![]() One who worked every day, far too hard, to regain his balance, or so she’d been told. ![]() She instantly remembered, he’d become a man who’d nearly lost it all. The way they examined her now, made her question why she’d dared to come here today. ![]() Those once sparkling, take-on-the-world eyes Mary remembered as pale brown, coffee and cream, to be exact, seemed darker, more intense than ever. For a man who’d always been proud to a fault and strutted around, letting the world know it, his posture hadn’t om the waist up, anyway. His nearly black hair was longer than she’d ever seen it, and she had to admit it looked sexy all damp in disarray. When he’d first opened the door, she’d had to adjust her gaze downward to accommodate his being in the wheelchair. How could I forget a pest like you? Looking surprised, he used the hand towel from his lap to wipe his neck, as he gave her a lazy smile. Remember me? Yeah, he’d definitely been working out. From the looks of the bulging veins on his deltoids and biceps she must have interrupted his gym time. The pride Mary Harris had always admired in him was still in fine form, and so was that glint in his gaze. On second glance he looked more like hell on wheels with that driven dark stare. Plus, it was wet, and he was obviously sweaty. A worn and dingy old white undershirt, with holes, that would be better suited for dusting furniture than wearing. WESLEY VAN ALLEN looked like hell in a shirt. ![]()
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