* * * *
This time when they pulled into her driveway, she was ready.
She wasn’t sure how she’d respond if he repeated last night’s soft caress, not after tonight’s disconcerting taste of another kind. Even though their conversation during the drive had been innocuous and friendly in the extreme, with no hint of a reference to the embrace on the beach, she’d take no chances.
So she laid a cool hand on his forearm to forestall his turning off the ignition, yanked it back as if she’d been burned, forced a cheerful good-night and practically sprinted to the front door. She stood inside again, listening for long, heart-thudding moments until he backed up and drove away.
Not until she slid between the crisp clean sheets did she shake those moments on Oak Street Beach long enough for other considerations.
Leaving work early—and any time before seven was early for her—and getting home too late to do any work Wednesday had put her behind. Today made it worse.
She’d have to keep a strict schedule to catch up. Especially since she’d earmarked Sunday for attending real estate open houses to get a fix on the market. And added to her duties Monday would be getting Paul to decide on a temporary assistant.
She frowned. When Jan first came into Top-Line Temporaries, she’d described her boss’s aversion to schedules and long-term planning. “Short-term planning, too, most of the time,” Jan had added. Cheerfully and amid all the teasing of the past two evenings, he’d confirmed it.
I wonder if he views women the same way he views Christmas shopping? she thought. Her frown deepened. Probably. What else could she expect? Someone who couldn’t commit himself to buying a present because something better might come along surely wouldn’t commit himself to a woman.
She rolled to her side and punched the already plumped pillow. Not that it made any difference. Paul was a client. Period. A client with whom she would have a few business conversations, but would likely never see again. If she was smart.