His Best Friend's Wife

by Gina Wilkins

  She really was an idiot.

  They walked together during the remainder of the leisurely outing, Renae following a few steps behind when Mike teased and carried on with the kids. Daniel obviously loved the attention from his friends’ dad. Daniel was at the age when he needed interaction with men, something Renae tried her best to provide through Tae Kwon Do lessons and playdates with friends whose fathers made time to play with them.

  The final stop was the house next door to Renae’s. Widowed sisters Daisy Sinclair and Maxine Whelan, both in their early seventies, had moved in there a couple years earlier and had become fast friends with Lucy, though the sisters were several years older than her. The three women played dominoes every Thursday evening, which was Lucy’s equivalent of Renae’s “mom’s evening out.”

  Daisy had a forty-something son serving overseas in a diplomatic post; Maxine had no children. Having no grandchildren of their own, both of them loved the twins and spoiled them shamelessly.

  “This is where we say good-night,” Renae informed Mike. “We’re going to stop in here for a short visit with our neighbors before we go home. It was nice seeing you tonight, Mike.”

  “Yeah, you, too, Renae. Maybe we’ll see each other again soon?”

  It was as broad a hint as he’d given her yet. She kept her smile friendly without being particularly encouraging. “I’m sure we’ll run into each other at the school. Good night, Mike.”

  He nodded in resignation. “See you later, Daniel and Leslie. Enjoy the rest of your Halloween.”

  “Thanks, Mr. Bishop,” Daniel said.

  As had been arranged previously, Daisy and Maxine invited Renae and the twins in for hot chocolate and homemade cookies to finish off their outing. Waving goodbye to Cooper and Jackson, they entered happily. Having just given out the last of their candy, Lucy walked over to join them for this end-of-Halloween-evening celebration.

  Chattering excitedly, the twins showed their grandmother the candy they’d collected, telling her stories about all the friends they’d seen and what everyone had worn and how funny Mike had been as he’d accompanied them. Daisy and Maxine sat them at the little round kitchen table with marshmallow-topped mugs of cocoa and a plate of oversize sugar cookies decorated with brightly colored frosting to resemble smiling jack-o’-lanterns. Renae insisted the twins have no more than one each.

  “They’re big cookies,” she said when they frowned. “One cookie and the hot chocolate is plenty of dessert for tonight.”

  She knew the sisters would send cookies home with them. Between that and the haul of candy, she would be portioning out sweets for the next month—and would then have to start all over for the next round of holidays.

  Maxine picked up a tray holding steaming, fragrant mugs of chamomile tea and four cookies. “We older ladies will have ours in the living room,” she told the kids. “Call out if you need anything.”

  Renae blinked rapidly.

  Daisy chuckled in response to what she must have seen on Renae’s face. “She didn’t mean you, of course, dear. She was talking about the rest of us older ladies.”

  Renae managed a strained smile and followed them into the living room. Accepting her tea and cookie, she took a seat by the large-screen television on which the sisters watched their many favorite programs. Because it was currently turned off, the screen was dark, and she could see her own reflection there.

  She had to drag her eyes away.

  Despite being the mother of first graders and a widow for almost seven years, she was only thirty years old. That was still young, she reminded herself fiercely, especially in comparison to the other women in the room. Was she really ready to live the same way they did—content with work and family and household chores and television? Shouldn’t there be more? Fun? Excitement?

  Passion?

  Was it wrong of her to feel this way when she had so many wonderful things in her life? Was she tempting fate to take something away when she still wished for more?

  She closed her eyes for a moment, and she could almost feel Evan’s mouth against hers again. Could feel her heart racing in her chest, a flush of arousal on her cheeks, a shiver of awareness deep inside her belly. The memory made her feel young again. Desirable. Hungry for something more than a Halloween cookie.

  Mike Bishop’s flirting hadn’t made her feel anything like that.

