understanding you yet either. But everything I’ve seen so far, I like.” Unable to resist for another second, he tipped his head and brushed his mouth against hers.
The soft give of her lips and that sweet moan of hers had him reaching for her. She didn’t lean in, but she wasn’t pulling away either. So he moved slowly, carefully. And savored the feel of her.
He slid his hands behind her, along her waist, the silkiness of her dress teasing his hand with thoughts of how silky her bare skin felt. He tasted her, drawing her closer and just enjoying the moment. Things couldn’t go any further, not with the babysitter due to knock on the door at any second.
So he enjoyed just kissing Megan, learning more about the way the two of them fit together. Her arms slid around his neck and she pressed those sweet curves against him as her fingers toyed with his hairline. Such a small gesture, but each brush of her fingertips sent his pulse throbbing harder through his veins.
He backed her against the door and she stroked her foot up the back of his calf. A growl rumbled in the back of his throat, echoing the roar in his body to have this woman, to take her even though his every instinct shouted he would lose her if he moved too fast.
The doorbell rang, jarring him back to his senses.
For now.
* * *
A date.
She was on a no-kidding, grown-up date.
Megan couldn’t even bring herself to feel guilty. Her child was asleep and well cared for and she was enjoying an adult evening out with a sexy, fascinating man.
The valet drove away to park the Porsche as she and Whit climbed the steps of the restored mansion-turned-restaurant. She had heard about the French cuisine at Pierre’s, but never had the spare cash or free time to try it for herself. Her heels clicked on her way up the stairs and she couldn’t miss the way Whit’s eyes lingered on her legs.
A rush of pleasure tingled through her.
Sure, she loved being a mom and enjoyed her job, but it was nice to slip into a dress that wasn’t covered with ketchup or cat hair. She tucked her hand into the crook of Whit’s arm as they stepped over the threshold into the warm, candlelit restaurant. Her fingers moved against the fine weave of his suit jacket.
A string quartet played classical carols in the foyer, elegant strains swelling up into the cathedral ceiling. She was so preoccupied with taking it all in she almost ran smack dab into an older couple. She started to apologize, then realized—damn it—they weren’t the only Royal residents who’d ventured outside the city limits.
She forced herself to relax and smile at Tyrone and Vera Taylor. “Good evening. Imagine running into you two here.”
She’d hoped to keep her relationship with Whit out of the public eye a while longer, but she should have known that would be next to impossible, in most any local restaurant given their wide circle of friends.
“Whit?” Tyrone said. “What are you—? Oh, well, hello, Ms. Maguire.”
“Good evening, sir,” Whit answered the silver-haired man. Tyrone had a reputation for riding roughshod over people, but Whit met him face on without a wince.
Megan considered asking them about their newborn grandbaby in the NICU, about their daughter Skye still in a coma, but rumor had it Vera wasn’t enthused about being a grandmother. The possibility of that poor little baby being unwanted hurt Megan’s already vulnerable heart. So she simply said, “You and your family are in my thoughts.”
“Thank you,” Vera answered tightly before turning to her husband. “Tyrone?”
The blustery man clapped Whit on the shoulder. “We’ll let you get to your meal. I’ll see you at the town hall cleanup...and of course at Craig Richardson’s memorial service.”
“Yes, sir.” Whit nodded curtly.
Megan wondered if the others noticed the tension in Whit’s shoulders at the mention of his dead friend. She tucked her hand into the crook of his arm again and squeezed a light
The soft give of her lips and that sweet moan of hers had him reaching for her. She didn’t lean in, but she wasn’t pulling away either. So he moved slowly, carefully. And savored the feel of her.
He slid his hands behind her, along her waist, the silkiness of her dress teasing his hand with thoughts of how silky her bare skin felt. He tasted her, drawing her closer and just enjoying the moment. Things couldn’t go any further, not with the babysitter due to knock on the door at any second.
So he enjoyed just kissing Megan, learning more about the way the two of them fit together. Her arms slid around his neck and she pressed those sweet curves against him as her fingers toyed with his hairline. Such a small gesture, but each brush of her fingertips sent his pulse throbbing harder through his veins.
He backed her against the door and she stroked her foot up the back of his calf. A growl rumbled in the back of his throat, echoing the roar in his body to have this woman, to take her even though his every instinct shouted he would lose her if he moved too fast.
The doorbell rang, jarring him back to his senses.
For now.
* * *
A date.
She was on a no-kidding, grown-up date.
Megan couldn’t even bring herself to feel guilty. Her child was asleep and well cared for and she was enjoying an adult evening out with a sexy, fascinating man.
The valet drove away to park the Porsche as she and Whit climbed the steps of the restored mansion-turned-restaurant. She had heard about the French cuisine at Pierre’s, but never had the spare cash or free time to try it for herself. Her heels clicked on her way up the stairs and she couldn’t miss the way Whit’s eyes lingered on her legs.
A rush of pleasure tingled through her.
Sure, she loved being a mom and enjoyed her job, but it was nice to slip into a dress that wasn’t covered with ketchup or cat hair. She tucked her hand into the crook of Whit’s arm as they stepped over the threshold into the warm, candlelit restaurant. Her fingers moved against the fine weave of his suit jacket.
A string quartet played classical carols in the foyer, elegant strains swelling up into the cathedral ceiling. She was so preoccupied with taking it all in she almost ran smack dab into an older couple. She started to apologize, then realized—damn it—they weren’t the only Royal residents who’d ventured outside the city limits.
She forced herself to relax and smile at Tyrone and Vera Taylor. “Good evening. Imagine running into you two here.”
She’d hoped to keep her relationship with Whit out of the public eye a while longer, but she should have known that would be next to impossible, in most any local restaurant given their wide circle of friends.
“Whit?” Tyrone said. “What are you—? Oh, well, hello, Ms. Maguire.”
“Good evening, sir,” Whit answered the silver-haired man. Tyrone had a reputation for riding roughshod over people, but Whit met him face on without a wince.
Megan considered asking them about their newborn grandbaby in the NICU, about their daughter Skye still in a coma, but rumor had it Vera wasn’t enthused about being a grandmother. The possibility of that poor little baby being unwanted hurt Megan’s already vulnerable heart. So she simply said, “You and your family are in my thoughts.”
“Thank you,” Vera answered tightly before turning to her husband. “Tyrone?”
The blustery man clapped Whit on the shoulder. “We’ll let you get to your meal. I’ll see you at the town hall cleanup...and of course at Craig Richardson’s memorial service.”
“Yes, sir.” Whit nodded curtly.
Megan wondered if the others noticed the tension in Whit’s shoulders at the mention of his dead friend. She tucked her hand into the crook of his arm again and squeezed a light
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