One Bride: Baby Included. Doreen Roberts

the front door.

      The first thing she noticed was his jeans. Somehow she hadn’t imagined him wearing anything but office casual. After greeting her, he walked rather stiffly past her into the room, giving her another opportunity to admire his lean hips in the snug denim. She closed the door, then turned to see him staring at her bare legs.

      He hastily cleared his throat, then said gruffly, “You might feel chilly in shorts. It can be cool at the beach, even in the summer.”

      “I’ll bring sweats with me.” She waved a hand at the couch. “Sit down, J.R. I’ll be ready in a minute. Can I get you some coffee?”

      He shook his head. “I just had breakfast.”

      She thought about the granola she hadn’t kept down. “Okay. I won’t be long.” She fled to the bedroom and hastily stuffed sweats into a bag, added suntan lotion and her purse, grabbed up her sunglasses and hurried back to the living room.

      George sat with his hands pushed between his knees and his head bowed in deep thought.

      Amy dropped the bag at his feet. “You okay?”

      He started, then reached for the bag as he unwound himself from the couch. “I’m fine. I was just thinking about a client I’m working with right now. His finances are in a mess and it’s going to take some hard work to straighten them out.”

      She moved closer to him and gazed up into his face. “George. It’s Sunday. Time to play. Let it go for the day.”

      He stared down at her, and seemed to be seeing her for the first time. “You look a little peaked. Didn’t you sleep well?”

      She backed away from him and headed for the door. “Too excited, I guess. I’m really looking forward to this trip, J.R.”

      He followed her out of the door, and she walked with him to the elevator, wishing he could at least have shown some sign of enthusiasm as well.

      The truth was, George was having a tough time dealing with the sight of Amy in shorts. She’d worn little else when she was a kid, but at nine years old Amy had legs that looked little better than the stick drawings she used to pin on his bedroom door.

      Standing in the close confines of the elevator, he couldn’t help noticing that those legs had matured, along with the rest of her body. The expanse of smooth, golden skin beneath the hem of her khaki shorts was making him hot under the collar of his purple polo.

      Although George would rather die than admit it to anyone, he was a leg man through and through. And Amy’s legs were enough to make a strong man cry. As if that wasn’t enough, she wore a yellow shirt that molded itself to her breasts and he could smell the wet roses perfume again.