His Best Friend's Wife (Bachelor Best Friends 2)

There was no easy answer to that outwardly simple question, considering the emotional wringer she’d been through since she had left his apartment the evening before. She settled for a vague, “I’m fine, thank you. You?”

“Yeah, I’m good. And the kids? They’re doing okay?”

“They’re fine, too. They’re in bed now.”

“I thought they might be. I hope I’m not calling too late.”

“No, it’s okay. How was your day?” she asked for lack of anything else to say.

“I went to a networking thing—cocktails, small talk. Boring.”

She couldn’t imagine him enjoying that sort of gathering. “I’m sure it’s a good way to keep your company name out there.”

“Yeah, that’s what Tate says. He’s better at those things than I am, which is why I push him as the public face of our business. But I mentioned the scholarship to a few people and got some pledges for donations.”

“That’s great.”

They chatted a few minutes longer about the party, the scholarship, her day at work, and then Evan said he was sure she had things to do. After they disconnected, Renae thought about how he had not mentioned what had happened between them yesterday, nor his invitation for next week.

He was giving her space, she decided. Subtly checking on her while making an effort not to pressure her. But somehow, even without directly referring to it, he’d left her thinking of their lovemaking, replaying it in her mind, aroused all over again—and for some reason, she thought he knew it.

She had stayed deliberately busy since she’d left him, telling herself she wasn’t yet ready to analyze her impulsive actions, and certainly not ready to decide what she was going to do next week. Part of her—the sensible widowed mother and dutiful daughter-in-law part—ordered her to stop this now, before it spiraled out of control.

As if it hadn’t already.

Another part of her—the young, healthy, single woman with natural needs and urges—ached to be with Evan again. It whispered temptingly at the back of her mind that she could have her cake and eat it, too—that she could keep her trysts with Evan separate from her “real life.” That when she was with him, she could focus solely on the moment without worrying about the future or dwelling on the past. Was that crazy?

Lucy would certainly think so.

Groaning, she hid her face in her hands, calling herself every synonym for idiot she could remember spontaneously. If she had any sense at all, she would keep her distance from Evan.

If she wanted male companionship, she had other options. She could accept some of the matchmaking offers that had been directed her way. Or Mike Bishop was still available, and he was a nice guy. Good-looking. Nice kids. No past baggage between them, though he surely had scars from his divorce, even if it had seemed amicable enough to the outside observer.

Lucy might have a little trouble adjusting to Renae having an adult social life, but she would come around eventually. Especially if Renae went out with men who had no connection at all to the past.

The problem was, not one of the safe, relatively uncomplicated men Renae had recently encountered made her heart race or her skin tingle just at the thought of him. Not one of them haunted her dreams or popped into her mind at the most inconvenient times during a busy day. And yet not one of them made her stomach knot with guilt and doubt and resentment and something that hovered all too closely to fear, either.

How foolish would she be to deliberately become entangled with the one man who made her feel all of those things?

* * *

Evan checked his watch for probably the third time in fifteen minutes. It was only five minutes past the time Renae had been showing up for their Wednesday meetings, but today those extra minutes seemed like an ominous sign.

He had told himself not to be surprised if she didn’t show. He wasn’t even expecting her, really, he assured himself. His invitation had hardly been smooth, certainly not romantic. Just, “I’ll be here if you want to show up.” He couldn’t blame her for staying away, considering everything.

Even if it never happened again, he hoped Renae would remember the hour they had spent together last week without regrets or self-recrimination. They could tell themselves they had fulfilled some needs, satisfied an old curiosity. If that was the end of it, he hoped they could put their tangled feelings behind them and keep their future interactions pleasant. He would do everything he could to keep his own emotions deeply buried, leaving only the congenial old friend in place.

Releasing a sigh, he stood, turning toward the kitchen. He’d brought home Mexican takeout—he might as well eat. Maybe he would give Renae a friendly call later in the week, just to let her know he understood and that there were no hard feelings, though he probably wouldn’t put it in so many words.

He froze when the buzzer sounded.

Swallowing hard, he crossed the room and pressed the release button. They could just talk, he assured himself. In fact, he wanted to talk with Renae. There was so much he didn’t know about her life for the past seven years, so much he wanted to learn about her. They could have a real conversation that was not focused solely on the scholarship.

He opened the door to her, making an effort to keep his smile easy, to hide his surprise that she was there. Though she looked as beautiful as ever in a deep purple sweater and charcoal pants, her expression was somber and understandably wary.

Hoping to set her at ease, he closed the door behind her and motioned toward the kitchen. “I picked up chicken enchiladas. I hope you like Mexican food. Thought we could talk while we eat, if you want.”

She smoothed her hands over the front of her pants, an unconsciously nervous gesture that revealed more than her expression. She turned then to face him. “I didn’t come here to eat. Or to talk.”