put out his arm.
"Let him be," he said. "Almost anything we say right now will upset him."
The TV blared from the first floor.
His voice softened. "Ginny, don't expect too much too soon. He'll come around."
Virginia nodded, hoping her ex-husband was right. He seemed to be able to read the boy better than she could.
She walked to the hall linen closet and withdrew extra bedclothes to take downstairs. Bailey offered a hand and she tossed him a pillow, trying to ignore the reminders of the previous night. She wondered if he, too, was remembering, because he was unusually quiet, as if he were watching her.
And the more he watched her, the more she thought about their kiss, the heat of his skin under her fingers, his raging arousal. She felt a light sheen of perspiration emerge at her hairline and desperately tried to push the thoughts from her mind. But the uneasy feelings persisted as they descended the stairs.
"Bailey," she said carefully, "I appreciate everything you've done today." She conjured up a smile, then continued. "But it's getting late and I think we could all use a good night's sleep."
He stopped in front of the door and winced at the volume coming from the living room. "Good luck," he said, grinning. Then he relented. "Okay, I know when I'm being thrown out."
She laughed, grateful he wasn't pressing the issue. "Why do I get the feeling it hasn't happened to you that often?"
He lowered his armload of bedclothes onto a stool by the stairs. With one arm on the banister, he bent toward her, his eyebrows wagging. "I take that as a compliment."
Sexual energy leapt through her as she felt the intensity of his gaze. She wet her lips, casting for something to throw him equally off balance. The one who appears to care the least. She drew herself up and said in her coolest voice, "Being a skirt-chaser isn't a very becoming characteristic for a father, Bailey."
His eyes narrowed as her words hit the mark. He straightened and worked his mouth thoughtfully, then said, "And bitterness isn't a very becoming characteristic for anyone, Ginny."
As he strode away from her into the living room, she allowed his blunt observation to sink in. After the emotional beating she'd taken these past two days, she'd expected her body to have triggered some kind of defense mechanism by now, to lessen the impact of her internal response.
But apparently, she'd not yet reached her threshold for pain—she'd only surpassed the previous day's capacity.
* * *
Bailey cranked the ignition on his aged Camaro, then sat in the confines of his darkened car, staring at the windows of Ginny's town home.
Both of their shadowed figures moved around in the living room, illuminated by the glow of the television. After nudging down the volume, they'd finally settled on a G-rated comedy before he'd left. Walking out the door had been difficult for him. Chad made no bones about the fact that he wanted to go with Bailey, and from the flashes of panic he observed on Ginny's face, he had the feeling he could have worn her down about letting him stay the night.
He sighed, pounding his fist lightly on the steering wheel. He felt distinctly divided—he wanted to be with her, but he was scared to succumb to the temptation to throw caution to the wind and play out his fantasy—woo Ginny into falling in love with him because she found him to be desirable and noble, not because she felt obligated, like she had years before. Then they'd get married.
Except he choked on the happily-ever-after part. What if after a couple of years he couldn't hack it? What if he grew to resent her late working hours and Sunday dinners with the in-laws? What if he became distant and drove her away again? The next time he'd not only be uprooting their lives again, but Chad's as well.
When he was alone, he could tell himself it wasn't fair to pursue Ginny's love, to insinuate he was ready for permanence, especially when she'd indicated her disinterest. But Ginny's presence was
"Let him be," he said. "Almost anything we say right now will upset him."
The TV blared from the first floor.
His voice softened. "Ginny, don't expect too much too soon. He'll come around."
Virginia nodded, hoping her ex-husband was right. He seemed to be able to read the boy better than she could.
She walked to the hall linen closet and withdrew extra bedclothes to take downstairs. Bailey offered a hand and she tossed him a pillow, trying to ignore the reminders of the previous night. She wondered if he, too, was remembering, because he was unusually quiet, as if he were watching her.
And the more he watched her, the more she thought about their kiss, the heat of his skin under her fingers, his raging arousal. She felt a light sheen of perspiration emerge at her hairline and desperately tried to push the thoughts from her mind. But the uneasy feelings persisted as they descended the stairs.
"Bailey," she said carefully, "I appreciate everything you've done today." She conjured up a smile, then continued. "But it's getting late and I think we could all use a good night's sleep."
He stopped in front of the door and winced at the volume coming from the living room. "Good luck," he said, grinning. Then he relented. "Okay, I know when I'm being thrown out."
She laughed, grateful he wasn't pressing the issue. "Why do I get the feeling it hasn't happened to you that often?"
He lowered his armload of bedclothes onto a stool by the stairs. With one arm on the banister, he bent toward her, his eyebrows wagging. "I take that as a compliment."
Sexual energy leapt through her as she felt the intensity of his gaze. She wet her lips, casting for something to throw him equally off balance. The one who appears to care the least. She drew herself up and said in her coolest voice, "Being a skirt-chaser isn't a very becoming characteristic for a father, Bailey."
His eyes narrowed as her words hit the mark. He straightened and worked his mouth thoughtfully, then said, "And bitterness isn't a very becoming characteristic for anyone, Ginny."
As he strode away from her into the living room, she allowed his blunt observation to sink in. After the emotional beating she'd taken these past two days, she'd expected her body to have triggered some kind of defense mechanism by now, to lessen the impact of her internal response.
But apparently, she'd not yet reached her threshold for pain—she'd only surpassed the previous day's capacity.
* * *
Bailey cranked the ignition on his aged Camaro, then sat in the confines of his darkened car, staring at the windows of Ginny's town home.
Both of their shadowed figures moved around in the living room, illuminated by the glow of the television. After nudging down the volume, they'd finally settled on a G-rated comedy before he'd left. Walking out the door had been difficult for him. Chad made no bones about the fact that he wanted to go with Bailey, and from the flashes of panic he observed on Ginny's face, he had the feeling he could have worn her down about letting him stay the night.
He sighed, pounding his fist lightly on the steering wheel. He felt distinctly divided—he wanted to be with her, but he was scared to succumb to the temptation to throw caution to the wind and play out his fantasy—woo Ginny into falling in love with him because she found him to be desirable and noble, not because she felt obligated, like she had years before. Then they'd get married.
Except he choked on the happily-ever-after part. What if after a couple of years he couldn't hack it? What if he grew to resent her late working hours and Sunday dinners with the in-laws? What if he became distant and drove her away again? The next time he'd not only be uprooting their lives again, but Chad's as well.
When he was alone, he could tell himself it wasn't fair to pursue Ginny's love, to insinuate he was ready for permanence, especially when she'd indicated her disinterest. But Ginny's presence was
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