A Dream of His Own. Gail Martin Gaymer

gaze drifted over the saddle-brown leather sofa and the straight lines of the furniture. No photographs or artwork hung on the walls, nothing personal to give her a clue about his taste. She lowered her eyes when Quinn’s muted footsteps hit the carpet.

       He headed toward her, carrying two glasses of water and set one on the table beside her. “Just in case.”