A Perfect Distraction(41)

He managed to unstick his tongue from the roof of his mouth. “What are you wearing?”

Crap. That didn’t come out right.

Hurt flashed in her dark brown eyes, quickly followed by anger. Her expression hardened. “A Marc Jacobs suit. The shoes are Chanel. Extravagant, but so comfortable.” Her accent could carve ice. “The rest is none of your business.”

Tru recovered first. “You look great, Maggie.”

“Thank you.”

“You looked great before.” Jake glared at Ike, who’d just hit him in the back.

“The mumsy look isn’t very professional.” She glanced at the slim gold watch on her wrist. “We should go. Lots to do.”

Tru and Ike made their cowardly escape.

He should apologize. He would apologize. As soon as he got over the change in her. He felt...let down.

That was crazy. He was upset because she looked as hot as she kissed?

No. Because she was dressed like all the other women he’d dated. What had happened to the old Maggie?

He rolled his eyes. It didn’t matter what she wore. The person inside was still the same, whether dressed in flowery cotton or in fire-engine red and lace.

Besides, those shoes were sexy. They showed off her great legs and...

“If you’re ready?” Maggie’s stiff words interrupted a fantasy he had no business having.

Jake cleared his throat. “I’m sorry about what I said.”

“You’re entitled to your opinion, just as I’m entitled to ignore it.”

He winced inwardly. Anything he said right now wouldn’t help. He’d give her time to cool off, then try to make things right. First he had to get her to ride with him.

“It’s pointless taking two cars. Why don’t I drive us to the gyms, then bring you back here when we’re done?”

He could see she wanted to refuse but didn’t have an excuse.

“Fine.” She marched to the passenger door while he dumped his gear in the back.

She’d buckled up and was staring pointedly out the window when he got in. As he turned the key in the ignition, he sighed mentally. This afternoon was going to feel as long as a penalty kill in the waning minutes of a scoreless game.

* * *

“WOULD IT HELP if I said I was a jackass?”

Jake’s humble-pie tone might work on other women, but Maggie was immune.

Still, as they drove into the parking lot of the final gym on their list a couple of hours later, she was finding it hard to remain cross with him. Not because his puppy-dog eyes were working—such attempts to charm her had long since lost their effect—but because she’d begun to realize there might be another reason for his strange behavior.

One that put a whole different complexion on things.

When she’d left home for their meeting, she’d been thrilled with her new look—it had felt right. Felt like the real Maggie. Tracy and Emily had given her a double thumbs-up.

With one patronizing remark, Jake had made her feel stupid. A failure. Those few words, that horrified tone, had hit right at the heart of her still-fragile self-confidence.

For the first hour, the hurt had blinded her to anything about him. Slowly though, she’d noticed the burning heat in his ice-blue eyes every time he looked at her. He might sound disapproving, but she sensed he found her makeover very appealing indeed.

Maggie sneaked a peek beneath her lashes at him. The rigid set of his jaw, the jerky drumming of his fingers on the steering wheel told her he felt bad.

“That’s unkind to jackasses,” she said coolly.

Jake acknowledged her jab with a sharp tilt of his head. He parked near the entrance of the single-story building, then turned off the engine. “Since we agree that I’m lower than pond scum, will you accept my apology?”

“Well...” She let her voice trail off. As she leaned over to collect her bag, she deliberately gave him a glimpse of the lacy camisole beneath her jacket.

Aqua flames flared in his gaze, sending a delicious quiver through her and confirming what she suspected.

She straightened. “Okay.”

“Thank you.” His shoulders relaxed. “Friends again?”

Friends? Startled by a tug of disappointment, she stammered, “Uh, yes. Sure.”

“Great.” He grinned. “What prompted this latest change? Not that I’m criticizing, but those floaty dresses were pretty. Made you stand out from other women.”

“Oh. Thanks.” She hadn’t expected a discussion of her fashion sense. “Like I said, a suit makes me feel more professional.”

“So you haven’t gotten rid of the dresses?”

She shook her head, surprised he was that bothered about some cotton dresses.

“Good. Anyway, red suits you better than pigeon gray or boring beige, or biscuit, or whatever they call it.”