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Astonished that he’d bought her such lovely items, and so many of them, she stared at the stack of clothes she’d tried on several times already: a pair of pajama bottoms with a matching spaghetti-strap tank top, bras and panties every bit as beautiful and expensive as the lingerie Manuel had insisted she wear, another pair of sandals besides the ones that pinched, along with more casual flip-flops, makeup, shorts and shirts. And he’d bought Max almost as much: shorts, shirts, boxers, socks, toys, an expensive pair of athletic shoes, even a pair of cleats!
Why? They were planning to reach Iowa tomorrow. Iowa meant goodbye. And Preston didn’t want them along in the first place.
She heard the outside door open and held her breath. He was back. She thought he might poke his head in to see if she liked what he’d given her, to see if it all fit, but he didn’t. The door connecting the living room to the bedroom remained shut, and the television went on.
Emma couldn’t help feeling disappointed. That was it? He bought her fifteen-hundred-dollars worth of merchandise and didn’t think about it again?
Evidently money was as unimportant to Preston as she’d suspected. Which meant the gifts he’d given her were probably meaningless to him, as well. She needed clothes; he’d bought them. Merely a practical, if generous, approach to solving the problem.
She pulled her hair into a ponytail. What had she expected? Too much, evidently. But regardless of how or why he’d done this, he’d been more than kind. She had to thank him.
Tightening the belt of her robe, she slipped into the living room.
He didn’t turn at her approach.
“Did you find the Laundromat okay?” she asked.
Over his shoulder, she could see television stations flashing across the screen as he deftly wielded the remote. “Yeah, there was one just a few blocks away.”
“That was lucky.”
He settled on Conan O’Brien’s monologue and started folding the clean clothes piled in front of him.
“Preston?”
“What?”
“Could you look at me for a second?”
A scowl marred his handsome face. “What is it?”
“Thanks for the clothes. I—”
He turned back to the television. “No problem.”
Emma wondered if he could be embarrassed by his own kindness. He didn’t like to show his softer side, but after everything he’d done for her, she knew he had one. “Okay, well, I’m going to get some sleep.”
“Good. You need the rest.”
She cleared her throat. “I can tell you don’t really want to hear this, but…” He seemed to be ignoring her. “I appreciate all the things you bought us.”
“You’re welcome,” he said. “Good night.”
Her excitement over her elegant new clothes dimmed. “Good night,” she replied, and left.
PRESTON KNEW he should breathe a big sigh of relief and let Emma go to bed. He didn’t want to think about her in that sheer lingerie, didn’t want to break down and do something he’d later regret.
But maybe he’d been too gruff. Maybe it wouldn’t have killed him to admire a few things, let her feel good about them.
With a curse, he got up. From the glimpse he’d had of her in that silky robe, he knew he was setting himself up for another sleepless night. But he could tell he’d disappointed her.
He knocked softly on the door.
“Yes?”
She was brushing her teeth. Walking into the bedroom, he leaned a shoulder against the wall, so he could watch her. “I’ve changed my mind.”
She wiped her mouth and set her toothbrush aside. “About what?”
His gaze swept over her, taking in the details of the silk robe. It fell to a low V in front, revealing a generous and very stirring amount of cle**age, and hit her midthigh. Beautiful. Felicia had certainly known what she was doing. “I want to see you in the rest of the stuff I bought,” he said.
Her eyebrows shot up. “The clothes?”
Their eyes met, and something powerful arced between them, obliterating the pretense he’d used to let himself come back here. “The underwear,” he admitted.
Her eyes widened. “Are you serious?”
He considered her for several seconds. “You wanted my attention, didn’t you?”
She nodded.
“You’ve got it now.” He grinned as his pulse sped up. “Is it a little more than you bargained for?”
“I’m not sure.” She toyed nervously with the ends of her belt. “I can’t think when you smile at me like that.”
“Why not?”
“It makes me want to see you in your underwear.”
His breath caught, and he stepped closer. “You’ve already seen me.”
“Which is how I know the sight’s worth seeing again.”
They were flirting with disaster, and he knew it. They’d be in Iowa tomorrow, faced with saying goodbye. But he couldn’t turn away.
The front of her robe brushed against his chest, and he lowered his voice. “I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.”
She lifted her chin so she could look into his eyes. “You didn’t seem interested a few minutes ago.”
“I’m willing to make that up to you.” He tugged on her belt, and she grabbed his hand. When he laced his fingers through hers, she stepped back, pulling him into the bathroom with her. The door clicked shut behind him, and it was the most hopeful sound he’d ever heard.
A moment later, her belt slithered to the ground, leaving her standing two feet away with her robe parted.
She was watching him intently, looking just a little unsure. So he was careful not to touch her when he pushed the silky fabric to each side.
No bra. But that was hardly a disappointment. Her br**sts were perfectly formed, heavy enough to settle nicely in his hands, pert enough to win any wet-T-shirt contest. The sight of them kicked Preston’s stomach into his throat. “You’re beautiful.”
“Someone has good taste in panties.”
He lowered his gaze—and felt his whole body go rigid. She was wearing the black ones. “Those are my favorite.”
At the hoarse sound of his voice, she offered him a flirtatious smile. “How do you know? You haven’t seen the other ones.”
“Oh, yes, I have. About a million times in my mind.” He’d told himself he wouldn’t touch her, but he’d never expected her to encourage him. A man could only stand so much.
