Playing for Keeps. Catherine Mann
are the sheets for the sofa?”
She gaped at him, smoothing her hands over wrinkles in her skirt. “You’re inviting yourself to spend the night?”
He hadn’t planned on it, but somehow the words had come out of him anyway, likely fueled by that reckless second when he’d touched her.
“Do you expect me to sleep on your porch?” He’d actually intended to sleep in the limo.
This was the man he was, the man he’d always been. He remembered what it was like for his mom living on her own. Call him old-fashioned, but he believed women should be protected. No way in hell could he just walk away. Especially not with images of the skirt of her dress hugging her soft legs.
“I would offer to get us a couple of rooms at a hotel or B and B, but we would have to drive for hours. People might see us. My manager likes it when I show up in the press. Me, though? I’m not as into the attention.”
“Being seen at a hotel with you would be complicated.” Her fingers twisted in the fabric she’d just smoothed seconds earlier.
“Very.” He knelt in front of her, careful not to touch her just yet, not when every instinct inside him shouted to kiss her, to sweep her up into his arms and carry her to the bedroom. To make love to her until they both were too sated to argue or think about the past. He wasn’t sure yet where he planned to go with those impulses. “So let me stay for dinner, and I’ll bunk on your sofa. We won’t talk about Europe tonight unless you bring it up.”
“What does your girlfriend think of your being here?”
Girlfriend? Right now he couldn’t even envision anyone except Celia. “Those damn tabloids again. I don’t have a ‘girlfriend.’ My manager planted that story to make it look like I’m settling down.”
Relationships were too messy, and more of that protective honor kept him from indulging in the groupies that flocked backstage. He “dated” women whose publicists lined up promo gigs with his publicist. As for sex, there had been women who kept things uncomplicated, women who needed anonymity and no strings as much as he did. Women as jaded about the notion of love.
“Is that why you’re really here?” Her fingers kept toying nervously with the hem of her dress, inching it higher, revealing a tantalizing extra inch of leg. “You’re between women and the timing fits?”
Something in her voice triggered warning bells in his mind. “Why is it so difficult to think I’m worried about you?”
“I just like my space. I enjoy the peace of being alone.”
“So there’s no guy in your life?” Damn it, where had that question come from?
A jealous corner of his brain.
She hesitated a second too long.
“Who?” And why the hell wasn’t the man here watching out for her?
“I’ve just gone out with the high-school principal a couple of times.”
The reports he’d gathered on her hadn’t included that. His people had let him down.
“Is it serious?” he asked, her answer too damn important.
“No.”
“Is it going to be?” He held up a hand. “I’m asking as an old friend.” Liar. His eyes went back to her legs and the curve of her knees.
“Then you can ask without that jealous tone in your voice.”
She always had been able to read him.
“Of course …” He winked. “And?”
She shrugged, absently smoothing the dress back in place again. “I don’t know.”
Exhaling hard, he rocked back on his heels. “I worked my ass off for that answer and that’s all I get?”
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