One Bride: Baby Included

“What about Shepperton? That’s a fairly big town.”

She met his gaze across the flickering candle between them. “But it’s not the city. There’s more choice of jobs in Portland.”

“And more people after them.”

“You sound as if you disapprove of my being here.”

“It’s not my place to disapprove. It’s just that you don’t seem like the type to leave your home and family and move to a strange town where you don’t know anyone.”

“I know you and Aunt Betty,” Amy said gently. “And I promise not to be a nuisance.”

George actually looked ashamed of himself. “Of course…I didn’t mean…I’m sorry if I…”

Amy reached out to lay her hand on his. She felt his fingers jerk beneath her touch, and she gave them a light squeeze. “George, it’s all right. Really. I understand if you don’t have the time to drag around town with me. I’m quite capable of finding my own way about. Really. Once I have my own car—”

“We’ll take care of that next week. And of course I have time to show you around.” He pulled in a deep breath. “It will be…er…fun.”

He’d sounded as if he wasn’t really sure what fun was. Well, Amy thought, with a little rush of anticipation, she was just the person to teach him. Maybe she could even persuade him to gamble with a little of his precious money. It would be great to see him relax and let go of that stuffy attitude. She had a feeling that once George learned to unbend and have fun, he would be devastatingly sexy.

She met his gaze again and he narrowed his eyes. “What are you grinning at now?”

She lifted her shoulders in a careless shrug. “Just looking forward to tomorrow, that’s all. It sounds as if it’s going to be a great day.”

“Super,” George said dryly.

Amy woke up the next morning full of expectation for the day ahead. Things had been a little awkward between them when George had escorted her to her door the night before. She’d thanked him for the wonderful evening, saying it was the best time she’d had in a long time. For some reason, George had seemed upset by that and had disappeared into his apartment mumbling something that could have been “Sleep well,” but she couldn’t be sure.

Amy tried to analyze his reaction while she showered and dressed for their trip. It was hard to tell if he’d enjoyed the evening. Reading George’s mind would be like trying to penetrate Fort Knox. It was probably her imagination, but she had the feeling that all that control was holding down the lid on a lot of tension, and that one day he would blow his top like Mount St. Helens. She could only hope that she wasn’t the one to set him off. She had an idea that George Bentley, Jr., could be a dangerous animal once aroused.

The object of her speculation rapped rather imperiously on her door at precisely 8:00 a.m. She’d forgotten to ask if breakfast was included in the tour, and had hastily choked down a couple of handfuls of granola, washed down with a glass of milk. As usual, it didn’t sit well on her stomach and she’d barely recovered from her mad dash to the bathroom when George’s summons demanded her presence at the front door.

The first thing she noticed was his jeans. Somehow she hadn’t imagined him wearing anything but office casual. After greeting her, he walked rather stiffly past her into the room, giving her another opportunity to admire his lean hips in the snug denim. She closed the door, then turned to see him staring at her bare legs.

He hastily cleared his throat, then said gruffly, “You might feel chilly in shorts. It can be cool at the beach, even in the summer.”

“I’ll bring sweats with me.” She waved a hand at the couch. “Sit down, J.R. I’ll be ready in a minute. Can I get you some coffee?”

He shook his head. “I just had breakfast.”

She thought about the granola she hadn’t kept down. “Okay. I won’t be long.” She fled to the bedroom and hastily stuffed sweats into a bag, added suntan lotion and her purse, grabbed up her sunglasses and hurried back to the living room.

George sat with his hands pushed between his knees and his head bowed in deep thought.

Amy dropped the bag at his feet. “You okay?”

He started, then reached for the bag as he unwound himself from the couch. “I’m fine. I was just thinking about a client I’m working with right now. His finances are in a mess and it’s going to take some hard work to straighten them out.”

She moved closer to him and gazed up into his face. “George. It’s Sunday. Time to play. Let it go for the day.”

He stared down at her, and seemed to be seeing her for the first time. “You look a little peaked. Didn’t you sleep well?”

She backed away from him and headed for the door. “Too excited, I guess. I’m really looking forward to this trip, J.R.”

He followed her out of the door, and she walked with him to the elevator, wishing he could at least have shown some sign of enthusiasm as well.

The truth was, George was having a tough time dealing with the sight of Amy in shorts. She’d worn little else when she was a kid, but at nine years old Amy had legs that looked little better than the stick drawings she used to pin on his bedroom door.

Standing in the close confines of the elevator, he couldn’t help noticing that those legs had matured, along with the rest of her body. The expanse of smooth, golden skin beneath the hem of her khaki shorts was making him hot under the collar of his purple polo.

Although George would rather die than admit it to anyone, he was a leg man through and through. And Amy’s legs were enough to make a strong man cry. As if that wasn’t enough, she wore a yellow shirt that molded itself to her breasts and he could smell the wet roses perfume again.