  From the kitchen came a spate of sugar-fueled chatter. At the same time, she heard Lucy laugh musically at something one of the other women had said. Her eyes opened and she frowned hard at that hazy reflection on the television.

  She had so very much to lose, if she wasn’t very careful.

  * * *

  Standing outside Evan’s door on the Wednesday after Halloween, Renae drew a deep breath and smoothed her hands down the sides of the long-sleeved, snugly fitted, brown-and-rust knit dress she had worn to work that day. Though she usually wore pants, she did occasionally wear dresses, so her coworkers hadn’t expressed surprise.

  Now she wondered if she should have just donned her usual sweater and pants that morning, rather than this admittedly flattering dress. She adjusted the deep cowl neckline, smoothed her hair—then dropped her hand, chiding herself for her primping.

  So she’d wanted to look good today for Evan and Tate, she told herself impatiently. She was honest enough with herself to admit that it was probably because her ego was still stinging from Maxine’s innocent faux pas. There was no need to stand here second-guessing her choice of clothing when the guys were waiting for her to get the meeting started.

  Evan opened the door to her. His gaze swept her and she knew he hadn’t missed a detail of her appearance. The appreciation in his expression when he met her eyes again made her feel that the extra few minutes she’d taken that morning had been worth the effort, even as a ripple of nerves and awareness coursed through her.

  “You look very nice,” Evan said, his voice sounding a bit deeper than usual.

  “Thank you.”

  He, of course, looked as appealing as always, though he was dressed very much as usual in a blue shirt and dark slacks. She stepped past him in the apartment, glancing around the living room. “Tate’s not here yet?”

  “Tate’s not coming.”

  She turned to Evan in question, trying to read his expression. “Why not?”

  He pushed his hands into his pockets. “I told him there was no need, that you and I could handle everything for now.”

  Renae swallowed hard. Had Evan simply been giving Tate a chance to concentrate on other business—or had he wanted to be alone with her again today?

  “I picked up a bucket of chicken on the way home. I hope that’s okay with you.”

  She wasn’t in the least bit hungry. “Of course.”

  He didn’t turn directly toward the table. Instead, he simply stood there. Looking at her.

  She wasn’t sure which of them moved first. Who leaned forward, who reached out. One minute they were on separate sides of the room, the next they were wrapped around each other, their mouths fused in a kiss that melted her spine.

  Chapter Four

  Renae felt the outline of firm abs beneath Evan’s shirt, the breadth of the masculine chest against which her breasts pressed. She savored the ripple of sinew in the arms locked so tightly around the dip of her waist, the upper curve of her hips. His thighs were solid columns against her legs, and the bold hardness pressing into her abdomen proved that he was as aroused as she by the close contact between them.

  He most definitely stayed in good shape. He slanted his mouth to a new angle against hers, his lips softening, hers parting. Tongues dipped, touched, teased. His hands slipped downward, while hers rose to wind around his neck, fingers sliding into his thick, slightly wavy hair.

  Sensations ricocheted inside her. Her blood heated, coursed through her veins in increasingly turbulent waves. Her thoughts whirled, fragments of doubt, desire, fear and recklessness fighting for dominance.

  She ached. Beneath
her clothing, her skin tingled, needing more. The fingers of her right hand tightened in his hair while her left hand drifted downward to his shoulder, his warm, broad back. A low moan escaped her, and the sound seemed to galvanize him just as she’d thought he was pulling back. He lifted her against him, kissing her with a renewed fierceness that only fueled her own passion.

  They made it to the bedroom only because the apartment was small. By the time they reached the bed, the hem of her dress was around her waist and Evan’s shirt was mostly unbuttoned. She felt herself tumbling, felt the firmness of mattress against her back, the softness of pillow beneath her head. But she was aware of those things only peripherally. Her attention was on Evan, and the deliciously decadent things he was doing with her.

  His hand was under her dress now, his work-roughened palm against the softest of her skin. Her body’s reactions were familiar, and yet somehow all new. And it was amazing.

