“I’m fine,” she told him now. “I was just enjoying the concert.”
He grinned ruefully. “Sorry if it was too loud. The kids haven’t complained, so I didn’t realize how far the sound carried.”
“Don’t apologize. It was wonderful to come home to that. Just what I needed.”
“Bad day?”
“No worse than most others. I just seemed to have less patience with it.” Probably because she’d been up half the night for the second night in a row trying to make sense of the astonishing effect this man had on her. Her entire body—and her common sense—had melted in his arms. She hadn’t been able to come up with a single, logical explanation for it and she was a woman addicted to logic. Logic made sense of life, brought order out of chaos. And it was tidier by far than being prey to erratic emotions. Even though she knew all that, she looked into his eyes and felt the irrational tug of desire starting all over again.
“Have you eaten?” he said.
She shook her head.
“Then come sit on the porch and let me bring you something. Tracy made vegetable soup. With this chill in the air, it seemed like a good night for it.”
Beethoven? Homemade soup? What was going on here? “Who’s idea was all this?”
“All what?”
“The music and the soup.”
“Tracy had the recipe book out and the soup on when I came in from work. She said something about experimenting. It sounded dangerous to me, but it turned out to be edible. Paul and David actually finished every bite. Melissa picked out all the carrots and Tommy threw them across the room, but I think we found the last of them. It’s safe to come in now.”
She regarded him oddly. He actually sounded as though he’d enjoyed the evening. He was adapting far more readily than she’d anticipated. It sounded as though the children were, too. That pleased her, even as it made her uneasy. How long would it last? How long before he vanished from their lives?
“After all that,” he was saying, “I felt like listening to some music. I hope you don’t mind that I went through your iPod.”
“Not at all. I must admit I’m a little surprised by your choice.”
He turned a knowing grin on her. “I’m sure you expected a preference for twanging guitars over violin concertos.”
“Something like that,” she conceded.
“Loretta Lynn and Tammy Wynette have their places. So do Beethoven and Mozart. I’ll have you know I can even manage a little Chopin on the piano.”
“You?”
“Three years of piano lessons,” he boasted.
“Your mother must have been very strong-willed to manage that.”
“My mother had nothing to do with it,” he said with an unmistakable edge in his voice. “I took the lessons a few years ago.”
Intrigued by his tone, she was more astounded by his announcement. She stared at him in wonder. “You took piano lessons when you were—”
“Thirty-four,” he supplied, chuckling as he held up hands that looked far too large, far too strong, to be used in such a gentle pursuit. Those hands playing Chopin? Those hands caressing…
She brought herself up short just as he said, “Hard to imagine, isn’t it? I’d always wanted to play, though. There was no money for lessons when I was a kid. Besides, I probably would have been laughed off the football team. At thirty-four I had no excuses left.”
“Good for you.”
He winked at her. “Be careful, Annie. You may just discover that I’m full of surprises.”
Her pulse skipped at the teasing challenge in his voice. All at once she recalled every second that she’d spent in his arms, every sensation that had been aroused by his lips on hers. There was a subtle stirring low in her abdomen. An irrational yearning filled her heart. Wild, magical nights like this were meant to be shared with someone special and she’d been alone far too long. Why couldn’t she put aside her doubts and her tendency to analyze things to death? When had she stopped taking risks and turned her life into a predictable routine or as predictable as any life could be with children around? Why couldn’t she accept for just this one night the possibility that Hank Riley could be that someone, that he wasn’t just an impertinent rogue on the make, that he genuinely cared about her?
Her gaze met his, caught and held. Hers was tentative. His was daring and bold, almost hypnotic in its unwavering intensity. Without taking his eyes from hers, he slowly opened the car door and waited for her to step out. He left just enough room for her to exit without touching him—if she chose. Heart thudding in her chest, she stood, but she couldn’t bring herself to take the one tiny step that would put her back into his arms for another of those inhibition-melting kisses. She wanted to. Dear Lord, how she wanted to. But tonight years of restraint and common sense held her back.
Hank’s smile was slow and gentle and knowing. “It’ll happen, Annie,” he promised in a low voice that sizzled down her spine. “Count on it.”
The vow eased her instant of regret. It also set her blood on fire in a way she’d never dreamed possible. Trembling, she brushed past him and went inside. She fumbled with the ladle for the soup until Hank finally took it from her and poured a steaming bowlful. He put it in front of her at the table, touched her shoulder with tantalizing tenderness and then he left her to her thoughts.
They were in turmoil.
It was the damn Beethoven, she told herself. And the Chopin.
It was the kiss, she finally confessed with more honesty. One stupid, meaningless kiss and the man had her feeling like a teenager whose hormones were newly rampaging out of control. She’d taken enough courses, handled enough cases to recognize good old-fashioned lust when it hit her in the gut. Forget his tenderness.
