Zeke tried not to read anything personal into the invitation, though he wondered why Paige suddenly averted her gaze again. “I’ll try to make it. That is, if I don’t get hung up at the clinic.”
Paige nodded. “I left a flier on your kitchen counter.”
He winced, wondering how she’d found the counter.
Paige laughed as if she’d read his mind. “It’s by the pizza box.”
He chuckled, aware her eyes darkened when she gazed at him. His body tightened at the undercurrent of attraction strumming between them. Her soft strawberry scent invaded his senses, making him momentarily forget all the reasons he shouldn’t touch her. A dollop of chocolate batter dotted her cheek and he reached out and gently brushed it onto his fingertip. She glanced up in surprise, her eyes widening when he licked the tip of his finger.
Paige’s expression filled with uncertainty, but her lips parted slightly as if in invitation. She was so close her warm breath mingled with his own. Tension, tight and sensual, radiated between them, drawing her closer, dragging him into a web of desire he hadn’t felt in a long time. A year of celibacy surged into need. He didn’t miss the sex as much as he missed the affection, the tender look a woman could give a man, the sweet satisfaction in hearing her whisper his name. Temptation made him tilt his head, and the sensuality and innocence in her expression shocked him.
“We’re ready!” August shouted.
His children’s voices jarred him back to reality. “I’ll be right back,” he said in a husky voice. Don’t move.
He took the steps two at a time, ushered his daughters back upstairs and into bed, then said good-night in record time. He forced himself to walk back down the steps. He didn’t want to act too eager. After all, he’d barely met the woman. He didn’t even know if she had a boyfriend.
But when he stepped into the bathroom, Paige had disappeared.
Chapter Three
Paige avoided Zeke all week. Still, the memory of his masculine scent and his breath whispering against her face made her heart pound with excitement. And turmoil.
Why did all the handsome ones have to be married, divorced with kids, or already committed? Not that she was actively manhunting, but a date here and there would be nice. She deserved some fun. But Zeke Blalock definitely didn’t fit the idea of footloose and fancy-free. Even if he wanted a no-strings relationship, it wouldn’t be fair to his children. They wanted a mother.
And she was not mommy material.
She tried to recall the negative aspects of her neighbor—his house was a mess, he had animals everywhere, and he had no sense of style. For heaven’s sake, his pants and shirt hadn’t even matched.
Still, she’d worked late two nights in a row at the dress shop so she wouldn’t give in to temptation and visit him. The other two evenings she’d stayed up well past midnight working on her design project. The black satin dress had proved to be more of a challenge than she’d expected—especially since every time she pinned the material around herself to assess the fitting, she imagined Zeke unpinning it.
Thursday afternoon, she stood in the window of Beverly’s Boutique, redressing the mannequin. She’d chosen a forest green linen suit and elegant accessories to complement the outfit.
“That looks great.” Beverly traced a finger over the paisley silk scarf she’d used to accessorize the suit.
“Thanks.” Paige changed the belt for the third time.
“You have a hot date tonight?” The thirty-five-year-old entrepreneur who owned the store had become a good friend and confidant in the past few months.
“Not even a cold one,” Paige said with a wry laugh. Not a possibility either. “The neighbors are coming over for a meeting. I am going to an engagement party for a friend tomorrow, though.”
“Great.” Beverly tapped her polished nails on the counter. “Maybe you’ll meet someone there. You’re single and free now, you should be dating a different guy every night.”
“I don’t have time.” Paige stepped back to scrutinize her work. “I’m working my way through school, remember?”
A customer slipped into the shop and Beverly’s posture straightened as she recognized the possibility of a sale. The tall brunette flitted through the store, choosing several outfits to try on, then meandered over to the jewelry counter. Beverly would be off to brownnose any second. Talk about the pot calling the kettle black. Beverly worked seventy-something hours every week. Her social life was more nonexistent than Paige’s.
Beverly gave her a forlorn look as if she hated to run out in the middle of such an important conversation. Paige laughed, nonplussed. “Go on, make your sale.”
Paige cleaned up the window area, closed out one of the cash registers and waved goodbye as Beverly ran the customer’s credit card through the machine. She could almost hear Beverly’s squeals of excitement as the dollar signs brringed. She admired Beverly. After her husband had deserted her for a younger woman, Bev had borrowed money, opened the shop and made a success out of it.
Paige intended to make a success out of herself the way Bev had with the shop. Her high school home ec teacher had raved over her sewing projects, and a couple of her college professors had encouraged her dream of becoming a designer. Even if she never made it big with her own designs, she could work as a buyer for a big department store.
As she pulled into her driveway, she noticed Zeke and the girls’ empty driveway. As a veterinarian, Zeke probably had to work long hours. Shoving thoughts of them from her mind, she strolled up her driveway and went inside to enjoy the peace and quiet. Zeke probably wouldn’t even make the meeting.
WHAT HE WOULDN’T give for five minutes of peace and quiet before the meeting, Zeke thought as Summer and August battled over who would push the grocery cart. But hoping for peace was futile with two exhausted, hungry, irritable girls in tow. He tried to ignore his daughters’ next argument—which kind of cereal to purchase—as he wove his way through the aisles searching for something nutritious to serve them that could be nuked in the microwave and ready to eat in five minutes.
“I’m starving,” August said, dragging the toes of her sneakers.
“And I’m tired,” Summer whined.
“I’m almost done.” Zeke ignored the boxes of sugar-coated cereal the girls sneaked into the cart. Dinner, bath, the baby-sitter—he wondered how fast he could manage it all once he arrived home.
The young girl behind the counter snapped her gum as she rang his purchases, her gold nose ring dangling precariously. He inwardly cringed, feeling a million years old. How would he handle it if Summer or August grew up and wanted their bodies pierced or tattooed in ungodly places?
“Did you have fun at day care today?” he asked.
“No, Charlie stoled my finger-paint picture,” Summer said.
“But I smacked him one,” August said.
“You did what?” Zeke’s gaze shot to August.
“Right between the eyes,” August said.
“He bledded and everythin’,” Summer mumbled in a low voice.
The girl behind the counter laughed, flashing a mouth full of braces. “Fifty-two dollars and thirty-five cents.”
Zeke sighed. What kind of school allowed children to steal and hit each other?
“Yeah, Ms. Edie said she’s gonna call you,” August said. “But I tolded her you’d want me to ’tect Summer.”
Uh-oh. Zeke paid for the groceries and hauled his girls toward the minivan. On the ride home, he heard them nibbling on the dry cereal, and his thoughts drifted to his uncertainties about parenting. The girls were only