The second kiss was no less spectacular than the first. Trevor was startled again by his own reactions to it—the rush of heat, the surge of hunger, the ache of need. Maybe he’d managed to be satisfied with a few stolen kisses in the past, but he knew it would never be enough now. Not if he stayed here much longer with Jamie curled in his lap, her arms around him, her mouth moving so willingly beneath his.
Because he allowed his impulses to lead him only so far, he brought the kiss to an end.
Jamie studied his face for a moment, then slid off his lap to sit beside him on the couch. “The coffee’s getting cold,” she said, her voice as matter-of-fact as if nothing had just occurred between them.
Trevor dragged his gaze from her moist, kiss-darkened lips. “I think I’ll skip the coffee, if you don’t mind,” he said, trying to imitate her casual attitude. “It’s getting late.”
“All right. Thanks for dinner.”
He couldn’t tell if she was at all disappointed that he was leaving. Resigned to never knowing exactly what she was thinking, he stood and took a step backward—out of the reach of temptation. “Good night.”
She rose gracefully. “Say hi to the kids for me.”
He nodded, though he didn’t plan to say much to his children—especially Sam—about Jamie. He still didn’t really expect this thing between them to go anywhere, and he didn’t want the children’s lives to be disrupted again when it ended.
She walked him to the door and opened it for him. “Good night, Trev.”
Before he could respond, he found himself on the other side of the closed door. Even as he drove away, he knew he would be spending part of the night sitting in his darkened living room, thinking about Jamie.
It bothered him that he didn’t know whether he would even cross her mind now that he was out of her sight.
ALMOST AS IF there was a chance he could see though her door, Jamie waited until the sound of Trevor’s car engine had faded completely before she dropped limply onto the couch and pressed a hand over her heart. It was still racing—a fact she had made a massive effort to disguise from Trevor.
That buttoned-down, clean-cut, quiet-spoken lawyer certainly could kiss—even better than he had when they were teenagers.
He hadn’t said anything about seeing her again. She understood it must be difficult for him to spend time away from the children—something she’d never had to deal with before, since she’d never dated a single father. As a matter of fact, she’d always made it a rule not to get involved with men who had children. She’d never wanted that extra complication in her previous relationships. Her few romances had been complicated enough without having to worry about the tender sensibilities of innocent children.
For Trevor, though, she was inclined to bend her rules.
Besides, she liked Trevor’s kids. Abbie was adorable and Sam—well, she had a serious soft spot for little Sam.
Maybe dating a guy with kids wouldn’t be so bad, after all. Especially when that guy was Trevor McBride—a man she had been fantasizing about for almost as long as she could remember.
6
JAMIE WAS SITTING by the pool again on Tuesday afternoon, feigning interest in a paperback and trying to look
as if she was enjoying herself. Okay, she thought, so maybe summer vacation wasn’t so great. So maybe she was bored out of her mind.
The problem was that she simply wasn’t accustomed to having time to herself. She’d worked steadily in New York—in one job or another. Even in high school, she had worked every summer, both for the money and to avoid spending time at home. Now that she had several weeks ahead of her with nothing in particular to do—well, she didn’t know how to entertain herself.
Maybe she should take a vacation or something. It would certainly beat sitting at home waiting for the phone to ring—something else she wasn’t used to doing. She started when someone suddenly laid a hand on her arm. Looking quickly around, she relaxed with a smile. “Why, hello, Sam.”
He gave her a shy smile from beneath his fringe of blond bangs. “Hi, Jamie.”
“How have you been?”
“Okay. What are you reading?”
She glanced at the paperback. “It’s a mystery story.”
“Is it good?”
“I’ve read better.”
“You can read my Berenstein Bears books. They’re all good.”
“Thank you, Sam. I’m sure I’d like that much better.”