To Keep Her Baby. Melissa Senate
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resist the siren call of attraction.”
He pictured himself on a horse, wearing a Stetson. Riding off into the sunset alone. “Oh trust me, I most definitely will.”
He was about to change the subject to something a lot less personal when he noticed that the guy walking down the sidewalk toward them was about to smash into a fire hydrant because his eyes were on Ginger’s chest and not where he was going. “Hot, hot, hot,” the idiot said before he crashed. “Ow!” he yelped.
“I get that a lot,” she said. “Especially at the beach. Lots of guys trip on their leering faces.”
He could only imagine how itty-bitty Ginger’s bikini would be. And made out of string, most likely.
“There’s Jazzy’s,” he said, pointing across the street, grateful for the image change in his mind of Ginger in that string bikini. “I think this shop will be more your speed but still accomplish what you want.”
“Perf,” she said as they headed over.
This store had a completely different vibe. The clothes were less classic, more contemporary. And the employees were a lot friendlier. Fifteen minutes later, Ginger’s arms were loaded with items to try on. James waited on the love seat in the dressing area, flipping through a People magazine.
“Ooh, me likey!” he heard from the vicinity of her room.
He smiled. Had he ever met anyone who said me likey? He didn’t think so.
Ginger burst out of the room, all smiles, and he put the magazine back on the side table. “How much do I love this jacket? This much!” she said, spreading her arms wide.
He had to admit, she looked amazing. The blazer was a pale pink, and there was something slightly iridescent about it. It nipped in at her waist and fitted her perfectly. Under it she wore a white shirt with a band of silky ruffles down the V-neck, no cleavage in sight. A pair of skinny jeans that molded to her “slammin’ bod” but weren’t too tight, and flat silver sandals finished the outfit.
“You look great!” he said. “Wow.”
“Right?” she asked, beaming, turning this way and that in the three-way mirror in the dressing area. “But do I look like a mom? I kind of feel like I just look...nice.”
“Nice is good to shoot for,” he said. “Larilla would approve, for sure.”
“Yeah?” she asked, looking at her reflection. “I never want to take off this jacket. And it doesn’t even have rhinestones. I could stare at myself in this mirror all day.”
He had to admit, it was nice to see the sparkle back in her eyes. “You’ve got a bunch more to try on. And I’ll have to get to my office in about thirty minutes.”
“Back in a flash,” she said, zipping into the dressing room with a big smile.
Why did he have to like that smile so much?
Fifteen minutes later, she had three outfits, two dresses and three pairs of shoes. Larilla didn’t have an account here, so he would need to pay. His godmother would reimburse him—the wealthy businesswoman insisted on comping a week’s worth of new clothes for all of her students—but walking up to the checkout with his credit card sent a jolt of acid to his gut, reminding him of Ava and her betrayal.
Careful, he reminded himself. You don’t know Ginger O’Leary or what she’s capable of. You never know what someone is capable of.
“Mama got some pretty new clothes!” Ginger said, seemingly to her belly, one hand on her stomach.
He instantly relaxed. Ginger was pregnant. Pregnant. If there was anything that would keep him running for the hills, it was that. After seven years of “parenthood” times five, he was ready for croissants and good coffee in Paris, and the white sand and turquoise waters of Bali. Not a baby. So he really had nothing to worry about in terms of becoming attracted—or attached—to Ginger O’Leary.
Phew.
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