And there were about a million wrong ways he could interpret what she’d just said, and based on the rapidly morphing expressions crossing his face, he was hitting on each one of them.
“I don’t mean you smell like a cake. And I wasn’t saying...you made me—”
Something dark flashed in his eyes as he looked down at her mouth. “Hungry?”
She nodded, thinking the way the night was playing out, they were going to need a couple of neck braces. “Right. No. I mean, no, you didn’t make me hungry. I just don’t want you to think—”
“I don’t. And I’m not thinking about tying you to the bed, either.” Then he ran a wide hand over his mouth, and the eyes that met hers were filled with some twisted combination of apology, amusement and heat.
She gasped.
“Okay, okay,” he answered with a distinctly unapologetic laugh. “I am thinking about it a little. Now. But normally I don’t.” He closed his eyes and held up a hand. “Not the tying up part at least. Sometimes I think about the rest. I mean, we did it. And it was good. But it doesn’t mean I’m interested in an act two. It’s just a guy thing.”
Okay. She’d take him at his word. “So we’ll forget this then,” she offered, not meeting his eyes as she thrust out her hand.
“Deal,” he said with a firm shake before turning to go without a backward glance. “Now, lock the door and go to bed.”
* * *
So the forgetting thing hadn’t worked out. Which meant Jeff really should have stayed away from her. But that wasn’t happening, either.
Rolling past security with a wave, Jeff pulled up the winding drive and parked around the side of the house.
Initially he’d thought he wanted the distance between them. He’d thought keeping Darcy at arm’s length while knowing she was being looked after would be enough for him. More than enough.
But after the other night...hell. He’d been back three times in the two weeks since.
The first, because he wanted to make sure everything was still cool between them. The second, because everything was cool. And talking with Darcy was so damned easy. And the third...yeah, that’s where his moral compass began to spin like maybe he’d landed himself in the Bermuda Triangle. The third time, like tonight he’d gone back to have Darcy to himself.
In a strictly platonic, or at least nonphysical way.
He might not be able to control his thoughts hopping the express train to Dirty Town when Darcy did certain things. Like laugh or eat cake or succumb to one of those mysterious blushes he figured it was better not to ask about. But physically, well, he’d kept his hands to himself.
With a child between them, they couldn’t afford to risk souring their relationship because of some affair gone bad. Not when they needed to maintain positive relations...well, for as long as they both shall live. Forget the sanctity of marriage. They had to peaceably share a child. They were in it for the long haul. And really, if he looked past the whole out-of-wedlock, non-girlfriend part of the pregnancy, he was pretty damned lucky to have Darcy be the mother of his child. She made him laugh. Got what he was saying. Connected with him in a way that made him believe they could really make this thing—this parenting thing—work.
He liked her.
A lot.