than his and made fast work of the buttons holding his shirt together. When she finished, she pushed it back onto his shoulders. The corners of that sexy mouth curved up. There was no mistaking the desire in her dark eyes. No mistaking it at all.
Curiously, it helped stopped him from doing something foolish. He couldn’t do this. They couldn’t do this. Sex would complicate things. No doubt, Elizabeth would read too much into the act, especially given the current role-playing that was going on. Physical need would turn into emotional need. She would expect more than he was able to give. It was best to nip this in the bud before she got hurt, Thomas decided, refusing to consider that the heart he was hoping to protect from harm very well might be his own.
He pulled his shirt back over his shoulders.
“This got a little out of hand, I’m afraid. I only meant to kiss you like I did last night. Sorry.”
Elizabeth stumbled back a couple steps, looking as if she’d been slapped. He regretted that, but it was better this way. For both of them. He needed her to act as if she loved him. Not to actually fall for him.
She reworked the buttons on her blouse, fastening them all the way to the throat. He hadn’t gotten a chance to see what was beneath the fabric, except for a tantalizing glimpse of pink lace. That, along with her wounded expression, would keep him awake tonight.
“We need to get used to doing that,” he managed to say in a matter-of-fact tone. It was a pitiful explanation for his behavior, but she nodded anyway.
He rose and buttoned his own shirt. Instead of tucking the tails into his trousers once again, he left them out as a cover for his arousal. He was nearly to the door when she stopped him with one quietly issued question.
“Do you think we will?”
He turned, studied her. The woman had him stirred up on so many levels. In the span of a couple dates that weren’t really dates at all, she had him sharing things and remembering things and, worst of all, wanting things that he’d long ago decided were off the table when it came to negotiating the terms of his future happiness.
And so it was that, just before he rushed out her door, he said with great feeling, “God, I hope so.”
ELIZABETH woke the following morning with a headache that throbbed long after she’d downed a couple of painkillers with her first cup of coffee.
It didn’t help that Howie and the pesky squirrel started their game of chase as soon as she opened the front door. Already, her neighbor from across the street had come calling. Mrs. Hildabrand had stood on Elizabeth’s porch, decked out in curlers and a worn plaid robe, complaining and threatening to make another nuisance report.
All that before seven o’clock and a second cup of coffee.
Elizabeth was sipping that second cup now while sitting in her quiet kitchen. Howie, suitably chastised, sprawled on the rug in front of the sink. She swore he was pouting. With the mug cupped in both hands, she sat on the chair Thomas had occupied the evening before. His herringbone jacket remained draped over the back of it. Though he’d returned for it, he’d still wound up forgetting it.
But he hadn’t forgotten to kiss her … and then some.
A sloppy mix of emotions churned inside of her at the memory. Curiously, embarrassment over her enthusiastic response wasn’t among them. Perhaps she would be embarrassed the next time she saw him, but right now she was still tingling all over and regretting that he’d stopped.
She tilted her head to one side and, when she caught the scent of his cologne, inhaled deeply. Potent stuff, that. It suited him. Everything about the man packed a punch. Just as every time she thought she had him figured out, he threw her for a loop. He’d come on to her last night like a man who was very much interested in more than a business deal or friendship. Then he’d stopped. He’d apologized!
She was still struggling to make sense of his parting words in response to her foolishly uttered question about whether or not they would ever get used to kissing one another.
God, I hope so!
He’d said it so emphatically, but what exactly did he mean? And why did the possibilities leave her both excited and leery? A glance at the clock reminded her she didn’t have time to figure it out now.
After showering, she stood clad in a towel and rummaged through her closet for something to wear to the office, dismissing one outfit after another until she’d worked her way through her entire wardrobe. Maybe Mel was right about her needing some new clothes. Eyeing the panorama of outfits, it struck Elizabeth that practically every article of clothing in her closet came in one of four colors: black, white, navy or tan. A bland and boring palate that also was abundantly safe. She didn’t need to worry about drawing attention to herself, whether negative or positive, garbed in these things. No one really noticed her, and that had suited Elizabeth just fine after growing up with her “out-there” parents.
She certainly hadn’t learned anything about fashion from her mother, except what to avoid. Delphine sewed her own clothes and accessories from colorful scraps of old fabric. Sometimes she even tried to sell her creations at local craft shows. She didn’t have many takers. The outfits were creative and economical, but hardly stylish. Even so, Delphine loved the attention her homemade clothes attracted—and they attracted plenty.
At first, holey blue jeans were patched in bold hues. Later, her mother recycled them into skirts, shorts and even purses. That wasn’t so bad, but polka-dotted bedsheets or mattress ticking turned up as tunics, bandanas and skirts. The winter Elizabeth turned thirteen her mother had turned green wool blankets from an army surplus store into long, shapeless coats for the entire family. It was impossible not to stand out while wearing pea-green bedding, which was why she’d started buying her own clothes as soon as she was able to squirrel away funds from a regular babysitting gig. That is, what the family didn’t require to keep a roof over their heads.
Pushing wet hair back from her face now, Elizabeth eyed her reflection in the full-length mirror. She’d gone from one extreme to the other, from standing out to blending in, but there was no help for it now. Besides, why should it matter to her? It didn’t matter to Thomas. Indeed, he’d picked her for the role of his make-believe fiancée based on her appearance alone. She looked like a “Beth,” or she had. And she’d been in the right place at the right time.
She would do well to remember that, despite his later claims about no longer judging a book by its cover.
Chin lifted in annoyance with herself as much as defiance, Elizabeth reached back into the closet and chose her oldest, most conservative black suit—the one Mel had dubbed Abbey-wear, because she claimed Elizabeth looked as if she was headed for a nunnery whenever she wore it.
She was slipping into her most comfortable pair of shoes—a low-heeled design in scuffed black—when her cell phone jangled. She glanced at the small screen. Despite her best efforts, her pulse went all wonky upon seeing the caller’s identity.
“Hello, Thomas.”
“Hi. Good morning. I hope I’m not catching you at a bad time.”
“Not at all. I’m just getting ready to leave for the office.” She gave herself a mental high five for managing to sound perfectly nonchalant
