Hot Texas Nights. Janice Maynard
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head with a board. What just happened?
He made his way to the counter. “Hey, Amanda. You never brought me my check.”
The attractive diner owner grinned. “Aria bought your dinner.”
He gaped. “How? Why?”
“She scribbled a note on her check. Said she wanted to celebrate your big coup. I heard about the new project. Congratulations.”
“Word travels fast,” he muttered.
“Well, it does in Royal, that’s for sure.”
Ethan left the diner in a daze. Something pulled at him, some inexorable force. Call it destiny or curiosity or plain male lust. Whatever it was, he couldn’t ignore its appeal.
He was headed for Aria Jensen’s house, and the two of them were going to drink champagne.
The drive was short. Less than fifteen minutes. When he pulled up in front of the bungalow-style home, there was a parking space at the curb. This section of Royal dated back to the 1930s. Many of the houses had been renovated and restored to their original glory.
Aria’s was brick with white trim and a wraparound porch. He spotted two rocking chairs and half a dozen empty planters that would be splashed with color in a few months.
It was the kind of house that would be perfect for a family with a dog or a cat and two-point-five precocious toddlers. It wasn’t even a stretch for Ethan to imagine Aria cooking something delightful in a cozy kitchen or reading bedtime stories to a son or a daughter with sun-bleached curls.
His stomach clenched.
He should turn around and get back in his car. Right now.
Every reason he had stayed away from Aria in the past still existed. He wanted her. He always had. But he’d be bad for her.
When they were children at school, he had kept the bullies at bay and let her be the irrepressible tomboy she wanted to be. He’d protected her and cared for her and made sure she was always safe and happy.
But when they became teenagers and then adults, he discovered the painful truth about his father’s many liaisons. His mother hadn’t spilled her guts. But Ethan had found her crying one day and had done his own detective work. The truth had curdled his stomach.
After that, whenever he had been tempted to have his way with the luscious Aria, he had stayed away. For her own good...
Aria kicked off her boots and put on a pair of warm bunny slippers. She told herself she wasn’t going to primp for Ethan Barringer. Even so, she tidied her windblown hair, spritzed the tiniest bit of perfume between her breasts and brushed her teeth.
She didn’t have long.
Just as she scuttled back downstairs, her doorbell rang. Placing a hand on her jumpy stomach, she took a deep breath. Nothing was going to happen. Ethan was a longtime friend. A sexy, gorgeous, unavailable friend.
When she let him in, he smelled like the outdoors. Crisp and fresh and manly. She took his coat, hung it on a wooden peg nearby and waved him toward her comfy living room. “Make yourself at home,” she said. “I’ll grab the champagne and the glasses.”
She was gone less than five minutes. When she returned, Ethan had his eyes closed, his head leaned back against the sofa and his sock-clad feet propped on her wormy chestnut coffee table. She’d bought the solid piece of furniture at an antiques fair in Austin. It was casual and chic, and to be honest, it cried out for a man’s big feet.
The silly thought made her smile inwardly.
“Here we go,” she said.
Ethan looked amazing, though exhausted. He didn’t even hear her three softly spoken words, poor man. His shoulders strained the seams of a navy-and-green tattersall shirt. Dark khakis molded to powerful, masculine thighs. His navy linen sport coat was unbuttoned.
As she watched, his flat abdomen rose and fell with the rhythm of his breathing. His short dark hair had been cut recently. A day’s growth of beard shadowed his masculine jaw.
Perhaps she should be insulted that a man—on the cusp of spending an evening with her—had fallen asleep so rapidly. In truth, though, his comfort in her home was touching.
Ethan had always been a huge part of her life. At least until five years ago, when his work had taken him away from Royal. Even when he’d come home for the holidays, something had changed. He’d grown distant, careful, around her.
At first, she’d thought it was because he had found someone to be serious about, and perhaps that other woman didn’t want him spending time with Aria. The truth was more daunting and less easily understood.
Ethan didn’t have relationships. At least not in Royal. Presumably there were women in Houston. But the gossip mill characterized even those rumored liaisons as one-night stands. Strictly physical. Nothing more.
He was alone, and he liked it that way.
Aria sat down beside him deliberately, leaving only three or four feet between them. Ethan Barringer was the reason she had found every other romantic relationship in her life to be dull and uninspired. Her longtime crush on him was keeping her from having the kind of life she wanted and deserved. Maybe tonight’s meeting was serendipity. Or karma.
The time for being a passive, well-behaved female was over. Something existed between Ethan and her. She was prepared to find out what it was, even if the prospect made her shiver with nerves.
What she contemplated was the equivalent of poking a stick into a lion’s cage. You thought you were safe, but the beast might break loose and devour you.
“Ethan.” She said his name a bit louder.
He jerked and scrubbed his hands over his face. “Sorry about that,” he muttered. “I’ve been running on caffeine and four hours’ sleep.”
“No worries.” She handed him the bottle of champagne. “You should open it. I don’t have much experience in that area.”
He shot her a glance. “And you think I do?” But he took the bottle, anyway.
Their fingers brushed. Her throat dried.
Ethan wrestled with the wire and the foil. “Shouldn’t we do this in the kitchen in case it makes a mess?”
She put a hand on his thigh—quite deliberately—and felt the warmth of his taut muscle. “I’m prepared to live dangerously tonight.”
Ethan stood up abruptly to wrestle with the champagne, causing her hand to fall away. Had he done it on purpose? His cheekbones were flushed with a slash of red. She could swear when she’d said the word dangerously he flinched.
There was a loud pop, and the cork shot across the room. Ethan grabbed a glass. “I was afraid this would happen.” He rapidly poured the foaming liquid into two flutes.
Aria used the dish towel she had brought along and mopped up the small puddle. “It’s fine.”
Ethan handed her a glass. “Ladies first.”
She lifted her flute and clinked it against his. “To you, Ethan. Kudos for all your hard work and everything you’ve achieved. Perry Construction is lucky to have you.”
His smile was sheepish but pleased. “Thanks, Aria.”
Their gazes locked as they each drained a glass. Though Aria was no connoisseur, this particular vintage was perfect for her taste. She had spent a lot on this bottle since it was supposed to be for a party. Now she was glad. “You’re welcome,” she said softly. “I’m happy we ran into each other. No one should have to celebrate alone.”
His Adam’s apple bobbed. Noticeably. “More?” he