crossed her arms, drawing attention to her softly rounded breasts. She was wearing a pale pink cashmere turtleneck. The color should have washed her out, but instead, she glowed like a winter rose.
Their hushed standoff lasted mere seconds, though it felt like forever. Amanda came to clear the table, seemingly oblivious to the undercurrents that swirled about them.
When they were alone again, Aria gave him a wicked, mocking smile. “Prove it,” she said.
He felt befuddled, perhaps by the fact that all the blood in his body had rushed south. “Prove what?”
“That you’re not afraid.”
There was no avoiding her challenge. Had he ever known her at all, or had she changed? This was a sexual gauntlet, thrown down by the woman he had thought was passive...perhaps even repressed.
Her sharp-eyed gaze said otherwise. Beneath the fuzzy fabric of her sweater, her nipples budded tightly, signaling her response to their verbal foreplay. His forehead beaded with sweat. “Well, I—”
“I have champagne at my house,” she said quietly. “It was supposed to be for my parents’ anniversary, but they took off on a cruise, and we never had a party for them. The bottle has been collecting dust. I’d like to pop the cork in your honor tonight. What do you say?”
What he was supposed to say was no. Nothing had changed. He and Aria were longtime friends. Sex was not on the table.
Could he go to her house, drink a single glass of champagne to celebrate his big day and then go home?
Doubtful. But he was going to do it, anyway. Because he couldn’t resist her smile. Or the naughty twinkle in her eyes. Or the way she smelled—like vanilla and something darker, more sensual.
“Sure,” he croaked. “I guess I’ve got time for one glass. Are you still at the same address?”
“Still there,” she said. She slipped her arms into her coat and signed the credit-card slip Amanda had unobtrusively placed on the table.
Ethan frowned. “I should have bought your dinner,” he said. “I wasn’t paying attention.” The truth was, he’d been so focused on Aria that he never even noticed her taking her credit card out of her purse.
“Don’t be silly. This isn’t a date.” She slid out of the booth and stood, fluffing her hair out over the collar of her winter jacket. In addition to the sweater, she was wearing jeans and black leather, knee-high boots with three-inch heels that boosted her modest height. “I’ll meet you at my place.” And then she was gone, whisked out the door on another blast of cold air.
Ethan stood as well, feeling as if he’d been hit over the head with a board. What just happened?
He made his way to the counter. “Hey, Amanda. You never brought me my check.”
The attractive diner owner grinned. “Aria bought your dinner.”
He gaped. “How? Why?”
“She scribbled a note on her check. Said she wanted to celebrate your big coup. I heard about the new project. Congratulations.”
“Word travels fast,” he muttered.
“Well, it does in Royal, that’s for sure.”
Ethan left the diner in a daze. Something pulled at him, some inexorable force. Call it destiny or curiosity or plain male lust. Whatever it was, he couldn’t ignore its appeal.
He was headed for Aria Jensen’s house, and the two of them were going to drink champagne.
The drive was short. Less than fifteen minutes. When he pulled up in front of the bungalow-style home, there was a parking space at the curb. This section of Royal dated back to the 1930s. Many of the houses had been renovated and restored to their original glory.
Aria’s was brick with white trim and a wraparound porch. He spotted two rocking chairs and half a dozen empty planters that would be splashed with color in a few months.
It was the kind of house that would be perfect for a family with a dog or a cat and two-point-five precocious toddlers. It wasn’t even a stretch for Ethan to imagine Aria cooking something delightful in a cozy kitchen or reading bedtime stories to a son or a daughter with sun-bleached curls.
His stomach clenched.
He should turn around and get back in his car. Right now.
Every reason he had stayed away from Aria in the past still existed. He wanted her. He always had. But he’d be bad for her.
When they were children at school, he had kept the bullies at bay and let her be the irrepressible tomboy she wanted to be. He’d protected her and cared for her and made sure she was always safe and happy.
But when they became teenagers and then adults, he discovered the painful truth about his father’s many liaisons. His mother hadn’t spilled her guts. But Ethan had found her crying one day and had done his own detective work. The truth had curdled his stomach.
After that, whenever he had been tempted to have his way with the luscious Aria, he had stayed away. For her own good...
Aria kicked off her boots and put on a pair of warm bunny slippers. She told herself she wasn’t going to primp for Ethan Barringer. Even so, she tidied her windblown hair, spritzed the tiniest bit of perfume between her breasts and brushed her teeth.
She didn’t have long.
Just as she scuttled back downstairs, her doorbell rang. Placing a hand on her jumpy stomach, she took a deep breath. Nothing was going to happen. Ethan was a longtime friend. A sexy, gorgeous, unavailable friend.
When she let him in, he smelled like the outdoors. Crisp and fresh and manly. She took his coat, hung it on a wooden peg nearby and waved him toward her comfy living room. “Make yourself at home,” she said. “I’ll grab the champagne and the glasses.”
She was gone less than five minutes. When she returned, Ethan had his eyes closed, his head leaned back against the sofa and his sock-clad feet propped on her wormy chestnut coffee table. She’d bought the solid piece of furniture at an antiques fair in Austin. It was casual and chic, and to be honest, it cried out for a man’s big feet.
The silly thought made her smile inwardly.
“Here we go,” she said.
Ethan looked amazing, though exhausted. He didn’t even hear her three softly spoken words, poor man. His shoulders strained the seams of a navy-and-green tattersall shirt. Dark khakis molded to powerful, masculine thighs. His navy linen sport coat was unbuttoned.
As she watched, his flat abdomen rose and fell with the rhythm of his breathing. His short dark hair had been cut recently. A day’s growth of beard shadowed his masculine jaw.
Perhaps she should be insulted that a man—on the cusp of spending an evening with her—had fallen asleep so rapidly. In truth, though, his comfort in her home