  Her legs tangled with his. His mouth was at her throat, burrowing into the scoop of her neckline. He murmured something she didn’t understand, but she didn’t ask him to repeat it. She wasn’t in the mood to talk just then.

  Drawing his face to hers, she crushed whatever he might have said beneath her lips and surrendered herself to sensation.

  * * *

  Lingering in Evan’s tidy bathroom, Renae checked her reflection in the big mirror over the sink. Her hair was neat, makeup freshened, dress straight and smoothed. She could return home confident that Lucy would never guess how she’d spent the past hour. At least, she hoped she would be able to keep her expression as unrevealing as her appearance.

  As for the turmoil inside her, she’d have to deal with that later. When she was alone.

  She couldn’t say whether she regretted her actions, or whether she was likely to regret them. That, too, was something she would have to analyze in private.

  She couldn’t hide in here any longer, she told herself, stuffing her lipstick back into her bag. Drawing a deep breath, she made one last mirror check, then turned toward the door.

  His own clothes rearranged, Evan waited in the living room, a glass of iced tea in his hand. He handed it to her, and she accepted it gratefully, taking a deep sip.

  “I warmed the food,” he said. “You can eat quickly before you head home, can’t you?”

  She didn’t want to seem ungrateful for his efforts, but the thought of eating anything made her throat go tight. “I’m sorry, but I’m really not hungry.”

  “No problem. I’ll put the leftovers in the fridge and have them for lunch tomorrow.”

  She nodded, relieved that he didn’t press the issue. “The scholarship—”

  “There really wasn’t much left to do. I’ll send you an email later with any final questions. There’s no need for us to meet again until the applications arrive.”

  So it could be several weeks before she saw him again, and then Tate would probably be there, as well. She supposed that was for the best.

  Leaning against the back of a chair, Evan studied her for a moment before saying, “You look ready to run.”

  “I’m not running,” she corrected him somewhat primly. “I have things to do this evening. I’m sure you do, too.”

  “I’ve got time to talk for a few minutes, if you want.”

  “I, um—I’d better go.”

  She wasn’t ready to talk about their lovemaking. Wasn’t even ready to think about it too closely yet. She suspected she would spend many sleepless hours replaying every moment of it in her mind that night.

  Again, he didn’t push. “Okay. I’ll talk to you later, then.”

  Would he call? She suspected he would. She’d take that call in her room, and hope Lucy would be none the wiser.

  Turning toward the door, she hesitated when he said her name.

  “Yes?” she asked without looking around.

  “I’ll be here at the same time next Wednesday, if you want to join me.”

  That made her head turn. She frowned at him in confusion. “Next Wednesday? I thought you said there was nothing more to do with the scholarship for now.”

  His gaze held hers. “There isn’t.”

  She swallowed. “Oh.”

  He remained where he was, looking cool and casual as he continued to lounge against the chair, but Renae suspected he wasn’t quite as relaxed as he appeared. She knew exactly what would happen if she came back next week. Just as she knew he knew.

  “I’ll...think about it,” she said. And wasn’t that an understatement? She doubted she would think of anything else between now and then.

  He nodded. Without giving him a chance to say anything else, she turned and let herself out of the apartment. Evan didn’t try to detain her again.

  * * *

  Business cocktail parties were not Evan’s idea of a good time. The fake smiles, the stilted conversation, the sizing up and kissing up—all of it was unappealing to his naturally straightforward personality. Still, he knew networking was part of owning a business, especially one that counted other businesses among its most lucrative clients. So, on Thursday evening, he stood in the moderately crowded, privately booked dining room of a trendy Little Rock restaurant, holding a drink he didn’t want and swapping meaningless small talk with executives and clients of a prestigious architectural firm with whom he and Tate had contracted several jobs recently.

  Across the room, Tate laughed at a joke told by the managing partner of a law firm that had recently announced plans to construct a new office building—which would, of course, need landscaping. Tate was better than Evan at mingling and glad-handing. Probably because he enjoyed it more.

