never said I wanted to keep anything quiet—”
“Hello, there.” The saleswoman who had been watching Mary for the past thirty minutes in annoyance joined them, completely smiley-faced and enthusiastic at the sight of Ethan. “Daddy’s here.”
Ethan looked pleased with the comment and nodded. “He is.”
“Would you and your wife like some lemonade before you get started?”
Mary snorted derisively and said, “I’m not his—”
“Yes, we would,” Ethan said, cutting her off before following the saleswoman to a small refreshment area.
For the next twenty minutes Mary sat beside Ethan and watched as the saleswoman laid blankets and rugs, hats and booties, washtubs and soothing lullaby CDs at Ethan’s feet as though he were the sultan of Bruni.
Feeling close to exploding if she stayed in the shop one more minute, Mary leaned in and whispered to Ethan, “I have to get back to the office,” then grabbed her purse and headed for the door.
He caught up with her, placing his hand on her arm. “We need to talk.”
“About?” she asked, trying to ignore the heat of his fingers searing into her skin.
“The brunch.”
“Call my office and we’ll set something up for tomorrow—”
“No, I’m the client. You can come to my office.” His jaw hardened, letting her know there was no denying his command. “Today, four-thirty.”
As she struggled to maintain her calm exterior, Mary fought the desire that simmered beneath. “Fine. Four-thirty.”
“You look exhausted.”
Not exactly the first thing a woman wants to hear when the man she finds overwhelmingly attractive opens his office door.
“Thanks,” Mary uttered sarcastically.
Ethan grinned, gestured toward the chocolate brown leather couch. “Sit down.”
“I’m fine.”
“We’re not going to discuss the brunch while you stand. This could take a while.”
“How long are you estimating?”
“Why? Do you have a date or something?”
Standing on either side of the coffee table, like two gunslingers, they stared at each other.
“Not the best joke I’ve made this week.”
“No.”
“Come on, have a seat,” Ethan said, dropping onto the plush leather and grinning.
On a weary sigh, she plunked down on the couch. “Okay, I’m sitting, now let’s start with the menu. I think we should go for a southern theme. Olivia has this New Mexican menu—Wait, what are you doing?”
Before Mary could stop him, Ethan had taken off her shoes and placed her feet in his lap. “I’m helping you to relax.”
“Why?”
“Why not?”
“I’ll tell you why not. I’m here for business not for pl—” She came to screeching halt, which made Ethan’s eyes glitter even more wickedly.
“If this helps,” he began. “Rubbing your aching feet is business. echnically.”
“I can’t wait to hear this.”
“It’s my job, my duty—my business, if you will. Or so I’ve read.”
She looked surprised. “You’ve been reading books on…”
“Pregnancy? Yep.”
“Seriously?”
He nodded. “Pregnancy, baby care, labor, postpartum, breastfeeding—”
“Okay, that’s enough,” she said, relaxing back into the couch as Ethan’s strong hands worked the tired knots in her arches. “Five minutes max.”
He laughed. “I’ve learned many useful things.”
“Like?” she asked, trying to keep her eyes open and the soft, cozy sound out of her voice.
“Like nausea and strange cravings are very normal in the first trimester.”
“Uh-huh.”
“So are leg cramps and exhaustion.”
“Yep.”
“And an unusually high sex drive.”
Her eyes flew open and she sat up, swung her legs to the floor. It took her a moment to tamp down the tremors of need running through her. She felt the urge so strongly, all she wanted him to do was continue touching her. She wanted his mouth on hers, nudging her lips apart with his tongue…“All right,” she said breathlessly. “Southern food, maybe Southwest or Cajun. What about having an autumn-barn-dance theme for your brunch?”
“A heavy sex drive is nothing to be ashamed of, Mary.”
She tilted her chin up. “I’ve never been ashamed of it.”
What she was saying dawned on him almost immediately, and his eyes lit with mischief, his lips parted sensuously.
“Now, can we get back to this?” she asked coolly.
He wouldn’t allow her to look away. “Nothing happened with Allisonn.”
Her heart skipped and she swallowed nervously. She wanted to tell him that she couldn’t care less about blondie, but he wouldn’t believe her. “This doesn’t sound like brunch discussion.”
“Mary…” he began, his voice the husky baritone she remembered from those nights at the lake.
“Listen, Curtis, what you do in your house, bedroom, pool, etcetera is your business. Let’s just get on with this.”
“Why are you so hard?”
“Bad genes,” she responded succinctly which made him laugh. “Not from my parents. They were angels. But they say attitude skips a generation.”
Shaking his head, he stared at her for a moment, then he stood up and reached for her. “Dance with me?”
“You’ve got to be kidding.”
“We’ll make it business related. Show me what you’re talking about with this barn concept. There’s got to be some dancing involved on my deck, right?”
“Yes, but there’s no music.”
“I
