He made a production of checking the time on his watch. "Why, yes, I do believe it is. Are you hungry, sweet Spring?"
"As a matter of fact, I am. I seem to have worked up quite an appetite since we arrived."
He climbed out of the bed and stood unselfconsciously nude, looking down at her. She almost grabbed him and pul
led him back into bed, but she decided that she wouldn't survive another session of lovemaking without sustenance. She laughed when he offered her his robe. The heavy brocade garment was straight out of a Noel Coward movie—velvet lapels, cuffs, one deep pocket. It trailed a foot behind her when she walked. She pushed the voluminous sleeves up on her forearms and scowled at him when he tied himself into a thigh-length white terry robe. "Maybe we should trade."
"I kind of like you in that one," he returned teasingly. "It's interesting for you to be the one dressed funny for a change."
"So you admit that you dress funny!"
He only laughed.
She frowned at him, struck by a sudden unpleasant thought. "This robe wasn't a present from a woman, was it?"
"Well, yes, it was," he answered thoughtfully.
She immediately began to untie it. His hand covered hers on the sash. "Summer gave it to me for a Christmas present. She said it reminded her of me, for some strange reason."
She had the grace to look sheepish. "Oh. I was being unreasonably jealous again, wasn't I?"
"Yes, you were." He turned to walk out of the room, then tossed her a cheeky grin. "This is the robe that was a present from an old girlfriend," he informed her, straightening his white terry lapels as he walked out.
The shoe she threw after him missed him by mere inches.
The gourmet dinner Clay had offered turned out to be a deli picnic, neatly packed into a basket on the kitchen counter.
"I thought you said you were cooking," Spring accused him, watching him unpack the tempting delicacies onto a round oak kitchen table.
"I said I was going to introduce you to my cooking," he corrected her imperturbably. "This is the way I cook."
"You're a fraud and a scoundrel, Clay McEntire, and I—" She stopped short, then continued lightly, "I really should be angry with you, but I'm just too hungry."
She avoided his eyes as she took her seat across the table from him.
She'd almost told him that she loved him. She wasn't sure exactly when she'd realized it, but she knew now.
And, for the life of her, she didn't know what she was going to do about it.
He'd almost told her he loved her while they were in bed. It would have been so natural, so easy. And so true. God, how he'd wanted to tell her. But he couldn't. He didn't think she wanted to hear it. And, for the life of him, he didn't know what he'd have said afterward.
Clay kept his gaze on the plate in front of him and concentrated on his dinner. They were both unusually quiet while they ate.
* * *
Holding her pressed against Summer's front door, Clay kissed Spring good-night. He could never get enough of the taste of her, he decided, lingering over the embrace. No matter how many times he had her, he would never stop wanting her. "It's very late. Are you tired?" he murmured, stroking the faintest of violet shadows under her eyes. She'd kept her glasses in her purse on the way home, anticipating his kiss, he hoped.
"Mmm. Pleasantly so." She tilted her head back against his arm to smile at him in a way that brought an almost painful lump to his throat. He could almost imagine that she loved him when she smiled at him that way. It hurt, he discovered.
"I suppose I should let you go in." He made no attempt to mask his reluctance to release her.
"I suppose so." She sounded no more enthused about the idea.
"I've got things to do tomorrow at Halloran House, so I may not see you."
She bit her lip in visible dismay, then made an effort to sound only politely interested. "That's okay."
"I'll call you."