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

He could already feel his blood warming. He found the combination of vulnerability and defiance in her vivid blue eyes very appealing—but that was hardly a surprise, since nearly everything about Renae appealed to him.

He cleared his throat. “So why are you here?”

She spread her hands, her nose wrinkling in an endearing manner that sent his hot blood surging downward. “I think I came to tell you that I don’t believe we should keep doing this.”

Moving toward her, he kept his eyes on her face. “It’s your call, of course.”

“It’s too complicated.”

He nodded without stopping. “Yes.”

She put up a hand when he reached her, but rather than hold him off, she rested her palm over his heart. She had to feel it banging against his chest. “It’s irresponsible,” she said.

“Maybe.” He rested his hands on the upper curves of her hips.

“It doesn’t mean anything. We’re two young, healthy adults who happen to find each other attractive. That’s all.”

She seemed to stress the word young. Was she feeling her thirty years today? Would she

believe him if he told her he thought she was absolutely stunning? That he wouldn’t change a thing about her? Maybe his best bet was simply to show her.

He spoke with his mouth only a breath away from hers. “I can agree with that.”

He brushed his lips against hers. Once, then again. Paused on the third pass to catch her lower lip just for a moment, then released it to press a full kiss on her mouth. He felt her fingers tighten on his chest, and then her arms were around his neck, her body flattened against his. Her lips parted, and he took advantage of the implied invitation, deepening the kiss with a thrust of his tongue.

He both heard and felt the soft moan that vibrated deep in her chest. He had never heard anything more arousing than the sounds Renae made when he kissed her, caressed her. He lifted her against him and she wrapped herself more snugly around him.

He didn’t really want to talk just then, either.

* * *

“I can’t find my right shoe. Do you see it?”

Fully dressed except for his own shoes, Evan sat on the bed, his back against the headboard, and watched as Renae wandered around the bedroom, still straightening her clothes as she searched for her other shoe. “Did you look under the bed?”

She dropped down to the floor and he admired the view as she peered under the edge of the comforter. “Not there.”

“Maybe you left it in the living room.” He swung his legs over the side and helped her to her feet, letting his hand linger just for a moment at the small of her back. He thought he’d be physically satisfied by now but the feel of her beneath his palm made his pulse rate trip.

Her cheeks seemed to go a shade pinker and he thought maybe he wasn’t the only one reacting to the contact, but she moved away before he could be certain. Carrying her left shoe in her hand, she moved toward the doorway. “I’ll go look. I can hardly go home wearing one shoe.”

“Oh, I don’t know. I think you look cute barefoot.”

She looked over her shoulder at him, but she didn’t smile. Swallowing, he followed her out of the room.

At the same time, they spotted the lone shoe lying in the short hallway just outside the bedroom. Renae pounced on it and quickly donned the pair. “Now, where did I leave my purse?”

“Food,” he reminded her. “Enchiladas. All I have to do is pop them in the microwave.”

She tucked one stray strand of blond hair behind her ear, drawing his attention to how sleek and tidy it looked despite their earlier activities. He was both impressed and a little daunted by how quickly and thoroughly she could hide any evidence of their lovemaking.

“Thanks, but I should go,” she said without quite meeting his eyes. “I’ll eat something later.”

He caught her arm, stopping her restless movements and causing her to look up at him. “You’ve been here less than forty-five minutes. Surely you can take an extra few minutes to eat. Or are you running again?”

Her chin lifted a little and he could tell he’d piqued her pride—which, he had to admit to himself, had been his intention. “I’m not running.”

“Are you afraid to sit down and talk with me for a few minutes?”