Stroke of Fortune by Christine Rimmer Page B

been scrawled across the tops of them.
    He looked at those pretty, slim hands, folded between her knees, at the crown of her white-gold head, at the soft curve of her cheek. The desire to reach across the table and lay his palm against that cheek was so powerful right then, he almost gave in to it.
    But she lifted her head just in time. “Maybe I shouldn’t have got in your face like that the other night.”
    He didn’t quite follow. “Got in my face?”
    â€œYou know, trapped you up against the baby’s crib, practically forced you to kiss me.”
    That did amuse him. A low rumble of a laugh escaped him.
    â€œDon’t laugh at me.” She pulled her shoulders back and stuck her chin in the air. “Please.”
    â€œLaughing? Who’s laughing?”
    â€œOh, very funny.” She stood—and then couldn’t seem to decide where to go from there, so she dropped onto the couch again. “I know you think you’re some big macho guy, that there is no way I could force you to kiss me. And you’re right. There isn’t. But I do know how you feel about me. It’s the same way I feel about you. It’s pretty powerful.”
    He opened his mouth to argue that point. And then he shut it without saying a word. Why deny what they both knew to be achingly true? He wanted her. She wanted him. It wasn’t news to either of them.
    She went on, “I understand, I truly do, that you don’t want to give in to how you feel about me right now. And I ought to respect that. I want you to know that I will respect that, from now on.”
    He wanted to kiss her so bad, it hurt. “You will?”
    She nodded. “I just want us to have a little time, you know? To talk. To laugh together. To enjoy each other’s company. If you think about it, we’ve never done that. I’ve been your housekeeper and for one night, I was your lover. Now I’m Lena’s nanny. And that could be a good thing.”
    â€œI never said it wasn’t.”
    â€œI mean, we could use this time, if we were smart. I’m right here, in your private wing of this house—for a little while, anyway. If you’d only stop treating me like I’ve got some scary contagious disease, we could start getting to know each other better.”
    He had to admit she had a point.
    She was right about something else, too. He did intend to marry her—as soon as she could bring herself to admit the truth about Lena.
    He cleared his throat. “Well,” he said.
    â€œYeah?” She leaned even closer, so damned adorably eager.
    â€œI don’t see anything wrong with what you’re suggesting.”
    Her face seemed to glow from within. “You don’t?”
    â€œNo. It makes sense to me.”
    She sat up straight again. “Well, good—no, better than good. Great.” She stuck out her hand.
    He realized she wanted him to shake on it.
    Why not?
    He reached across the coffee table and took her hand in his.

Nine
    A fter their talk in the sitting room on Sunday night, Flynt stopped avoiding Josie. He came to the baby’s room twice the next day. They did just what she had asked for. They talked. They played with Lena.
    Monday night they had dinner together while Lena napped. Flynt had a table set up in the sitting room. They had prime Carson beef, new potatoes and asparagus.
    He found he thoroughly enjoyed Josie’s company. He’d always known she was bright, but he’d never realized what a pleasure it could be just to sit and talk with her. She asked incisive questions and she had her own opinions, which she rarely hesitated to share.
    He enjoyed that meal so much, he suggested they do the same thing on Tuesday night.
    Josie smiled at the invitation. “Flynt Carson, I was starting to think you were never going to ask.”
    So in the next few days, it became something of a standing date. He’d have the table set in the sitting