Family in Progress. Brenda Harlen
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bad thing, after all.
Chapter Three
Steven didn’t do dinner parties, so he wasn’t exactly thrilled to give up a quiet night at home with his kids to attend this one, but he just couldn’t say no to Jenny. She’d planned this event—an informal gathering, she’d called it—to introduce Samara to some other friends.
He wasn’t entirely sure how he’d ended up on the guest list, except that Jenny seemed determined to turn him into a social being when he wanted to do nothing more than bury himself in oblivion. And though he’d given his word that he would be there, it had crossed his mind that he could beg off at the last minute or simply not show up. He figured there would be enough other people in attendance that his absence wouldn’t be noticed. Except that Jenny had preempted that possibility by enlisting him to drive Samara. While he trusted that one empty chair might be forgiven, a missing guest of honor was quite a different story.
Why Samara couldn’t find her own way to the party was beyond him—which brought another distinctly discomfiting thought to mind.
Though he’d just hung up the phone with his sister-in-law, it was his brother whose number he dialed.
“Is this some kind of setup?” he demanded when Richard answered his cell.
“Is what some kind of setup?”
“This dinner-party thing.”
“A setup for whom?” His brother sounded genuinely baffled.
“Me,” he admitted. “And Samara.”
Richard laughed. “You can’t honestly think that.”
Steven scowled. “Why do you think it’s so unlikely?”
“Well, to be blunt, she’s young and beautiful and vibrant—” definitely not words that anyone would use to describe Steven “—and you’re an overworked single father.”
“That is blunt,” he agreed.
“On the other hand,” Richard mused, “maybe it’s not completely unthinkable. If you’re interested, I mean.”
“I’m not,” Steven said quickly. “I just wanted to make sure no one had any expectations other than that I would pick her up and deliver her to your party.”
“Taking her home again at the end of the night, too, would be appreciated.”
“Which is just a way of making sure I don’t skip out early.”
“Jenny would be crushed,” Richard told him.
“I can’t be out all night—I have kids, remember?”
“Who are old enough to be on their own for a few hours.”
A few hours didn’t sound so bad, Steven managed to convince himself, then went to say good-night to the kids.
Samara changed outfits more than half a dozen times before a quick glance at the clock warned her that Steven would be arriving any minute. Unwilling to make him wait, she decided the simple wrap-style dress she was currently wearing was satisfactory and tucked her feet into a pair of matching sling-backs that boosted her height by three inches. A final glance in the mirror had her reaching for a chunky-hammered bronze pendant and matching earrings and adding a touch of color to her lips.
Steven’s reaction, when she opened the door, gave nothing away. She knew it wasn’t a date, and his greeting was pleasant enough, but still, she’d thought he would say something, and the fact that he didn’t made her a little nervous. Was she overdressed? Underdressed?
Jenny always claimed that Samara had a unique style, and the way she said it made it sound like a compliment. Not that Samara had ever really worried about anyone else’s opinion. She’d always been comfortable with the way she looked and who she was. Learning of her fiancé’s infidelity had changed everything. Having Kazuo’s pregnant lover show up at her door—three weeks before their wedding—had made Samara question everything about herself.
After three years, she’d honestly believed they’d had a good relationship, that they wanted the same things—most notably a future together. Two years later, he was married to the mother of his child and she was still trying to figure out where everything had gone wrong.
But she wasn’t going to worry about that tonight. And she wasn’t going to feel insulted that while Steven Warren’s presence made her aware of him in a distinctly sexual way, he didn’t even seem to be aware that she was female.
He looked really good tonight. He was usually dressed casually whenever she saw him in or around the studio, but tonight he was wearing a suit: charcoal jacket and pants, burgundy shirt and—this surprised her—a pink tie. But somehow the color enhanced rather than detracted from his masculinity, and made everything female inside her respond.
She deliberately averted her gaze, focusing on the scenery outside of the window. Focusing on anything but the man who made her feel things she hadn’t felt in a very long time.
They rode in silence for the first several minutes. She wasn’t sure if Steven was concentrating on the task of driving or just lost in his own thoughts, as she was lost in hers. But after a while, she found her eyes drifting in his direction again.
He had a strong profile, she noted. And strong hands. One of which was resting lightly on top of the gearshift, while the fingers of the other were curled loosely around the steering wheel. He maneuvered the car through traffic with an easy confidence that was somehow both reassuring and arousing. As he palmed the wheel to negotiate a turn, she found herself wondering how those strong, competent hands would feel moving over her body.
“I really appreciate the ride,” she said, in a desperate hope that conversation would alter the direction of her renegade thoughts. “I hope you didn’t have to come too far out of your way to pick me up.”
“Not at all,” Steven said politely.
And silence fell again.
Samara felt more than a little awkward. This man was her boss, and her best friend’s husband’s brother—they should have something to talk about. But her mind was blank.
Of course, that might have something to do with the fact that they were sitting in such close proximity, and all she could think was that he looked so good—and smelled even better. And, oh my, just breathing in the clean male scent of him made everything inside her quiver.
It was Steven who finally broke the silence. “Jenny said you don’t have a car.”
She noticed that his voice sounded strained, as if making conversation required a concerted effort on his part, too. And she couldn’t help but wonder if it was because he was as aware of her as she was of him, or if he was just bored.
“That must make it difficult to get around,” he concluded.
She shrugged, pretending a nonchalance she didn’t feel as she tried to focus on small talk and keep her suddenly riotous hormones in check. “I’m getting familiar with the bus and train routes.”
“Is that how you go back and forth to work every day?”
She nodded. “Yeah.”
He frowned. “I know it’s expensive to own a car, but there are other options. You could rent or lease.”
“Both of which require a driver’s license,” she pointed out.
He turned his head and stared at her. And the look in his eyes gradually changed from incredulity to something else, something she wasn’t sure she was ready to define but that made the nerves in her belly start to quiver all over again.
He tore his gaze away, tightened his fingers around the steering wheel. “You don’t, uh, have a driver’s license?”
“It’s not a crime—at least not in Japan.” She hoped he wouldn’t notice the suddenly