An Imperfect Match / Next Comes Love. Kimberly Van Meter
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having to hear the words that he felt bad, but she wasn’t ready to make the first move. Luckily, she didn’t have to.
Dean drew a deep breath. “You were dressed nicely. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said it like that. Hell, I suck when it comes to saying things the right way.”
“You got that right,” Annabelle agreed softly, not quite ready to let him off the hook. She eyed him curiously. “So, what did you mean? Do you really hate the way I dress?”
“That answer is complicated.”
“Try simplifying.”
“It’s like this…” He drifted toward her, but she remained rooted where she stood. Soon, she was staring into a pair of eyes that were far too extraordinary to be called brown as they flared with brilliant flecks of hazel. She forgot herself and why she needed to keep her distance as he spoke again. “Annabelle, you have to know that you’re a beautiful woman with a stunning figure, but that’s just what’s on the surface and I know that’s probably all a lot of people see. I strive to keep things professional between us, but some days when you’re dressed like that…hell, woman, I’m just a man and all I can think of is you and it kills me. I shouldn’t be thinking of you in that way. I’m your boss.”
His eyes had the look of a man tortured by his admission, ashamed even by his perceived weakness, and Annabelle had a startling revelation. He was fighting as hard as she was to keep the lines drawn, but there seemed a current flowing between them that kept pulling them near to one another.
Annabelle was falling even though she was standing still, which was patently ridiculous. She realized with a breathy start that her gaze feasted on the promise of his lips, aching to know what it felt like to have them pressed against her own. Valid points. He made valid points, a voice in her head reminded her even as her feet seemed to move in the same direction, pulled on an invisible current toward one inevitable course.
“I like my clothes,” she said in a soft voice, looking up into Dean’s gorgeous eyes and wondering how she had never noticed their unusual color before this moment. “And I’m not going to change.”
“Yes, you will,” he murmured with a low growl that excited her in a way that defied explanation. His arms closed around her in a perfect fit, their bodies molding against one another until Annabelle struggled to remember why this was a bad idea. This was safety, a different voice whispered. This was home. No, this was a man who was off-limits and dangerous.
But it was too late. She was a goner. Probably hadn’t even had a chance from the moment he came toward her. Her fate had been sealed. But as far as fates go, she thought weakly, as his lips touched hers in a firm exploration that sparked little tingles up and down her body, this isn’t half-bad.
Shoot, if she was going to send her life to hell in a handbag, having Dean ride shotgun wasn’t a terrible idea.
What did she have to lose?
CHAPTER TEN
DEAN WAS a bundle of nerves. He wasn’t accustomed to acting like an idiot. Usually, he was the responsible one. The one who shouldered the family load without complaint.
And yet, here he was, itching from nervous apprehension over one stupid move.
What the hell was he thinking? That was an easy one to answer. He hadn’t been thinking. He didn’t know what came over him. It was as if he were under a spell or something. Yeah. That was it. A spell of stupidity. A wave of disgust rolled over him and he wondered if this was what happened to middle-aged men when they hit a midlife crisis. First comes the motorcycle, then the younger woman. Except, he’d skipped the wheels and gone straight to the hot babe.
Scrubbing his hands down his face, he tried focusing on the day ahead. Dana was bringing Annabelle and for that he was grateful. He needed a little time to get hold of himself. He’d spun away from Annabelle the moment his brain reengaged with a resounding What the hell are you doing? and after stammering some kind of lame excuse he’d practically run out of the house.
Judging by the stunned expression on her face, he doubted that was the reaction she’d expected. It probably made her feel like dirt, but he couldn’t help it. His feet had gone on autopilot and his body had had no choice but to follow. He’d screwed up. Dropped the ball. And now he had the aftermath to deal with, which would be awkward as hell as soon as she got here.
His heart pounded as the sound of Dana’s car in the driveway told him Annabelle had arrived. Under normal circumstances, he would’ve gone out to help with Honey, but he wanted to postpone this face-to-face as long as possible. Coward. He forced his attention to the bid sheet and not to the sound of footsteps coming toward the building.
But as the moment he’d been dreading arrived, Annabelle shocked the hell out of him when she did the exact opposite of what he expected.
She smiled as if nothing had happened.
“Good morning,” she said, placing Honey’s diaper bag in the corner and Honey on the floor while she constructed the playpen. “Don’t forget you have that lunch meeting with that new concrete guy over at The Grill and Brandon is going to be late tonight. He’s going over to Jessie’s after school.”
Startled by the ease with which she pretended nothing had happened between them, Dean could only stare for a moment until Honey climbed into his lap and his arms went around the toddler as she grabbed at the items scattered across his desk. So, was this how they should address the issue? Pretend?
It should’ve been the answer to his dilemma. Obviously, they were on the same page. Neither thought what they did was appropriate, and it was better just to let it go. So, why did he suddenly want to talk about it?
It didn’t feel right to act as though nothing had changed. Or maybe it hadn’t for her, which left him feeling like the complete sap for letting it affect him in such a visceral manner.
Jerking his gaze away from Annabelle, his mouth softened as he looked at Honey. She smelled of baby shampoo and powder. Her silky blond curls hung in lazy ringlets against rosebud cheeks and he was reminded of something far more pressing than his momentary lapse in judgment.
“You should file a police report,” he said to Annabelle as she finished with the playpen. She straightened and offered a brittle smile but little else, which told him that despite her seemingly sunny disposition, she was rattled as well. “I don’t feel comfortable knowing someone deliberately sabotaged your car.”
Annabelle laughed and brushed past him accidentally, sending his whole body on alert, as she traveled to the file cabinet. “You worry too much. I told you it was probably just a prank. I’m not going to bother the authorities over something like this. Besides, it’s not your problem, okay?”
Polite but firm, the message was loud and clear. Back off.
Honey voiced her opinion with a string of nonsensical babble and he renewed his efforts. “What if it hadn’t been sugar in your tank but your brake line cut, or your tires? What if you were driving down the road with Honey and you careened down a cliff? There’re bigger things at stake here, don’t you think?” Annabelle blanched and Dean knew he’d made his point. “What’s it going to hurt to talk with a deputy? Besides, you might need a police report for your insurance company to cover the damages.”
“Insurance covers stuff like this?”
“Some. Depends on your policy. Did you get full coverage or just liability?”
“Full.”
“Well, then, I’d say it’s probably covered under comprehensive. I’d bet you have a $500 deductible, though.”
She chewed her lip. “Well, that’s a little better than the $800 Jonas quoted me,” she said, thinking out loud. “All right. I’ll make a report but not because I’m worried or anything. Just for the insurance. No one is out to get me or Honey,” she assured him, but the subtle quiver told him differently. Since she’d agreed to make the report, he decided to