The Perfect Wife and Mother?. Caroline Anderson
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she asked frankly.
He coloured a little. ‘I’m just late. I was reading to Evie. Come in, Suzannah. Would you go up and finish reading the chapter to her while I throw on some things? Thanks.’
He led her upstairs, ushered her into Evie’s room and then shot into his room and grabbed his clothes. There was no time to be selective now. Taupe chinos, cream cotton shirt without tie, blazer, tie in pocket just in case. Wallet. Comb hair—for what it was worth. Shoes—no, not work shoes. Neutral suede desert boots. It was too hot for anything else. Right.
He kissed Evie, checked Gus, told Suzannah he would be back about eleven, gave her his mobile number and ran.
He was late. Ginny checked her watch, glanced once more down the drive towards the main vehicular entrance and went and sat down on a low wall by the door.
Her skirt was fortunately multicoloured and wouldn’t show the marks, but after shopping all day in the hideous heat the last thing she wanted was to stand.
She plucked at the soft, crinkle-pleated cotton of the skirt and wondered if it was as transparent as she suspected with the light behind it. Not that there’d be any light behind it if he was much later.
Oh, well. It was delicate and feminine and made her feel good, and she had a snug vest-top on under a wispy blouse that matched the skirt, the tails tied at her waist. It exaggerated her bust a little too much, but so what? It was her best asset. She might as well use it.
Her fingers plucked at the skirt again. She hoped it looked as good as it felt, and that it would be formal enough for whatever he had in mind.
Whatever it was, she hoped that it included food early in the programme because she hadn’t eaten since breakfast and that had been a rather scratch affair.
A dark blue estate car came into view, doing horrible things to the site speed limit of ten miles an hour, and pulled up right beside her. Ryan jumped out and came over to her, looking rueful and good enough to eat.
‘Sorry I’m late—domestic hiccup. All set?’
She nodded and stood up, and judged her money wisely spent. His reaction was a peach. His jaw sagged a little, his eyes widened and fastened like limpets on her exaggerated bust, and with a conscious effort he dragged his gaze up to her face and cleared his throat slightly.
‘You look—very—um…’ he managed. He closed his eyes and gave a rueful laugh. ‘Sorry. That white coat covers up a lot. You look stunning. I’m stunned. Really.’
She chuckled softly. ‘You’re no slouch yourself, O’Connor.’
He grinned, his equilibrium under control again, opened the car door for her, tucked her skirt in and closed it before striding round and sliding behind the wheel. ‘Right—what would you like to do? Movies or dinner first?’
She pulled an apologetic face. ‘Dinner? I’m starving.’
‘So am I. Formal or informal?’
‘Informal.’
‘Inside or out?’
She laughed. ‘Out, for preference.’
‘Done. There’s a pub that serves excellent food and they’ve got a riverside garden with willow trees. It’s really beautiful and cool too, which has to be a plus.’
‘Just lead the way,’ she said with a smile, and leant back against her seat. He liked the clothes. Good. And he was going to feed her. Life was wonderful.
The pub garden was busy, but as they went outside with their drinks a couple sitting under one of the trees got up to leave and vacated the secluded little spot.
Glad that her skirt wouldn’t show the grass stains, Ginny sat down, wrapped her arms round her legs and propped her chin on her knees. The willow branches hung like a curtain around them, whispering in the slight evening breeze, and although they were surrounded by people it was as if they were alone.
They were close to the water’s edge, and there were ducks lazily holding their position against the current and waiting hopefully for a crust or the odd chip. Ginny watched them for a moment then with a chuckle turned to Ryan, to find him watching her again with a strange intensity.
She expected him to flush or turn away, but he didn’t. Instead, his eyes burned into hers. ‘You’re beautiful, Virginia,’ he murmured, and she was the one who blushed. ‘Beautiful and feminine and very, very tempting. I made myself a promise tonight.’
She waited and eventually he continued, his voice strained, ‘I promised myself I wasn’t going to jump your bones. Not on the first date, at least, or the second.’
‘When’s the third?’ she asked brazenly, shocked at herself but unable to help the words.
His eyes darkened and his breath caught in his throat. ‘Dammit, woman, you aren’t supposed to say things like that!’ he choked out on a laugh.
She laughed with him, caught up in the sensual cocoon of their living hideaway, and he moved closer, turning sideways so that he was sitting on one hip with his leg drawn up and leaning on his outstretched hand—leaving the other hand free to give her its undivided attention.
His knuckles grazed her cheek, just softly, then down over the hollow of her throat until the backs of his fingers rested against the swell of her breast, just visible over the scooped neck of the little top.
Then his hand turned over, skimming across her breast and up, so that his fingers lay against the pulse at the side of her neck and his thumb dragged sensuously over her waiting lips. He caught her chin to steady her, and then his mouth was descending slowly, closing with hers inch by tormenting inch.
That first touch of his mouth was like the brush of an angel’s wing—light, delicate, almost her imagination.
And then he kissed her, and the world outside their shimmering curtain disappeared in a haze of sensation. He was still gentle, but there was no part of her that felt untouched by him in the course of that one sweet kiss. Her lips parted for his tongue, and it seemed to caress her soul. No one had ever kissed her like that—ever.
She didn’t want it to end, but of course it did. Good things always did—and this one with a muttered oath.
‘Number thirty-seven?’ a girl was calling.
‘Damn,’ he said again. ‘That’s our supper. Virginia, would you? I can’t go out there like this.’
He looked embarrassed, but he didn’t need to. She was every bit as aroused. It was just more subtle. She stood up, ducked under the willow curtain and retrieved their food from the waitress.
When she went back under the tree he was sitting with his leg hitched up, one arm resting on his knee and the other wrapped round his shin. He looked awkward, as if the kiss had been an accident, and she couldn’t bear to see him flagellate himself for the most beautiful experience of her life.
She sat down, passed him his supper and met his rueful eyes. ‘Don’t, O’Connor,’ she said softly. ‘That was a beautiful kiss. I won’t let you regret it.’
He laughed without humour. ‘I was out of line.’
‘No, you weren’t. You got there just before I did.’
He met her eyes, his startled, and then he chuckled. ‘I do believe you’re telling the truth.’
‘Oh, I am,’ she said round a mouthful of prawns in mayonnaise. ‘I was beginning to think you’d never get round to it without a little help.’
He choked on his first forkful of salad and Ginny slapped him on the back and then eyed him as he swallowed and wiped his streaming eyes.
‘Are you all right?’
‘Fine,’ he croaked. ‘Just don’t say things like that.’
‘Like what? That I want you, too?’
He