“That does seem like a good reason.”

The waitress returned with their meals. Stuffed manicotti for Ivy and linguine with clam sauce for Clinton.

Ivy shook parmesan cheese over her pasta. “But things didn’t work out between your father and Rosalyn, either?”

“They would have except Rosalyn wouldn’t overlook Dad’s infidelities. Especially when he got Oakes’s barely legal-age nanny pregnant.”

Ivy blinked. “I was right. Your life really is like the TV show Dallas.”

He snorted. Twirled pasta onto his fork. “Not mine, but Dad lived the lifestyle for as long as he could. He told me once that Rosalyn was the only woman who kicked him to the curb. Every other time, the divorce was his decision. I think out of all his wives, she’s the only one he regrets losing.”

“Hard to feel sorry for a serial cheater.”

“True. Maybe he got what he deserved, having the woman he wanted and maybe even loved be the one who refused to have anything to do with him.”

“I take it the nanny gave birth to brother number four?” Ivy asked.

Clinton took a bite, wiped his mouth with a napkin. “Zach. He’s a Marine, stationed in Iraq, the last I’ve heard. We’re not...close.”

“That must be hard on you.”

He frowned. “What makes you say that?”

“It’s obvious your family is very important to you.” She sipped her water. “Just as it was obvious both at the engagement party and at your apartment that it’s important for you to take care of them. I overheard your conversation with your current stepmother,” she admitted.

“Only current until the divorce goes through. She decided it was smarter to take what she was promised in her prenup than to fight for more.”

Guess the blonde was smarter than she looked. “Is it a burden?” Ivy asked, having no point of reference for needy family members. Unable to imagine what it would be like to have a large family, to have so many people wanting your time and attention, taking your focus so often. “People relying on you that much?”

“It’s my job. After Dad left, my mom turned to me to vent, to be the go-between for her and my father, to be a shoulder to cry on. When Kane and I were teenagers, he rebelled in a big way. It was up to me to try to keep him under control. Then I started working for my father, and it was just a natural progression to be the one everyone turned to.”

Ivy wondered who he turned to.

It was a question she was still pondering almost two hours later when he walked her up the steep steps to her apartment. She hadn’t asked, of course, and she wouldn’t. It was too personal. Too close to the kind of question people who were in a relationship would ask. She knew how it worked. If she asked, if she wondered about something that intimate, he’d feel the right to invade her privacy. He’d want her to open up to him.

Yes, they’d had an enjoyable evening. And, okay, he’d been charming and funny, was intelligent and confident—all traits she admired. All traits she found incredibly attractive. But none of them meant anything. It was good, great even, that she found the father of her baby appealing. That he had qualities she wouldn’t mind her child having.

But it didn’t mean she wanted to tell him every thought inside her head. Every feeling going through her. Every secret she’d ever kept.

Secrets like how much she’d enjoyed herself. How she liked the feel of his hand on the small of her back. How she wished she could invite him in. Have him spend the night.

And hadn’t those kinds of secrets already gotten her into enough trouble?

She dug her key out of her bag, unlocked her door before facing him. “Thanks for dinner.”

“It’s still early— What?” he asked with a smile when she laughed.

“Cowboy, I can read you like a large-print book. You’re not coming in. I have things to do, and you are nowhere on that list.”

“What kind of things?”

“Wash my hair. Feed my cat,” she said with an airy wave of her hand. “The usual.”

“I didn’t know you had a cat.”

“There’s a lot you don’t know about me.” And she was just fine with that. “But yes, I have a cat, and Jasper gets extremely cranky when he’s not fed on time.” A lie, since her cat was nothing if not patient and good-natured. “So...good night.”

“You could always invite me inside. For a quick drink.”

She rolled her eyes. “That’s what got us into this mess in the first place. And I try really hard not to make the same mistake twice.”

Clinton leaned one arm against the door above her head, inclined his body toward her. Classic man-on-the-make move. “Now, I wouldn’t say we’re in a mess.” He played with the ends of her hair, let his fingertips trail against her bare shoulder. She shivered and his gaze heated. “I like spending time with you, Ivy.”

Crap. Did he have to say her name like that, all husky and entreating? It rubbed her resistance raw, like a blade sawing at a rope. “Most men like spending time with me, cowboy. All for the same reasons.”

“You want me to think of you with those men,” he murmured, edging closer, so close his thigh brushed hers, his hip pressed against the curve of her belly. “You want me to get pissed off, maybe start a fight. Or say something idiotic and insulting, something brought on by jealousy, by the mere idea of another man touching you when all I want to do is put my hands on you myself. My mouth.”

She brought her hands up to his chest. A mistake, she realized, as soon as she felt how warm, how solid he was. Any thought of pushing him away melted. “You are not coming in.”

There. That had sounded firm. Commanding, even.

He slid his hand up her arm, from her wrist to shoulder, then settled it under her jaw, his palm warm and wide, his fingers curving along the back of her neck. “Are you sure?”

“Positive.” But it took her too long to work moisture back into her mouth. To force the word out.

Damn him and the cocky grin that said he’d noticed her struggle.

He slowly dragged her forward, tipping her head back. “Then I guess I’ll just have to do this here.”

He didn’t swoop. Didn’t crush his mouth to hers. It was more of a gentle seduction, the way his lips moved over hers. He took his sweet time, and that’s exactly what the kiss was. Sweet. Warm. The kind of kiss that would lull her into forgetting why kissing this particular man was a bad idea.

Her hands fluttered as if looking for purchase, and she slid them to his shoulders. Held on while he coaxed her mouth open. She was all sensation. The taste of him—coffee and the tang of dark chocolate from his dessert. The rough pad of his thumb caressing her jaw. The warmth of his body against hers. His scent, now familiar and comforting.

Those sensations coalesced, like a wave building toward shore. It would be easy, so blessedly easy, to let them pull her under. To let go of her thoughts, to let down her guard.

To give up, give in and drown in her attraction to him.

Her lungs ached. Self-preservation kicked in as she struggled to focus. To breathe.

She pushed him back a full step, breaking the kiss. The hold he had on her.

They stared at each other. Her own shock and desire were mirrored in his eyes; their breathing was labored.

He reached for her and, God help her, she swayed toward him, completely under his spell before snapping herself out of it.

He curled his fingers. Slowly lowered his hand. “Ivy—”

She gave him one quick shake of her head. And bolted inside as if the hounds of hell were snapping at her heels.

Staring into the darkness of her apartment, her back pressed against the door, she felt for the door handle. Turned the lock and shut her eyes.

Jasper meowed and butted his head against her calf. She picked him up, nuzzled him against her throat.

And wondered what she was going to do now.

* * *

IT WASN’T SPYING, Gracie assured herself as she looked out her window into Andrew’s backyard. She was simply taking in the view from her bedroom. Which she was more than entitled to do anytime of the year, especially on a bright, sunny summer day.