“I asked Gran that, and she said her mother told her we would.”
“Her mother?”
Hope sheepishly lifted her shoulders. “Apparently they still have conversations.”
“What if her mother’s wrong?”
Hope smiled. “Gran said if we do our best, she’ll be satisfied.”
“And you?” I asked, drawing a finger along her cheek. “Will you be satisfied?”
The way her eyes darkened sent a shot of heat right to my groin. “That’s an unfair question.”
“I was hoping it would be.” I stepped closer. “What would satisfy you, Hope?”
She drew a shaky breath. Her eyes held an answer that made my blood race. She put a hand on my chest—then gently pushed me away. “You could let me leave.”
“No satisfaction in that at all.”
“Yes, there is.” She put her hand on the doorknob. “You’ll have the satisfaction of knowing you’re a wonderful father.”
“Not the kind of satisfaction I had in mind.”
She smiled. “It’s true, though.”
“You think?” I regretted the question the moment I asked it. What kind of loser blatantly fished for a compliment that way? But it was the most important role of my life, and her opinion mattered.
“Absolutely. You’re a wonderful dad. They’re two very lucky little girls.” Her hand drifted to my jaw, warm and soft. I took it, turned it, and kissed her palm.
And with that, she slipped out of my arms and out the door.
40
hope
Those kisses burned on my lips, even after I’d showered and put on my pajamas and applied ChapStick. They burned as I crawled into bed, and as I lay first on my right side, then on my left, then on my back, staring at the ceiling.
It occurred to me that kissing Matt was like getting bitten by a mosquito carrying dengue fever or West Nile virus—it had left me hot and weak and slightly out of my mind.
Unlike a mosquito bite, though, kissing Matt was pleasurable—intensely pleasurable, pleasurable almost beyond description, the kind of pleasurable that barreled into the future, creating thoughts of other things that would feel just as good or even better. His hands roaming over my body, for instance, or his mouth...
I rolled over, tossing the sheet off me, letting the breeze from the overhead fan cool my skin. It wasn’t as simple as whether or not Matt and I got involved with each other. There were two little girls to think about—two little girls longing for a mother. And while I adored those girls, I knew nothing about children or mothering.
Which was a non-issue, I reminded myself, because I was going back to Chicago. I wasn’t one of those people who could leave their hearts out of lovemaking, so there was no point in getting anything started.
Besides, even if I weren’t going back to Chicago—which I was;the job was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, and I’d be an idiot to pass it up—what were the chances we’d actually end up together? The odds of marrying any one person you dated were slim—very slim. I’d seen enough friends date guy after guy after guy, sometimes for months or even years, only to watch them eventually break up. And those were two free, unencumbered couples, not people recovering from a divorce or—even worse—the death of a spouse.
And Matt wasn’t recovering from the death of just any spouse. From everything I’d ever heard, Christine was the equivalent of Superwoman. How could anyone ever live up to the legacy of a woman who was, by all accounts, brilliant, beautiful, tasteful, athletic, the perfect hostess, and a model mom? Who would even want to try to fill those stilettos?
No, a future with Matt wasn’t something I could even consider. He hadn’t given any indication it was something he was interested in anyway; he’d talked about a temporary relationship. A fling, basically. And I wasn’t a fling kind of girl.
But maybe I should be, just this once. Maybe Kirsten was right. Maybe a little hot stuff was just what I needed—and just what Matt needed, as well. The memory of that kiss made me hot and flushed all over again.
Even if I decided to go for it—which I probably wouldn’t, because deep down, I’m a big chicken—where and when would we make love? Not at his house. Not at Gran’s, certainly. And no matter how desperate I was, I didn’t want to resort to motel rooms in the next town.
No. It was a bad idea, for many, many reasons.
But it was such a danged appealing bad idea that I couldn’t get it out of my head.