  “Evan Daugherty.”

  Suppressing a wince with an effort, he turned to face the sultry brunette who looked at him with her head cocked, her hands on her slender hips. “Hello, Ariel. How have you been?”

  “Fortunately, not holding my breath waiting for you to call.”

  She had slipped him her number a couple months earlier at another one of these gatherings. He’d stuffed it into his pocket and promptly forgotten about it.

  He laughed lightly. “I sincerely doubt that you lack for calls.”

  “That’s true,” she conceded, preening a little. “But I still thought I would hear from you.”

  “Sorry, Ariel. I’ve been really busy lately. Work and winter planning, that sort of thing.” Though he had no interest in going out with her, he didn’t want to alienate her, either. Ariel was an account executive for the architectural firm.

  She studied him through her thick lashes, obviously trying to gauge the extent of his interest in her. Or lack thereof. He kept his smile bland.

  She tossed her head, making her long, glossy hair sway against her creamy shoulders, which were bared by the sleeveless midnight-blue top she wore with a tight gray pencil skirt. Evan assumed she had a jacket somewhere, since it was chilly outside on this early-November evening. For that matter, it wasn’t exactly steamy here in the restaurant, but he wasn’t surprised that Ariel would sacrifice comfort for sex appeal.

  Tate appeared at his elbow, smiling flirtatiously. “Ariel. It’s nice to see you here this evening.”

  She turned her attention to Evan’s business partner. “Hello, Tate. How’s marriage treating you?”

  “It’s great,” he assured her. “We’re very happy.”

  Evan noted that Tate didn’t offer to pull out his phone-pictures for Ariel, probably because he was aware she wouldn’t be at all interested in seeing them.

  “That’s nice,” she said vaguely. “Though I never would have pegged you as the marrying type.”

  Tate laughed. “It surprised me, too.”

  “I’m beginning to wonder if your partner, here, has his eye on someone. He’s got that look.”

  Evan raised an eyebrow. “That look?”

  She patted his arm, her manicured fingers lingering a bit on his bicep. “Trust me. I’ve seen it before. You look to me like a man who’s off the market.”

  H
e told himself not to read much into her words. Ariel would naturally look for any explanation for a man’s lack of response to her come-ons. Still, Tate eyed him appraisingly before saying, “Yeah, I’ve been getting that feeling myself.”

  Ariel laughed musically. Apparently it was easy for her to handle a rebuff as long as she had a satisfactory explanation. And since she had always made it clear that she had no interest in tying herself down to any one man, she wouldn’t compete for any guy who was looking for a long-term relationship.

  Maybe he should have thought of that excuse before.

  “You still have my number if it doesn’t work out with the mystery woman,” she said, flirting good-naturedly before drifting away.

  He sighed in relief. “Thanks, Tate.”

  “For rescuing you? Not a problem. Not that you needed it. Ariel’s just a compulsive flirt.”

  Evan glanced at his watch, wondering if it was too early to make an escape. Had he shaken hands and chatted with everyone he should?

  “So, speaking of your mystery woman—how was Renae yesterday?” Tate asked, his tone a little too ingenuous.

  Evan eyed him suspiciously. “She’s fine.”

  “Hmm.” Tate managed to convey quite a bit with that one syllable. Had he seen something in Evan’s expression earlier?

  Evan cleared his throat. “She’s sending out the application packets next week. We’ll all get together again around the middle of April to start looking through them.”

  “And when will you and Renae get together again?”

  Evan frowned and set his unwanted drink on a nearby tray. “I don’t know.”

  He still didn’t exactly understand what had happened last time they’d been together. One minute they’d been standing across the room staring at each other, and the next they’d been tearing off each other’s clothes. He really had planned to talk with her that evening, maybe clear the air of some old hurts and resentments—nothing more. He couldn’t say he was sorry about what had taken place, instead— hell, it had been one of the more spectacular experiences of his adult life—but now he wasn’t sure where they stood.