news she’d had in a long, long time.
The briefest of hesitations.
Maybe the rich doc wasn’t used to spending his time in an artsy bungalow downtown. With her folk music still blaring inside and her watercolors taped in all the windows, her work space was definitely on the eclectic side. Or maybe he just didn’t like art period. Today, she was too relieved to care.
“Sure.” Another clipped nod as his expensive leather loafers climbed the wooden steps. “Thank you.”
Abigail backed into her studio and turned down the volume on her music, eyeing him as he moved deeper into her space. She’d never had a man here in the two years since she’d relocated to Royal from Austin. He had a way of filling up the room, even though her studio was airy and open. Vaughn’s presence, while quiet, loomed large.
He took it all in, his gaze missing nothing as he followed her to the drawing table, where sketches lined the walls around it. She gestured to one of the chairs there, an armless seat she’d made herself of reclaimed wood.
“Have a seat. Can I get you some water? Sweet tea?” she asked as she headed into the kitchenette in the back corner of the studio. She would have gladly cracked open champagne if she wasn’t five months pregnant. Not that she kept champagne on hand. But this new commission changed everything for her.
And even though she hadn’t appreciated the doctor’s contentious approach at the time, he was here, offering her the job that would keep her afloat—financially, creatively and maybe emotionally, too—at the most critical juncture of her life. She couldn’t help but feel a softening in her attitude toward him.
“No. Thank you.” He sat forward in the seat, all business. Withdrawing the folder from under his arm, he laid it on the table. “I brought the contract for you to sign, along with the initial payment.”
He slid the papers out of the folder, carefully positioning them between her morning watercolor of a nuthatch on a tree branch, and an afternoon charcoal sketch of...him?
Oh. No. Horrified she hadn’t tossed the paper in the basket, she rushed back toward the table, hoping to move it before he noticed.
Had he already noticed?
“I. Um. That is—” She was by his side in a split second. Standing too close to him. Hovering over him. Sounding completely inarticulate.
“It’s all very straightforward.” He glanced up at her. Frowned. “Is anything wrong?”
She couldn’t tell from his expression if he’d noticed the half-drawn image of himself. Leaning forward, she slid her scattered papers together in a hurry, knocking the check on the floor and bumping his thigh with her knee. Awareness of him made her senses swim.
She’d been careful to leave her artist’s smock over her dress, so she didn’t think he’d noticed her baby bump. Not many people in Royal knew about it, after all, and she guessed the flash of male interest she’d seen in his eyes would disappear once he learned of her impending motherhood. Was it so wrong to want to savor that attraction just a little longer?
“Ah. No.” She shook her head, imagining she appeared about as innocent as a toddler with a hand in the cookie jar. “Just sorry about the mess.”
Her cheeks burned. All of her was feeling rather warm, actually, and it wasn’t just because of the awkward embarrassment. Her skin tingled beneath the hem of her skirt where she’d brushed up against his leg.
Backing up a step, she tried to act casual even though her heart thudded too fast. He picked up the dropped check and returned it to the table.
“Your studio puts my office to shame.” He studied her with green-gold eyes that tracked her every movement.
“I was straightening up when you arrived.” She hurried over to her desk and shoved the papers in the top drawer before returning to the table. Taking the seat beside him, she tried to collect herself.
Hit the mental reset button.
To cool down and get her thoughts back on track, she turned the contract toward her and started reading.
* * *
The meeting with Abigail Stewart had gone from interesting to downright fascinating. The tension between them had shifted since the stressful morning meeting. He credited that to several things. Being further removed from the surgery that had threatened to give him flashbacks definitely helped him to relax more around her. Add to that the fact that Abigail was obviously thrilled she’d won the art gig, which put her in a happy frame of mind.
Best of all, he’d spied a half-finished sketch on her table of a man who bore a striking resemblance to him.
He would have written it off as a coincidence since he couldn’t be certain, of course. But then he’d seen the way her eyes locked on the drawing and her rush to remove it. There’d been a flare of unmistakable embarrassment. Awareness. Hell, the electricity between them had spiked to a shocking degree in those moments when she’d been close to him. The attraction had been a revelation considering how resolutely—and easily—he’d ignored dating since his deployment.
The heat Abigail stirred wasn’t going to be ignored.
Vaughn watched her read over the contract he’d brought, and lingered on her lovely features as she pursed her lips or tilted her head. For a moment, she traced a line of text with her finger, as if to slow her pace or concentrate. Dark curls pooled on the table beside the paper, the silky waves calling to his fingers to touch them. Test how they would feel against his skin.
She’d changed since he’d seen her at the hospital earlier. She wore an artist’s smock over a loose summer dress. The pale green cotton printed with daisies peeked out of the smock at the hem, the kind of simple summer staple that was probably comfortable for working. Yet on Abigail, the outfit was as seductive as anything he’d ever seen a woman wear. The low-cut neckline visible above the square-necked apron revealed ample curves, and a gold medallion knocked against the table as she bent to read the papers he’d given her. Beneath the table, she crossed her long legs, and her sandaled foot brushed his calf for an instant as she moved, sending his imagination into overdrive...
And damn. He shouldn’t allow his thoughts to roam in that direction until he knew more about her. What if she was married? Had a significant other? He didn’t see another car in her driveway, and her ring finger was bare, but that didn’t necessarily mean she was available.
Surely the drawing she’d made of him meant something, though.
“There.” Abigail signed her name with a flourish. “All set.” She pushed the paperwork toward him, straightening in her seat. “Would you like me to show you around the studio before you go?”
He couldn’t decide if that was a genuine invitation or a politely worded hint for him to be on his way. He used to be better at reading social nuances. These days, just keeping his own emotions in check took focus. And although he was anxious to get home and decompress from this day, he had to admit he enjoyed this time with Abigail.
“I’d like that.” Leaving her advance payment on the table along with the security badge and a few other documents, he slid the signed agreement into his folder. He’d give it to Belinda tomorrow to make copies. “It’s not at all what I expected,” he told her honestly, hoping to learn more about Abigail if
