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Heat tinged her cheeks and neck. She laughed softly and shook her head as she turned away, took the step up to the foyer platform and rounded the corner to the hallway that led to two decent-sized bedrooms and one guest bathroom. Her own bathroom in the master suite was large and boasted a walk-in closet. She quickly stripped off her shoes and clothes, and reached for a pair of drawstring pants and a tank top, but suddenly changed her mind.
Although, yes, they needed to take the sexual aspect of their relationship slow, Ginger still had the burning desire to wear something sexy for Ryan. For years, she’d owned an entire rack full of nightgowns, with no one to show them off to. In her top dresser drawer, she had some sexier ensembles, but hanging in her closet was a selection of pretty, satiny gowns that only occasionally saw the light of day, when Ginger was in the mood for a glass of champagne, a warm fire and something frilly to wear.
It was really quite depressing to think she’d wandered around this big house all dolled up and all by herself for the past three years. There had been many nights when loneliness had crept around the fringes of her contentment. She’d spent years convincing herself all that really mattered was that she had her boutique. She couldn’t bring back her family, and she certainly hadn’t sparked with anyone in Wilder before now. So she’d resigned herself to the old-fashioned notion of spinsterhood, and had made it tolerable by surrounding herself with good friends and by working hard at her store.
But she’d experienced pangs of abandonment and a twinge of forlorn despondency, though she’d never shared that with anyone. Not even Liza. Instead, she’d suffered in silence.
This evening, however, there was a very gorgeous man in her home, who did ignite her passion and who chased away her lonesomeness. And he clearly wanted her. There’d been no mistaking it in his kiss, or in his heated gaze.
And Ginger wanted him.
Sticking with the theory of not pushing red-hot buttons too hard, she chose a beautiful midnight-blue, full-length nightgown. Removing it from the padded hanger, she slipped the garment on and surveyed herself in the three-way mirror. With a nod, she thought it’d do quite nicely. The capped sleeves and bodice were all lace, with a vee’d neckline and back. Just below her rib
s, the lace ended and satin flowed over her belly, hips and upper thighs, then flared slightly as it cascaded to the floor. Proper Southern Belle with the hint of the risqué.
She pulled on the matching satin robe that had a slim tie just below her breasts. The sleeves were fitted, and three-quarters length. She added the lacey thong that matched the bodice, stepped into a pair of three-inch, silver slippers and then primped quickly at the vanity.
Mustering her verve, she returned to the kitchen. Ryan had set out their dinner on plates at the island, rather than in the formal dining room that sat partially behind the living room. He’d poured wine and was sipping his when she walked in. His head snapped up and his eyes widened.
“Good Lord, Ginger Monroe.” He let out a whistle of appreciation. “Or should I call you Marilyn?”
She laughed. “No one has ever called me that.”
“I don’t know, sweetheart,” he said with a shake of his head as his gaze roved her body. “You’ve got sexy down pat.”
“It’s just a robe,” she said as she slid onto the high-backed barstool across from him.
“No, that’s a heart attack waitin’ to happen.”
She couldn’t fight back the smile that touched her lips. “Thank you.”
A low groan from him told her he liked what he saw. “If you always eat dinner dressed in something that provocative, I’m moving in.”
Excitement rippled through her. “I do enjoy my nightgowns. No one ever sees them, though.”
He seemed to give this thought, then said, “I was wondering why you were still single. Damn glad, mind you. But I just can’t fathom it.”
“Slim pickings,” she said. “And I never wanted to settle for amiable male companionship. If that were the case, I would have married Dixon Hunter when he proposed to me at the prom.”
“Oh yes. He was smitten with you,” Ryan mused. “Followed you around as if he was a puppy dog hoping for bone, with those big brown eyes and a sappy grin on his face. Never did take kindly to me carrying your books.”
“He was very sweet. As were you. But he never made my stomach flip.”
Ryan was quiet a moment as he took another sip of wine. Then his gaze locked with hers as he asked, “Do I make your stomach flip?”
“No,” she said. His face fell and she laughed. “You make everything inside me practically incinerate, I get so hot and bothered. All you have to do is look at me and liquid fire runs through my veins.”
His grin was nothing short of triumphant. “Now that’s more like it.”
“Stop gloating. It’s unbecoming.”
She lifted her fork and dug into her linguine with clams. They polished off their meals and a bottle of wine while chatting about high school and how things had changed in Wilder since then.
“It’s not that your aunt and uncle are trying to keep everyone under their thumbs,” she told Ryan, “but they do have a lot of influence and tend to bend the rules to suit their purposes.”
He cleared away the dishes and rinsed them off before putting them in the empty dishwasher. “I’ve been hearing that. And seeing it too.” He washed his hands and turned back to her. “I’m not blind to it, Ginger. I did live with them for a year. And while they were gracious hosts, I really couldn’t wait to get out that house. It’s almost…oppressive.”
“I’m sure Lydia didn’t take well to hearing you were staying at Reese’s.”
