Do You Take This Baby?

While everyone around her tucked in, Gemma mentally calculated the odds of living long enough to hook a man and become a mother if her heart was pumping dill sauce through her veins.

“Something wrong?” Ethan spoke close to her ear.

She glanced at him. Men, she thought, but didn’t say out loud. Men are the problem. In a dove-gray tuxedo that perfectly complemented his golden hair and tanned skin, Ethan had already drawn more attention than the bride. Betcha he could go home with any number of women tonight. Some of the willing ones were probably married. Love was too difficult for some and too easy for others.

“This food is a little rich,” she said.

“Aw, no. Don’t tell me you’re one of those.” He wagged his head tragically.

“One of what?”

“Bird women. The ones who barely taste their food and don’t take it to go, because they don’t have a dog, and there’s no way they’re going to eat anything more interesting than a celery stick, anyway.”

Gemma gaped at him. “You’re kidding, right? Do I look as if all I eat is celery?”

Apparently, he took her words as an invitation to let his gaze roam leisurely over the parts of her he could see while she was seated. He even leaned back a smidgen, as if he was trying to get a look at her bottom. When she glared at him, he grinned.

“You look good.” He nodded to her dinner. “Eat up.”

“I’ve seen your girlfriends,” she said. “Three of them standing together wouldn’t fill out a pair of size-eight jeans.”

“You keep track of the women I date?”

“Of course not.” She managed to sound highly offended. “My mother buys gossip magazines when you’re in them.”

He grinned. “I know. She has me autograph them when I’m in town. Between you and me, I think she’s selling them on eBay.” He nodded, sliced off more meat, chewed, then tried the cheesy potatoes. Gemma’s stomach growled. She picked up her fork and was about to give in to temptation when he observed, “So you read about me when you come home on weekends, then. I’m flattered.”

Abruptly, she retracted her fork. “That is not what I mean. My mother likes to discuss topics of interest to her. She shows me the magazine articles. I don’t seek them out.” Ooh, liar, liar, pants on fire. Raising her chin, she amended, “I have never bought a rag mag.”

That was true, actually. If she saw Ethan on the cover of a magazine, she would read it while standing in line at the market. No money ever transferred hands.

“From what I’ve seen,” she told him, “you prefer to date women whose physical attributes directly correlate to the norm in print and other media. A norm that is dangerously out of touch with a standard attainable for the average healthy American woman.”

He reached for another breadstick—his third—and lathered it with the sweet Irish butter Elyse had requested. “Could you say that again? In English this time, Professor.”

“You date skeletons!” She wanted his breadstick so badly she nearly grabbed it out of his hand. For the past two months, Elyse had begged her to diet. Her best efforts had led to a loss of four measly pounds, which would be back again before breakfast tomorrow. She needed food. She wanted food.

The breadstick, gorgeously buttered, hovered between them. She pointed. “Are you going to eat that?”

Flashing his most gorgeous smile, he held it out. “I’m happy to share. And happy you’re going to eat. I like you the way you are.”

Unexpectedly her heart filled the hole in her stomach. He liked her. The way she was.

Don’t get carried away. He offered you a breadstick, not a diamond ring. Who could blame her, though, if after a lifetime of being the “smart” sister, it felt good to have a man like Ethan pay her a compliment?

Accepting the breadstick, she took a ladylike bite. Mmm, yummy.

“Why didn’t you get married, Gemma?”

Coughing as the breadstick paused in her windpipe, she took a slug of wine. “What do you mean?” she asked when she could talk again.

Ethan’s blue eyes narrowed thoughtfully. “Elyse and Scott came to Seattle for a home game and mentioned you were engaged. Had the rock and everything.”

Swell. She poked at the beef en croûte. “I wonder how they cook this steak without burning the pastry?” she mused aloud to change the subject.

“Too personal?” The deep dimple in his left cheek appeared. “Even for old friends like us?”

Gemma held her hands up in surrender. “Okay. Yes, I was engaged. We were supposed to have gotten married last month, but we called it off. End of story.” Sort of.

“Your wedding was supposed to have been last month?” He whistled beneath his breath.

“It’s fine. We ended it a long time ago.” Shrugging blithely, she sawed at the beef.

“How long?”

“Almost a year.”

He considered that. “How are you doing tonight?”

It wasn’t the question that made Gemma set her knife and fork to the side of her plate, but rather his tone. How was she doing? He’d asked it so plainly, no hesitation, no lurking reluctance to hear the answer. Most of her family, except for her mother, tiptoed around the topic as if it were a land mine. “I’m all right,” she answered quietly. “But sometimes I wish—”

“Ethan Ladd, you’d better save me a dance tonight.” A hand glittering with rings clamped Ethan’s shoulder. “I haven’t seen you in so long, I almost forgot what you looked like.” Throaty laughter punctuated the statement as a platinum blonde with long straight hair crouched beside them in a sequin-encrusted dress that hugged her body so tightly a bead of perspiration couldn’t have fit between the material and her skin.

“You remember me, don’t you? Crystal McEvoy.” She batted outrageously fake lashes. “Senior year prom? Best date of your life?”

Ethan turned his head slowly to observe Crystal. “Sure, I remember you.” He leaned back and draped an arm at the back of Gemma’s chair. “You know Gemma Gould?”

“Hi.” Predictably, Crystal glanced at Gemma only long enough to appear polite, then shifted her attention back to Ethan. “You save a dance for me.” She put a hand on his thigh, obviously trying to lay claim to a lot more than a dance. “We can pick up where we left off.” Crystal trailed her fingers over Ethan’s chest and shoulder before she walked back to her table, swaying her hips the entire way.

“Where were we?” Behaving as if the previous moment hadn’t happened, Ethan looked at her, not Crystal.

Whoa. Was he going to ignore the fact that he’d practically been groped by a woman he hadn’t seen in a decade and a half? “Uhm...” She couldn’t remember what they’d been discussing prior to the other woman’s arrival.

“You were telling me about your engagement,” he prompted.

Talk about being dumped by her fiancé after that exhibition? Not happening.

Crystal’s perfume lingered in the air, but it wasn’t strong enough to overpower Ethan’s pheromones. Gemma had always known when Ethan was at her parents’ house, even if she’d just walked in the door. Everything about the house changed. It smelled like soap and aftershave and...him. Like right now.

“You okay?” Ethan asked as the bride and groom’s first dance wound down. “You look flushed.”

“You’re right, it’s hot in here.” She waved her hands at her face.

“It’s probably not any cooler on the dance floor, but you want to give it a try?”

Dance? With her and not Crystal or one of the bachelorette bridesmaids? Gemma felt as if the hottest guy in school had just asked her to homecoming—genuinely this time.

“Oh, Gemma, good, you’re done eating!” Her sister Lucy appeared at the banquet table, bouncing baby Owen in her arms. “Hi, Ethan,” she greeted. “Gem, they’re about to open the dancing, and Rick and I haven’t danced without the kids practically since our wedding. Would you hold Owen while I get out there with my husband? Pretty please?”