be getting ready to go out with Whitney when the woman he really wanted was under the same roof.
He’d considered canceling his date. In fact, he’d picked up his phone at least half a dozen times to do just that. But for what purpose? So that he could spend another night at home, in the same room with Harper but not actually with her? Not exactly his idea of a good time.
Whitney offered at least the possibility of a good time. A few hours out of the house in the company of a beautiful, interesting woman he’d met a couple of months earlier on a flight from Raleigh to Philadelphia.
He’d been on his way to a business meeting; she’d been heading to West Chester for her sister’s wedding. They’d had coffee together during the layover in Washington and chatted throughout the rest of the flight. As a single woman six years older than the bride, Whitney had been bracing herself for the false sympathies of her numerous cousins over her unmarried status.
After all, she was—she’d whispered the confession— almost twenty-eight years old and, according to her mother, who had married at nineteen, on the verge of spinsterhood. But she’d assured Ryan that she wasn’t in any hurry to get married or settle down—she was enjoying her life too much to want to change it.
And in the end, that was why he didn’t cancel. He just wanted to spend some time with someone who had no expectations of anything from him. When he arrived to pick her up, he was glad that he hadn’t changed their plans. She’d obviously gone to some effort to get ready for their date and was wearing a strapless red dress that clung to her curves—and she had some very nice curves.
She was undoubtedly an attractive woman, with blunt-cut blond hair and clear green eyes, and if he passed her on the street, he’d probably do a double take. But aside from that initial and basic stirring of male appreciation, he felt nothing. No zing of heat, no sizzle of desire.
Instead he found himself thinking that she was taller than Harper, a little curvier than Harper, more outgoing than Harper, and he grew frustrated with himself for the continuous comparisons. As he drove toward Valentino’s for their eight o’clock reservation, he suspected that he was wasting her time as well as his own. But she was easy to talk to and he was hungry, so he ignored his misgivings and made an effort to enjoy the evening.
She ordered the portobello mushroom ravioli in a creamy sun-dried tomato sauce, he opted for the chicken marsala, and they shared a bottle of sauvignon blanc.
Conversation was casual throughout the meal. She regaled him with stories of her sister’s wedding that had him chuckling along with her. He told her about Oliver and his current living arrangement, wanting to be up front with her because it had turned out to be such an issue with Bethany. Whitney didn’t seem concerned.
As she sipped her wine, she told him about her job as a yoga instructor and how years of training and discipline ensured that her body could bend in ways he probably couldn’t even imagine. The smile that accompanied the claim suggested that she wanted him to imagine, but he really wasn’t tempted by the implicit invitation.
“Is everything okay?” Whitney asked when he failed to respond to her teasing comment. “You seem a little...distracted.”
“Sorry. I was thinking about Oliver.”
She winced. “Am I that boring?”
“Of course not,” he denied. “It’s just that he has specific routines before bed, to help him settle down, and I’m usually the one who gives him his bath. I’m just a little worried that he’ll give Harper a hard time.”
“I’m sure they’re fine.” She reached across the table and brushed her fingertips over his wrist. “But if you want, maybe we could go back to my place and you could tuck me in.”
She was a beautiful, sexy woman and she’d been sending him clear signals all night. He wasn’t oblivious. Unfortunately, he also
He’d considered canceling his date. In fact, he’d picked up his phone at least half a dozen times to do just that. But for what purpose? So that he could spend another night at home, in the same room with Harper but not actually with her? Not exactly his idea of a good time.
Whitney offered at least the possibility of a good time. A few hours out of the house in the company of a beautiful, interesting woman he’d met a couple of months earlier on a flight from Raleigh to Philadelphia.
He’d been on his way to a business meeting; she’d been heading to West Chester for her sister’s wedding. They’d had coffee together during the layover in Washington and chatted throughout the rest of the flight. As a single woman six years older than the bride, Whitney had been bracing herself for the false sympathies of her numerous cousins over her unmarried status.
After all, she was—she’d whispered the confession— almost twenty-eight years old and, according to her mother, who had married at nineteen, on the verge of spinsterhood. But she’d assured Ryan that she wasn’t in any hurry to get married or settle down—she was enjoying her life too much to want to change it.
And in the end, that was why he didn’t cancel. He just wanted to spend some time with someone who had no expectations of anything from him. When he arrived to pick her up, he was glad that he hadn’t changed their plans. She’d obviously gone to some effort to get ready for their date and was wearing a strapless red dress that clung to her curves—and she had some very nice curves.
She was undoubtedly an attractive woman, with blunt-cut blond hair and clear green eyes, and if he passed her on the street, he’d probably do a double take. But aside from that initial and basic stirring of male appreciation, he felt nothing. No zing of heat, no sizzle of desire.
Instead he found himself thinking that she was taller than Harper, a little curvier than Harper, more outgoing than Harper, and he grew frustrated with himself for the continuous comparisons. As he drove toward Valentino’s for their eight o’clock reservation, he suspected that he was wasting her time as well as his own. But she was easy to talk to and he was hungry, so he ignored his misgivings and made an effort to enjoy the evening.
She ordered the portobello mushroom ravioli in a creamy sun-dried tomato sauce, he opted for the chicken marsala, and they shared a bottle of sauvignon blanc.
Conversation was casual throughout the meal. She regaled him with stories of her sister’s wedding that had him chuckling along with her. He told her about Oliver and his current living arrangement, wanting to be up front with her because it had turned out to be such an issue with Bethany. Whitney didn’t seem concerned.
As she sipped her wine, she told him about her job as a yoga instructor and how years of training and discipline ensured that her body could bend in ways he probably couldn’t even imagine. The smile that accompanied the claim suggested that she wanted him to imagine, but he really wasn’t tempted by the implicit invitation.
“Is everything okay?” Whitney asked when he failed to respond to her teasing comment. “You seem a little...distracted.”
“Sorry. I was thinking about Oliver.”
She winced. “Am I that boring?”
“Of course not,” he denied. “It’s just that he has specific routines before bed, to help him settle down, and I’m usually the one who gives him his bath. I’m just a little worried that he’ll give Harper a hard time.”
“I’m sure they’re fine.” She reached across the table and brushed her fingertips over his wrist. “But if you want, maybe we could go back to my place and you could tuck me in.”
She was a beautiful, sexy woman and she’d been sending him clear signals all night. He wasn’t oblivious. Unfortunately, he also
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