his kids wouldn’t act toward him as they did. There was some consolation in that. She swallowed hard and passed him the pin and flower.
“Thanks for the vote of confidence.”
Puzzled, she frowned. He had a soothing voice, the kind a woman craved to hear whispering secrets. She wished she hadn’t noticed that, or wondered to whom he whispered his secrets. “Confidence?”
“You obviously don’t think I’m looney.” He lifted the pin between his forefinger and thumb. “Of course, the day is still young. Who knows what the M and Ms have in store for me between now and dusk.”
“M and Ms?”
“Mischievous Moppets.”
She laughed, and his smile touched his eyes. Her stomach furled.
He brushed aside the long silk scarf that circled her neck and draped down the front of her blouse to her hips. “I guess I should apologize for Suzie’s ‘new mom’ remark. I’d love to explain it; unfortunately I don’t have any idea what she’s talking about.” He smiled again, but this one didn’t touch his eyes. “More unfortunately, when conversing with my kids, my being clueless is not uncommon.”
That clearly bothered him. Cally liked that about him. She breathed in his woodsy cologne and her stomach went weak. In fact, she liked a lot about him. But she didn’t like liking anything about him. Not at all.
She never reacted to men this way. So why to him? What made him different? The lust? Doubtful. Lust didn’t have that kind of power. Maybe recognizing him as a kindred spirit? In his way, she was sure he was as wounded as she. That could be it. But it felt stronger. Like . . . more.
She looked up at him. At his coal-black hair that had just the tiniest strands of silver threading through it at his temples, and into his deep hazel eyes that looked a little amused and a lot embarrassed—no doubt due to the M & M’s antics. His square-cut jaw seemed suited to his face and that neatly trimmed beard suited his personality. Very conservative—a tie and pristine white shirt while on vacation, for pity’s sake?—and distinguished. But, she’d give him his due, he had been just as appealing doused with oatmeal. A grin teased her lips and a potent urge to kiss him blindsided her. Swallowing hard, she looked away.
Bending down, he held the carnation against her blouse. “That looks about right.” He slipped his fingers beneath the material. His knuckles brushed against her bare skin, and skimmed over the medal and gold angel she always wore pinned to her bra strap.
“Sorry.” He lowered his gaze back to the flower. “What is all that?”
The air between them grew thick and heavy. Tense. Her face flamed hot, and she sucked in a little breath. “Just trinkets.”
His eyes danced, silver flecks in wide hazel irises. “Trinkets?”
“A guardian angel.” How utterly humiliating. Why on earth hadn’t she just ignored his question? He wouldn’t have pushed. Instinctively she knew he was too much of a gentleman to push.
“Ah, I see.” He held his gaze fixed on the flower, then straightened her collar. “And the one dangling from the safety pin?”
“Saint Christopher.” She looked at the line of Bryce’s jaw, at his beard. She’d never before liked beards on men, but his struck her as surprisingly attractive. “I mean, it’s a Saint Christopher medal.” What in the world was wrong with her? Saint Christopher likely rolled over in his grave at her saying he was pinned to her bra.
Pressing the pin into the fabric, Bryce paused. “Are you Catholic, then?”
“Baptist. But he’s the protector.” She hiked a shoulder. “I figured it couldn’t hurt.” Actually, she figured she needed all the help she could get.
Bryce chuckled, warm and hearty, and eased out his fingertips from the neck of her blouse. “Angels and saints. Covering all bases. I like your philosophy.”
Gregory had ridiculed her for indulging in “superstitious nonsense.” It obviously wasn’t nonsense to her or she
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