Free Beguiled Again: A Romantic Comedy by Patricia Burroughs Page B

studiously focused on his Xbox.
    “We’re on our way out.” When Jeff didn’t respond, she prompted, “You said you had something for me?”
    He grinned, the familiar dimples deepening, and slid his hand into his trouser pocket. He pulled out a small glass disk. “I believe this belongs to your eldest, er, child.”
    “I’m sure he’ll be grateful,” she murmured as he dropped it into her palm.
    “I doubt it.” He propped an elbow against the door frame, for all the world as though he were staking a claim. His jacket flared to expose his trim middle. “But it doesn’t really make any difference. The watch crystal was just an excuse.”
    “An excuse?”
    “For being here.” His eyes teased her with sparkling gold pleasure. The interest in those glittering eyes was as pronounced as the glittering gold stickpin in his red silk tie. And it was an interest she was trying her darnedest not to reciprocate. Her palm felt oddly tingly where the watch crystal nestled, as if his touch lingered, radiating heat. She closed her fingers around it and thrust her fist into the pocket of her blue skirt, then glanced into the living room. Peter’s eyes were trained on her, his expression hard.
    “Thank you.” It sounded lame enough, even to her ears, but what was she supposed to say? Now go home?
    She didn’t have to.
    “Where are you going, all dressed up?”
    Remembering the rustle of red silk on the chaise in the bathroom, she shrugged. “Not dressed up. Not really.” Then realizing she hadn’t answered his question, she added, “To school. Tonight’s open house. Texas Public Schools Week.”
    “Open house? Good grief, I haven’t been to an open house since I was a kid.” Jeff tilted his head, a slanting ray of late evening sun catching the lean angles of his face. His skin was a warm tan. Not tanned by the sun, because Cecilia would venture a guess that he hadn’t spent a measurable amount of time in the sun in years. And not olive, because olive tended to sallow in the winter. Just a warm, natural shade of brown.
    “Cecil, in case you’re being a little dense, I just dropped a big hint.”
    “Hint?” she choked out, hoping he hadn’t noticed her scrutiny.
    He took her by the arm and led her deeper into the hall, out of range of the living room. “I realize you’ve been out of circulation awhile, so I’ll refresh your memory. I said 'I haven’t been to an open house in years,’ to which you could have replied, 'Well, why don’t you come with us?'"
    “What?” she gasped. “You? At the school?”
    “Why such surprise?” he asked, edging a little closer. He stroked her cheekbone with his knuckle, blazing a tingling trail along her jaw and down her neck.
    “Mom.” Peter stood framed in the doorway, staring. “If we’re not going to school tonight, just say so.”
    “We are going. Mr. Smith is leav—”
    “Agreeing to go with you,” Jeff inserted smoothly. He confronted Peter’s stare without flinching, then straightened his wide shoulders and tightened his jaw. Propelling Cecilia forward, he added, “Your mother was kind enough to invite me. I hope you don’t find that a problem.”
    Peter’s sullen gaze swept from Jeff to his mother and back to Jeff again. Without a word, he spun away and pushed through the screen door, letting it slam behind him, which was a totally un-Peterish thing to do. Hearing the commotion, Brad dashed after him. Slam.
    Anne-Elizabeth brought up the rear.
    Slam .
    “Excuse me,” Cecilia grated, “while we have a family conference.”
    She cornered the children on the front walk. The conference was brief and explicit. She was satisfied that though Peter’s expression was sullen, he didn’t argue. She ordered them into the minivan, then returned to the porch where Jeff was waiting. “Who won?”
    “I always win when it counts. I don’t think that will happen again.”
    “Door slamming?”
    “Oh, heck no.” She laughed in spite of herself. “This door