The Aristocrat and the Single Mom by Michelle Douglas

He paused. ‘But if you won’t let me thank you for allowing me the use of your guest room, then I think that’s an indication you might prefer it if I arranged alternative accommodation.’
    ‘No!’ The word shot out of her before she could stop it. He was Felice’s brother. Danny’s brother-in-law. It was only right that he stay here. She remembered how much he’d helped her with the Kennedys yesterday. ‘Friends?’ She tested the word.
    His gaze never left hers. ‘Can you be friends with a man who isn’t into children, but who’ll promise from hereon to treat Jesse with the same consideration as he treats you?’
    ‘Yes.’ That was easy. She didn’t even have to think about it. Some people didn’t want children. She didn’t have a problem with that. Different strokes and whatnot. Some people shouldn’t have children and perhaps Simon was one of them. Problem was, she could never become involved with someone like that.
    ‘So you’ll come to Fletchers with me?’
    ‘Yes.’
    He smiled again—cheek creases and all—and she couldn’t help smiling back. Their eyes locked, he kept smiling and she kept smiling. Oh, good Lord. Distraction. She needed a distraction.
    ‘What time did you make the reservation?’
    ‘Seven-thirty.’
    ‘What?’ She jerked to attention with a yelp.
    ‘Is that a problem?’
    She did her best impression of a haughty socialite. ‘I’ll have you know that most women need at least three hours of primping and preening before stepping into the hallowed foyer of Fletchers.’
    He took a sip of his beer before looking her up and down. Kate’s blood did a silly little jig in her veins. The fingers thatgripped his beer were long and lean. He had nice hands and a great grin. And eyes to die for—smoky, smouldering eyes outlined in dark, dark lashes and they were looking at her as if those long, lean fingers of his and those firm, tilted-at-the-corner lips would prefer to be holding her, touching her, than they would that can of beer. Which was a crazy thought because they were just friends. Nothing more.
    He set the can down on the table. ‘You could go as you are and still be the most stunning woman in the room.’
    For a moment Kate could’ve sworn the actual air between them sizzled with heat shimmer. She blinked and it subsided. ‘Now you’re just being extravagant,’ she said, trying to throw off the compliment, but her voice wobbled. She pointed towards the door. ‘I’ll…um…go and get ready.’ And she fled.
     
    An hour later, Kate stepped into the living room but whatever she’d meant to say got lost somewhere between brain and mouth when her eyes landed on Simon.
    She swallowed. She reminded herself that dribbling down her front was a seriously bad look. He wore a black dinner jacket and bow-tie, which contrasted crisply with a fresh white dress shirt, and he looked debonair and sophisticated and to-die-for. Hero material for some movie set. But it was the way he stared at her that had her words melting on her tongue. She had a feeling his smoky gaze could spark a fire that could consume them both. She must have been crazy to agree to this.
    He cleared his throat and motioned to her. ‘I can’t believe, even given three hours of primping and preening, that you could look better than you do now.’ A smile curved his lips; appreciation lit his eyes. ‘Kate, you are beautiful.’
    The simple sincerity of his compliment had the heat blossoming in her cheeks and pleasure tumbling through her. ‘Thank you. You don’t look too shabby yourself.’ Maniacal laughter rang through her head at the understatement.
    She wore her favourite dress—a silver sheath the quicksilver colour of the bay at midnight on a full moon. It shimmered as she moved and was fitted to the knee, where it then flared out to swirl around her calves. She’d teamed it with a pair of high-heeled silver sandals, a beaded wrap and a tiny clutch. He kept staring and the heat kept building inside