* * * *
He’d looked as if he’d just been informed he owed ten years’ back taxes and the IRS was at the door. Or, worse, that baseball historians had discovered a grave error and they were taking away the Cubs’ last World Series championship, even if it was back in 1908.
She’d read too much into the smallest things, things like his planning ahead how they would spend the night together at her place. Then his sister had skirted too close to the “m-word” and Bette had seen that look on his face.
Horrified. Numbed. Panicked.
Over the next two weeks, as Paul Monroe wove himself deeper and deeper into her life, Bette reminded herself of that look.
It was as much a part of him as the way he loved to tease her, as the way he liked her home, as the way he appreciated her warmth to his sister, as the way he held her and made her crazy. She had to remember that.
When he took her to dinner most nights, when he drove her home every night and sometimes to work the next morning, she reminded herself of that look.
When his voice turned mellow as he confided in her, when his hands turned sultry even as he made her laugh, when his eyes turned soft as he smiled at her, she reminded herself of that look.
But it kept getting harder.
Chapter Ten