attention.

The first paramedic knelt down in front of her while the second concentrated on Mark. Before she completely understood what was happening, her shoe was off and the man was examining her ankle. Mark, too, was being examined, a stethoscope pressed over his heart. He didn’t seem to appreciate the procedures any more than she did.

It wasn’t until he stood up that she realized how tall he was. Close to six-five, she guessed. A good match for her own five feet ten inches, she thought automatically.

It hit her then. Bull’s-eye. Aunt Milly’s letter had mentioned her standing beside a tall young man. Mark Brady was tall. Very tall. Taller than just about any man she’d ever met.

Aunt Milly’s letter had also said something about Shelly’s blue eyes. She’d ignored it at the time, but her eyes weren’t blue. They were hazel. Mark had blue eyes, though. The kind of vivid blue eyes women generally found striking… Nor could she forget her initial reaction to him. She’d been attracted. Highly attracted. It’d been a long while since a man had interested her this much. Until he stood, anyway. When she got one good look at him, she’d known immediately that they had nothing in common. Mark Brady probably didn’t own a single article of clothing that wasn’t blue, black or tan. Clearly the man had no imagination.

On a sudden thought, she glanced worriedly toward his left hand. No wedding ring. Closing her eyes, she sagged against the back of the bench and groaned.

‘‘Miss?’’ The paramedic was studying her closely.

‘‘Excuse me,’’ she said, straightening. She jerked impatiently on Mark’s suit jacket. He was involved in a conversation with the ambulance attendant who was interviewing him and didn’t turn around.

‘‘Excuse me,’’ she said again, louder this time.

‘‘Yes?’’ Mark turned to face her, his gaze impatient.

Now that she had his attention, she wasn’t sure she should continue. ‘‘This may sound like a silly question, but, uh…are you married?’’

He frowned again. ‘‘No.’’

‘‘Oh, no,’’ Shelly moaned and slumped forward. ‘‘I was afraid of that.’’