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“I’m Frances Moreau.” Frankie captured his hand and made warm, genuine social interaction look effortless. “My friends call me Frankie.”
“My friends call me Harry,” he said.
“Why haven’t we ever met?” Frankie asked.
“He’s been in California for the last five years,” Temperance answered, before he could.
Harrison smiled at Frankie, then diverted to shake Rowan’s hand. That damned hunk of honey hair fell across his forehead as he leaned toward her. “I feel like I already know you,” he said, ostensibly to both her and Frankie, but his attention fixed like an electromagnet on Rowan.
His long fingers slipped across her knuckles to fasten her palm to his, and he gave her an unmistakable squeeze. Adversarial and vaguely teasing, while his expression remained judiciously neutral. Rowan squeezed back, feeling the elegant array of bones in his hand shift against hers. Even though this man had already put his hands all over her tonight, the innocent contact made her cheeks bloom with heat.
If other people wore their hearts on their sleeves, she wore her entire circulatory system on her face.
He held on for a bit longer than he should’ve, then straightened again to Temperance’s side, tucking his fists away into the pockets of his pants. Though he’d relinquished her hand, his eyes remained locked on hers. He wasn’t simply watching her.
He wasconcentrating.
Rowan barely contained a nervous, explosive laugh. She awkwardly wiped her hand on the thigh of her shorts. Her organs were in complete disarray—heart in her neck, stomach on the ground.
Thank goodness for Frankie. “Tell us more about you, Mr. Brady. Actually, it’s Dr. Brady, isn’t it?”
He hesitated, and his congenial mask slipped a bit. Little muscles ticked at his temples as he flexed his jaw. “I’m a doctor, yeah. Harry is fine, though. Just Harry.”
Temperance slipped her arm through his. It was subtle, but to Rowan, it was transparent—her friend wasprotectiveof this man.
Frankie continued, “What kind of doctor are you? Pediatrician, like our T.J.?”
Again, a brief pause before he responded. “I’m an obstetrician.” The mild strain in his tone contrasted with the casual nature of the conversation.
Silence.
The moment was so loaded with awkwardness, Rowan’s mouth outpaced her brain. “So you—know your way around a vagina. Professionally speaking.”
“Oh my god, Rowan.” Temperance slid her arm free of Harrison’s to remove her glasses and pinch the bridge of her nose.
Harrison’s mouth drifted open, but he snapped it shut. Then he chuckled and shook his head, and some of the tension evaporated from his posture. “There’s a lot more anatomy within my professional purview than vaginas, Ms.—?”
She hadn’t introduced herself during the handshake. What an ass.
“I’m Rowan. My friends call me—Rowan.”
JesusChrist.
Frankie shot her a look oozing with empathetic embarrassment, and Harrison stared at her with fascinated bewilderment. Rowan didn’t avert her eyes from his, but she had to bite the tip of her tongue to keep from losing it.
Temperance narrowed her eyes at the optical combustion between them. Again, she twined her arm around Harrison’s. “Want a beer?” Her voice was high.
He diverted his gaze from Rowan to look down at Temperance. “I’ve been eating airport junk all day. I do need to track down some food, but I keep getting lost.”
“Stick with me, big guy. I gotcha.” Temperance nudged him into the crowd. Over her shoulder, she mouthed,“Don’t even think about it”to Rowan and Frankie.
“Good meeting you,” Harrison called as Temperance led him away. Frankie gave a little wave with her fingers, and Rowan nodded, afraid to open her mouth.
It felt like she’d been kicked in the chest by a horse. She took a big drink of wine, focusing on Harrison Brady’s broad back, and the golden ducktail curls brushing the collar of his shirt.
Right before the crowd claimed him, he looked back a final time, straight into her eyes.
Busted.
