The Perfect Wife

She cleared her throat. “Hey.”

He shrugged, then lifted the brown grocery sack. “I thought you might need some company tonight. And something to make you feel better.”

“What’s that?”

He reached into the bag and whipped out a large package of Oreo cookies. “A few months back you told me this was your drug of choice.” Then he pulled out a bottle of merlot. “And this is mine.”

Carly laughed, a soft bubbly sound that made him glad he’d come by, after all.

“So,” he said, tossing her a crooked grin and tipping his chin at the fancy doorknob she gripped. “Are you going to let me in?”

“Sure.” She stepped aside, and when he entered, she closed the door and led him to the den.

As he followed, he couldn’t help studying her comfortable attire, appreciating the casual way about her, the natural sway of her hips. How her pretty bare feet padded against the expensive hardwood floor.

She wore a pair of gray sweatpants that rode low on her hips, and a white, cropped T-shirt that flashed a bit of midriff. He liked that style on women, but Carly tugged at the hem of her shirt as though uncomfortable, embarrassed to show her flesh.

He couldn’t understand why she’d feel awkward. She looked good this evening, even with her hair pulled up in a messy kind of ponytail. And although he’d seen her looking a lot more glamorous in the past, he preferred her like this—down-to-earth and approachable, rather than all dolled up and model-perfect.

Once inside the den, which no longer looked as though it had been on the cover of a Better Homes and Gardens magazine, she turned and faced him, tugging at the hem of her shirt again. “If I’d have known you were coming by—”

“Don’t.”

“Don’t what?”

“Apologize. It’s getting old.”

She shot him a possum-in-the-headlights look. “What are you talking about?”

“You’re far more attractive and a lot more appealing when you let your guard down.”

It was true—but a real understatement.

When he’d first met her while working on the McMansion, he’d initially thought she was too caught up in herself, too wrapped up in her appearance. But tonight she looked sexy as hell—and she didn’t have a clue.

Apparently, there was a lot more going on inside of her than he’d realized. More than most people realized.

He’d heard the sincerity ringing in her apologies, heard the honesty in her critical self-appraisal.

God. She had no idea. And the fact that she didn’t realize she could turn a man’s head, even Bo’s if he’d let her, was mind-boggling.

He felt compelled to help her figure it out and he couldn’t help teasing her, couldn’t help the grin that pried at his lips. “So where is he?”

“Who?”

Bo let the smile he’d been holding back run its course. “You look like you’ve been entertaining a lover and just sent him out back to avoid being caught in the act.”

Her eyes widened, as though she was taking his joke way too seriously. “I don’t have a lover.”

Maybe not yet. But she deserved one. And he suspected the dry spell wouldn’t last long.

He set the wine on the glass-topped coffee table, next to a TV Guide, a crossword puzzle book, a ball-point pen, a wadded up napkin and a nearly empty glass of milk.

“The cleaning lady comes tomorrow,” Carly said.

Bo hoped she wasn’t going to apologize for not having things spic-and-span.

Back when he’d been working at the McMansion, the place had always been picture-perfect and more like a model home than a place where someone would want to kick back and relax.

But it looked as though she’d been spending a lot of time in this small downstairs room, rather than wandering around the big, empty house.

Heck, he couldn’t blame her for that. He’d get lost in a mansion like this. Most people would.

He wondered if that’s how she felt, now that she was living alone.

“The rest of the house is in good shape,” she added, glancing around the den.

“If you apologize for one more thing, I’m going to start pelting you with Oreos.”

She smiled in that waiflike way, and he wondered where it came from. But he knew better than to pry.

He nodded toward the merlot. “I don’t suppose you have something we can open this with?”

“Sure. I’ll be right back.”

While she was gone, he opened the package of cookies. And when she returned, carrying a couple of glasses and a corkscrew, he offered her one.

“No thanks.”

“Cutting back?”

“Cookies and wine don’t go together.”

He shrugged, then uncorked the bottle, poured them each a glass and handed her one.

Carly took the wine Bo offered her, and when he chose one side of the leather sofa, she sat on the other.

“So what’s with your obsession with perfection?” he asked.

“Excuse me?”

He didn’t reiterate, and she was glad.

Yet knowing she might be missing something left her wildly curious. “You make trying hard sound like a character flaw.”

“Taken to an extreme, it can be.”

“You don’t understand.”