The Valentine Wedding Dress by Sherryl Woods Page B

all familiar. He had no idea how to deal with it except to ignore it. He was good at ignoring inconvenient emotions.
    â€œI thought the bride was supposed to toss the bouquet, not herself, down the stairs,” he said, proud of his casual tone.
    â€œBride?” She stared at him blankly, then glanced down at her dress as if just realizing what she was wearing. “Oh, my. That’s why I tripped. I was in the attic when the doorbell rang. I was rushing and I forgot all about the dress. I must have caught my foot in the hem.”
    She tugged frantically at the skirt, revealing a shapely calf and probably considerably more thigh than she realized. Dave couldn’t seem to prevent an appreciative survey.
    â€œI hope I didn’t tear it,” she said, studying the yards of fabric.
    â€œSo, when’s the big day?” he asked, his voice annoyingly tight.
    She regarded him with surprise, then chuckled. “Oh, I’m not getting married.”
    Determined though he was to pretend it didn’t matter, he couldn’t stop the sigh of relief that washed through him. “You’re dressed awfully formally for cleaning.” He brushed at the streak of dirt on her cheek.
    â€œLong story,” she said, her gaze locked with his, her voice a little breathless. “By the way, you can put me down now. I’m fine.”
    Reluctantly, he set her on her feet, though he couldn’t quite make himself release his grip on her arms. It was hard to tell where satin left off and bare skin began. The fabric was cooler, he decided when he finally pulled away.
    She stared at him, looking as shaken as he felt. “Who are you?” she asked at last.
    â€œDave Lafferty. I’m here to fix some stairs. Obviously, I was a bit too late.”
    â€œActually it’s the steps to the attic that need fixing, not these. This little tumble of mine was my own doing. I’m always rushing without thinking. Come on. I’ll show you. I’m Lara, by the way. Lara Calhoun.”
    Dave couldn’t seem to shake the odd out-of-body sensation he had as he followed her to the foot of the attic steps, which were, indeed, dangerously wobbly. There was something about this Lara that seemed strangely familiar, as if he’d known her all his life, yet he knew they’d never met.
    Surely he would have remembered a woman with this fragile, heart-shaped face, with hair the color of corn silk and a mouth so tempting it was taking every ounce of restraint he possessed to keep from kissing her and, no doubt, scaring her to death. Better to concentrate on the steps.
    â€œHow long have they been like this?” he asked.
    When his question drew nothing more than a vague hmm? he glanced up and saw that her gaze was locked on him. “Lara?”
    An embarrassed blush crept into her cheeks. “Sorry. I was distracted.”
    He knew the feeling. He also could think of only one way to get beyond it—fill the time with innocuous chitchat. He was a master of it.
    Instead, what came out of his mouth was an invitation. “What are you doing tonight?” he asked, regretting the impulsive words the instant they were spoken.
    â€œTonight?”
    He’d done it now. He could hardly back out, now that he’d uttered the invitation. “It’s Valentine’s Day. Would you like to go out for dinner?”
    His gaze locked with hers and he felt that odd sensation in the pit of his stomach. “Or do you already have plans?” It was part question, part plea. If she had plans, he’d be safe. He could go out with Chelsea, who was clearly no risk at all compared to this woman.
    Lara regarded him with surprise. “You want to go out with me on Valentine’s Day? Surely there’s some other woman you’d rather be spending tonight with. Someone you know better.”
    An image of Chelsea came and went. He would have to call her—no, stop by in person—and break things