Christine Rimmer - Marriage, Bravo Style!

“A wife and two little girls,” she echoed. Her eyes shimmered with sudden tears. “Just like my dad, way back when.”

“Right. I hadn’t realized.” And the last thing he’d meant to do was to make her cry. “Hey…”

She blinked, put on a tight smile and hitched her chin a fraction higher. “Hmm?”

“I’m sorry. What did I say?”

“It’s not you, Rogan. Really.” She glanced down, dark lashes like fans of silk against her cheeks. When she looked at him again, she had her tears under control. “Just sentimental, I guess. It’s hard to picture my dad retired. Next thing you know, he’ll be buying a Winnebago, heading for Florida or Arizona, where all the retired people go.”

He wanted to comfort her. It was like a physical need in him—to pull her close to him, to guide her shining head down to rest on his shoulder.

But of course, he did no such thing. “Would that be so bad, your dad moving to Florida?”

“No. Not at all. As long as he’s happy there—and what’s that they say? ‘The only constant in life is change.’”

“Ain’t that the truth—but at this point, I feel obliged to add that nothing’s settled yet. Your dad and I are still hammering out a deal.”

“Ah. I see. The good man with the wife and the two little girls will be taking over if you and my dad work things out.”

“Exactly. If…”

“You’re being way too cautious, I think. I have a really strong feeling it’s all going to work out.” She gazed up at him with open invitation in those golden-brown eyes, clearly talking about more than his negotiations with Cabrera Construction. It was a very tempting offer. He ached to take her up on it.

Talk about playing with fire. He was smarter than that—or so he kept trying to tell himself.

She said, “You mentioned that your brother was your business manager?”

“Cormac. Yes.” He braced a hand on the doorframe a few inches from her head, much too close to all that glorious gold-shot dark hair.

“Will Cormac be coming down here soon—I mean, if the negotiations continue?”

“Yes, he will. Next week.”

“And you’ll both stay here, at Caleb’s?”

“No, we have a suite reserved at the Hilton—the one on the River Walk? Caleb and Irina have been great, but I don’t want to take advantage of them.”

“They have plenty of room. I think they’d love to have you and Cormac stay with them.”

“That’s what they said, too. But no. The Hilton will be perfect.”

“So…the negotiations are moving right along, then?”

“Absolutely.”

She slanted him a knowing look. “But you still won’t admit that it’s a done deal.”

“Not yet.”

“I’ll look forward to meeting Cormac.” She smiled—and there it was, that tempting dimple teasing him again, right there beside her way-too-kissable mouth.

It was his turn to say something. Anything. It didn’t really matter what the words were, he realized. Only that he spoke. And she answered. “I like your dad.”

“He likes you.” Her gaze slid to his mouth—and then swiftly lifted again so she was looking in his eyes.

A kiss, he was thinking. Just one. How wrong could it be to steal one little kiss?

True, it couldn’t go anywhere between them. But not everything had to go somewhere. It was such a simple, perfect moment. A beautiful woman, a whispered good-night.

A kiss. One kiss…

He went for it, stepping in a little closer, lowering his head.

She lifted hers.

Their lips met. Electric and tender.

He wanted to linger, to take her by the shoulders, pull her body close to his, to wrap his arms good and tight around her, to taste her more deeply.

To take his sweet time about it.

But he didn’t. That wouldn’t be right.

He lifted his head, whispered her name. “Elena…” It tasted so good in his mouth, as good as her lips had felt pressed to his, as good as the scent of her, sultry and sweet.

“Good night, Rogan.” She slipped away from him, opened the door and went out.

He followed, as if pulled by invisible strings, and stood on the porch to watch her run down the walk away from him, the high heels of her red sandals tapping briskly with each step. At her car, she circled around to the driver’s door, pausing when she got there to give him a last wave.

He lifted his hand, returned the gesture.

And then she was ducking inside. The engine started up. The car pulled away from the curb and rolled off down the street.

Rogan stood there on the front step after she was gone, thinking that he shouldn’t have kissed her.

Wishing he had kissed her again.

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