Nobody's Princess. Jennifer Greene
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of them in a package deal?”
“Uh, no.”
“Now, don’t rush into that no. We’re talking literary legends with fur—a range of choices from Casanova to Don Juan to Henry VIII to Cleopatra. Not that you couldn’t rename them, but their personalities seemed fairly obvious—two lovers, a glutton and a vamp. I’d throw in a year’s supply of cat food out of the goodness of my heart—”
He chuckled. “That’s quite an irresistible sales pitch—and I’m impressed with your choice of names.”
“Not enough to sucker you in, though, huh?”
“Afraid not. I live with an older brother.”
“He’s allergic to cats?”
“No, he’s just more trouble than ten pets now.”
She laughed. “I have older brothers, too. Believe me, I understand. They’re tougher to make behave than a pet any day.”
“You’re not kidding.”
For a few seconds there, Regan thought her chattering was working to make him relax. But then an awkward silence fell between them, and she just wasn’t sure how to fill it.
She rubbed a hand on the back of her neck, thinking of their meeting in the library—and that she never should have kissed him.
It wasn’t as if she normally went around kissing strange men. And at any other time, her red-alert buttons would have been flashing special warnings around Alex.
One look at him had aroused an instant carnal lust attack. Maybe Regan was a tad cynical about legendary heroes, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t mightily appreciate the look of one. Images of picture-book knights on white chargers flew into her mind and clung there like glue. Never mind his contemporary Dockers and sandals, Alex had that Sean Connery look—the striking dark hair, the searing blue eyes, the proud posture and lean build. The trimmed, silvery-black beard just added to the packaging. Alex just happened to have all the equipment that revved her personal hormone engines.
At thirty-three, though, Regan was old enough to thoroughly enjoy a lust attack—and then jettison those feelings faster than bad meat. She’d once sold herself all the fairy tales about happily-ever-afters, and none of the frogs she’d kissed had ever turned into a prince. She’d successfully broken her bad habit of falling for the wrong men the easiest way—by galloping at Olympic speeds away from any guy who aroused her irresponsible hormones.
She’d have run from Alex the same way. Except that she’d seen right off that he was down in the dumps, and once she realized a broken love affair was the cause, she’d felt safe. Alex wasn’t on the prowl. He seemed so hung up on his Gwen that Regan doubted he even noticed her in a personal way.
Kissing him had been a natural impulse. The story about his ex-fiancée had inevitably aroused her compassion. It was the dreadful Camelot tale all over again—a vulnerably idealistic man dumped by a damn fool numbskull of a woman who didn’t appreciate a good man when she had one. Regan did. Her previous experience with frogs made her outstandingly aware of how rare good men were, and Alex’s confidence had seemed so low, about life, about himself. Regan could well remember all the crippling self-doubts after she’d been shafted, and he’d just seemed to need a kiss. A gesture of compassion and support. Something.
Damned if she was going to regret the impulse. Possibly the texture of that warm, mobile mouth had haunted her mind, but that was like handling chicken pox. Regan was an old pro at enduring—and ignoring—her wayward fantasies. He was just a good man who’d temporarily needed someone to listen. And maybe he still did. So far she didn’t have a clue why he’d called.
Neither, apparently, did Alex. He was the one to break the sudden, awkward silence by gruffly clearing his throat. “I think I should be coming up with some brilliant reason why I called. The truth is, I don’t have one. I just kept remembering our conversation in the library, and I guess...well, I just wanted to thank you. I never meant to vent my problems on a stranger, and you were really kind, made me feel a lot better.”
“No problem on the venting. I think everyone needs that sometimes.” Regan hesitated. If that was all he’d wanted to say, she could easily end the call. But she recalled too well those aching weeks after Ty had split for another woman. She’d felt humiliated and undesirable and painfully alone. And suddenly she twisted the phone cord around her wrist. “Besides, I really enjoyed our conversation. And it just occurred to me that we never really finished our argument about heroes.”
“No, I guess we didn’t—”
It wasn’t the first time she’d given in to an impulse. Or even the hundredth. “Well, I’m not sure, but I think I’ve got a couple of steaks in the back of the freezer. You have dinner free tomorrow night? It’s okay to think before answering. I should warn you there’s a risk—I haven’t given anyone ptomaine in weeks now, but nothing comes out of this kitchen with a guarantee.”
He chuckled, but her offer had clearly startled him. “I honestly didn’t call expecting an invitation—”
“I know you didn’t. And I’d feel bad if you misunderstood—believe me, you made clear that your heart was still tied up with Gwen. And I’m positively not looking for anyone, Alex. I wasn’t thinking ‘date.’ Just someone to talk with over a casual dinner.”
“That sounds good, but I don’t want to put you to any trouble—”
She smiled. “Throwing a couple of steaks on a grill is no trouble. Say seven?” She gave him her address. “Maybe you’d better bring boxing gloves. I have a feeling we’ll be tempted to finish the fight we started the other day.”
He laughed, a sound that echoed in her mind long after Regan hung up the phone. He’d been so grave. Making him laugh and lighten up gave her a warm fuzzy from the inside out. She sat there a moment longer, her gaze wandering to the untouched mail, the dishwasher that needed emptying, then down to Scarlett, who was staring up at her with limpid eyes, surrounded by the whole brood of kittens.
“Did I actually just ask a man to dinner?” she asked Scarlett, and then shook her head and leapt down from the counter.
It would be okay. It wasn’t a date. It wasn’t like opening a door to some idiotic fool romance as she’d done too many times. It was just offering company to a man who seemed to need a friend. And Regan wasn’t short on friends, but her natural wariness kicked in around most men. Not Alex, though. Even if he weren’t still in love with his Gwen, he’d described his ex-fiancée as definitely demure and ladylike.
If his taste in women ran in that direction, she’d be safer with Alex than in a convent—because, heaven knew, she was neither.
Well, they’d either have fun, she thought, or the friendship would never develop beyond that casual dinner. Either way, she was risking nothing.
She was sure.
“You’re actually going to dinner with a woman? Who is she? How’d you meet her? Where are you going?”
“Yes, I’m going to dinner with a woman. And as you might expect, she was a hooker I picked up on a street corner, led me into this red velvet den of iniquity and forcibly seduced me. Naturally, when she called and offered to lead me astray again, I immediately succumbed to temptation—”
“Very funny.” Merle scowled at him from the doorway. Typically, his older brother was dressed in black jeans and bare feet and was squint-eyed from spending so many hours at the computer. “How come you didn’t mention this dinner before?”
“Well, if I’d known it was going to get your liver in this much of an uproar, I probably would have. My going out to a casual dinner didn’t really seem to be a world-shattering event worth mentioning.” Alex emerged from the closet, buttoning a blue oxford cloth shirt. No amount of teasing seemed to lighten his brother’s thundercloud frown.
“What does