Free Safe in His Arms by Vicki Lewis Thompson

she’d find out how well he managed in a setting that was several notches down from what he was used to. That would be a good thing to know, right? If he was ill at ease, or if he patronized her, even a little bit, a relationship between them wouldn’t work.
    Therefore she shouldn’t worry about how her place looked, but she wasn’t that strong. The first thing that stood out in her initial survey was a smear of yellow paint on her white living room wall. Her landlord had given her permission to repaint and she’d tested that cheery color with one ten-inch swipe of the brush. She wanted to cover it up.
    Her bedroom closet yielded nothing but rolled up rock band posters from her younger days. Then she spied her collection of scarves. Twenty minutes later, thanks to the scarves and some pushpins, she’d created a fabric wall decoration that looked . . . weird.
    But she was out of time to worry about that, so she left it. Next she made a sweep of the area, grabbing up newspapers and magazines, straightening throw pillows, and blowing the dust off her coffee table. It would have to do. She still had to get dinner started, set the table, and change clothes.
    Damn! She’d forgotten to buy wine. She had a half-bottle of Chardonnay in the refrigerator. Yeah, that would be classy.
Here’s a glass of leftover wine. Hope you didn’t want seconds because that’s all there is.
    Stopping in her tracks, she took several calming breaths. She could do this. Presenting a perfect scenario wasn’t in the cards. No matter what she did, the ambiance wouldn’t match what Adam had experienced while he was married to Elise.
    Ah, there was her other hidden fear. While at work this afternoon, she’d Googled a picture of his ex, who was poised, blond, stunning, and dripping in expensive jewels. He might not want to be married to her anymore, but she was still the type he was used to. Elise would never offer him leftover wine and spaghetti sauce from a jar.
    Screw it!
Valerie rolled her eyes, impatient with herself. She’d taken this step, made this plan, and she might as well see it through. At six twenty-seven, she turned on the burners under the pasta water and the pan for the spaghetti sauce. Then she ran into her bedroom and changed into a green and blue patterned dress that was on the slinky side and looked sort of hostess-like.
    Her doorbell rang before she’d decided on shoes. Shoving her feet into some sparkly flip-flops, she took a deep breath, left her bedroom, and went to answer the door.
    He stood in the hall holding a bottle of wine and a bouquet of flowers. His silver gaze was intent, his smile a little tense. She hoped to hell he wasn’t having second thoughts, too.
    Her heart thumped wildly. They were about to be completely alone for the first time since they’d met. So much hinged on tonight. So much.
    He hoisted his gifts. “I know I’m a walking cliché, but—”
    “No, it’s sweet. Come in.” She stepped back and he walked through her door, into her world. She was so nervous she could barely breathe. “Let me . . . let me take those.”
    He handed her the bouquet and the wine. “You look beautiful, Valerie.”
    “It’s just—” She caught herself before she dismissed his compliment. He’d made it with a soft reverence that told her it was more than an offhand remark. Even though he’d moved in circles where women wore designer clothes, her quickly chosen outfit had dazzled him. That touched her. “Thank you.”
    He took off his hat. “Where should I put this?”
    “On the coffee table’s fine.”
    He set it there without spending any time looking at the table, or the sofa and chairs, or any part of her living room, including her scarf wall art. His hot gaze came back immediately to rest on her. “Could you put those down for a minute?”
    “Sure.” Her heart beat faster as she laid the bouquet on the coffee table next to his hat and set the wine bottle beside the bouquet.
    “I know you have