Pregnant at the Wedding / Baby Business. Katherine GarberaЧитать онлайн книгу.
“That’s good,” he said, nodding. “Working for yourself, if it’s successful, is satisfying.”
“On your level it certainly would be,” she remarked dryly.
“On yours, too. You just said so. So what’s the best wedding you’ve done?”
“The one I enjoyed the most…” She paused to think a moment. “Probably one last December. It was a Christmas wedding, with reds and greens and beautiful decorations,” she said, telling him about the ceremony and wondering if he was really interested, their conversation drifting to other topics as they enjoyed their time together.
Her shrimp was delicious, but she didn’t have much of an appetite, and she noticed that neither did Ryan. While she talked, he listened, studying her and holding her hand. Each volatile contact heightened her awareness of him.
They discussed various subjects, and Ryan occasionally flirted, until he finally motioned to the waiter for their check.
When she looked around, she saw they were almost the last customers. She glanced at her watch. “My word, it’s ten o’clock. We’ve been here for hours.”
“Actually, not for hours. Time flies when you’re having fun,” he quipped as he smiled at her. “And I have had a great time tonight.”
While wind tangled locks of his black hair, lights in the parking lot threw his cheeks into shadows, highlighting his prominent cheekbones. She admired his self-assurance and optimism. He was confident, handsome and good company, making her wish that the situation were different between them. She blamed herself that it wasn’t, and again tried to pay attention to their conversation.
“You know I’ve had a great time, too,” she said. “And I know you want me to admit it.”
“Damn straight. Your confession reassures me,” he said, looking at her.
“As if you need encouragement,” she said, laughing when they reached his car. With a smile, he swung open the door.
“Are you saying I’m arrogant?”
“You’re confident. How’s that?”
“Much better. I’ll settle for confident.” He leaned closer to talk to her as she settled inside. Then he shut the door, and she watched him stride around the car and slide in beside her.
“Your place or mine?” he asked.
“My place and—”
“Don’t make hasty decisions,” he urged. “Let’s see. I told you I’d go slowly and I have. Isn’t that right?”
“Yes, it is,” she had to answer, because he had been. But that didn’t mean he would continue to, and she knew every minute they were together forged a stronger bond between them.
“Tell me where you live. And I’ll come get you in the morning and take you to work since you left your car at the office.”
“Well, there’s no point in arguing this one with you,” she said, telling him her address.
She gave him the combination to get through the wrought iron gates of her apartment complex and they drove past several blocks of single-story redbrick duplexes until she directed him to hers. He got out to open her door, and walked her to the front porch, where she faced him.
“It’s been a super evening, Ryan.”
“It’s early, really early,” he said. “I’d like to see your place.”
Part of her wanted him to come inside, and another part wanted to tell him to go. He stood in silence, waiting patiently, and she couldn’t resist. “Do you want to come in?” she asked with a smile, already knowing that was exactly what he hoped to do.
“Thanks, and of course.”
She opened her door and stopped to switch off the alarm system and turn on the light in the short entryway.
Ryan entered and she led him into the living room, turning on a lamp while, he looked around. “It’s great, Ashley,” he said.
“I moved here about a month ago, and I’m just getting new furniture,” she explained, trying to view it from his eyes. An Impressionist print in a gilt frame hung above an oak mantel above the brick fireplace. Her sofa and matching wing chair were upholstered in blue antique velvet, and she had a polished hardwood floor, but her place was modest and small compared to his sprawling high-rise condo with its terrace and magnificent view of Dallas.
He had four bedrooms, an entertainment center, an exercise room, a living area and dining room, all filled with elegant fruitwood furniture, and every convenience. Her duplex had to be unimpressive to him, but he was being polite.
“In here is the living area, where I spend all my time,” she said, leading him into a small, less formal room with a sofa upholstered in bright flowers and two matching chairs. An oak coffee table sat in front of the sofa.
He walked over to a wooden game table in one corner of the room to look at the chess set on it. “Ah, a game in progress.”
“I’m playing with someone via the computer,” she said.
“We’ll have to have a game,” he said. “We won’t disturb this one, but sometime soon, or when you finish this one, we can play.”
“I imagine you’re excellent at chess,” she said, unable to picture him doing anything that he didn’t consistently manage to succeed at.
“We’ll see,” he said. “It’s difficult to judge yourself.”
She laughed. “No, it isn’t! You just don’t want to admit, especially before we’ve played, that you rarely lose.”
“I’m going to have to improve my image with you,” he teased.
“No, and don’t even try,” she replied, realizing she was giving him one challenge after another.
Bookshelves lined one wall, and Ryan strolled across the room to study the contents of her shelves. Ashley knew she was going to remember him prowling around her duplex. She looked at his broad shoulders and recalled with absolute clarity how he’d look nude, walking away from the bed.
Drawing a deep breath, she tried to focus her mind elsewhere, talking without half thinking about what she was saying. “My kitchen is over here,” she said, leading him into a space that was about one-sixth the size of his. It had a small eating area and a tiny island in the center. “And that’s it.” She smiled at him. “Unless you want to see my utility room.”
“I haven’t seen your bedroom,” he reminded her. “Give me the deluxe tour.”
“Sure,” she replied, trying to sound casual and not think about a bed and Ryan in it.
“Here it is,” she said, and he followed her into her blue bedroom, walking around to look at items on her desk, pictures on the wall and memorabilia on her shelves. He reached out to pick up one of her tennis trophies. “You’re good at tennis. We’ll have to play.”
“Right now I’ve given it up,” she said, and watched his dark eyebrows arch.
“How come?” he asked, replacing the trophy on the shelf.
She realized she couldn’t give him the right answer and tried to think of an excuse. But silence stretched, and she began to panic, searching for something to say.
“Tennis elbow,” she answered at last.
“Too bad. I was looking forward to a match with you. Chess and tennis. There are two things we both enjoy, so we might as well do them together when we can.”
“They’re both competitive.”
“All the better,” he said softly. “I like competing with you.”
“I suspect you’re happy