Hooked

She melted. There wasn’t a man on the planet more masculine and appealing.
    He looked her over, grinned in a you-look-good-enough-to-eat way, and took her by the hand. All thoughts of “the talk” were relegated to later . Being with him and laughing at his wry take on the world was the kind of pleasure she hadn’t enjoyed in a very long time. Selfish though it might be, she wanted to savor it for a little while.
    Damon’s expansive parking lot was filled with manufacturers’ tents, water features that invited interaction, and displays of bass boats, kayaks and canoes. A set of bleachers and a small stage had been erected at the rear of the lot, and the seats were filled with spectators having a great time watching demonstrations of equipment and techniques spiced by well-worn comedy routines. And last, but far from least, were the food vendors and cooking demonstrations that filled the air with fabulous smells.
    “This is like a mini state fair,” Steph said as Finn led her through the tents and exhibits.
    “Can’t stand doing things halfway.”
    “You do this all over the country?” She looked around at the people taking in the exhibits: men, women, whole families having a great time.
    “Just in six of our biggest markets each year. We always do Atlanta, though. People take days off from work and drive from nearby states to come. So I have to make it worth their while.”
    He spoke as if he was personally responsible for— She stopped dead and dragged him to a halt with her.
    “ You have to?” She considered the implication. “You’re in charge?”
    “Yeah. These things were my idea, so they make me carry them out.” He swept a hand through the air, taking in the activities. “The events do well enough that corporate pretty much leaves me alone the rest of the year.” He narrowed his eyes and leaned closer. “This stuff really eats into my fishing time.”
    She laughed and shook her head. “Never gonna be the devoted corporate worker bee, are you?”
    “Never.” He beamed with rebellious pride. “Come on, I want you to see the fishpond and the casting area.”
    Shortly, she had a rod in her hands and was being tutored in the art of landing a weighted fly in one of several colorful circles painted on the asphalt. It was more complicated than it looked, but Finn explained that the secret was an easy touch. His big right hand closed over hers on the rod, directing her motion. She wasn’t throwing a ball, she was releasing a fly, he said near her ear, sending a ripple of sensual tension through her.
    “Imagine a gentle arc, a rainbow unrolling through the air, carrying the fly toward the target,” he said, drawing her hand back and snapping it forward in smooth, rhythmic motions.
    Smooth…gentle…rolling…releases… It was a finger-tingling litany that she would never have associated with fishing. Until now.
    Every part of her body was humming with awareness of Finn. His chest was pressed against her back and she looked up at his strong, tanned features. How had she been so stupid to walk away from the strength and capability of the man, from the warmth and genuineness of his heart? She had thought she needed a power partner, someone to match her drive and complement her quest for success. But life had taught her that the kind of partnership she needed wasn’t made in boardrooms or on balance sheets after all.
    Next, they spent time at the fishpond Damon’s had created, complete with trees, waterfall and sandy shallows for children to wade in. There was plenty of splashing, and Steph quickly realized where the water on Finn’s shirt had originated.
    The nearby cooking exhibit was thronged by men and women watching a filleting demonstration. The smells coming from the fryer and oven were marvelous. Finn dragged her to the front of the crowd and began to kibitz loudly and offer the chef suggestions.
    “Finn!” she whispered, pulling his arm, trying to get him to stop.
    The chef, a ruddy, outdoorsy-looking fellow with a pronounced Texas accent, paused partway through filleting a fish and fixed Finn with a glare.
    “Well, if you’re such an expert, son, why don’t you just come up and show us how it’s done?” he demanded.
    “I think I’ll just do that.” Before she could stop him, Finn had bolted up onto the stage and seized a bowl and spatula. In short order, he and the chef were trading barbs and sending guffaws through the crowd. Only after a deft and crazy bit of