Just Friends To . . . Just Married. Renee Roszel

suitcase. “I’ll take that.”

      Thanks.” She preceded him into his three-story condo. “The flight of steps to the porch almost killed me, lugging that bag,” she said.

      “That’s the downside of stacking a fourplex of condos on one narrow lot. It makes the first floor the garage.” Kim grasped his hand as they came inside. He felt it too deeply and tugged free to wave toward the staircase, showing her the way to the bedroom floor. “I’ll take your bag to the guest room. You’ll probably want to freshen up.”

      She gazed around his luxury condo, the dark granite surround of the fireplace, the earth tones, from the mossy suede couch, rust-dyed drapes, the punches of gold and red in throw pillows and accessories, to the sleek chocolate-glazed accent tables. “You have a nice place.” She faced him and smiled. “Fashionable, yet masculine.”

      He shrugged. “I bought it furnished.”

      She looked him up and down, then took his hand again. “Well, it’s very put together.” She squeezed his fingers affectionately. “So are you, by the way. I like the suit trousers and dress shirt. I’d call that look ‘casual elegant.’” She grinned. “Did you get all casual elegant for me?”

      He shook his head. “I just got home and was changing when I got your message. Another minute and I’d have been a little too casual and a lot less elegant.”

      She laughed. The musical lilt sent a sharp pain straight to his heart. “You mean you got my message minutes before I rang the doorbell?”

      “‘Fraid so.”

      She stuck out her lower lip in a pretend pout. “Then I’m disappointed. I thought you’d prettied up for me.”

      He frowned as he always had when she put on a pout. Once again he removed his fingers from hers. “I prettied up for a client dinner.”

      “Oh.” She clasped her hands before her and nodded. “I see. Well, I guess I can get over the blow to my ego.”

      He scanned her from head to toe, admitting only the smallest fraction of what he thought. “You don’t look so bad yourself.” Raising an eyebrow at her, he asked, “I presume you got all—” he wanted to say adorable, but thought better of it “—chic for me.”

      She touched the collar of her pink linen suit jacket. “This thing? I flew from Vegas to St. Louis earlier today. Then when—” She cut herself off, swallowed. “Anyway, then I flew here. If I’m not a wrinkled, grimy mess, it’s a miracle.”

      To him she looked like she’d stepped out of a fashion magazine. “Since neither of us prettied up for each other, and our egos are sufficiently crushed, do you want to freshen up or talk first?”

      She seemed to give the matter a moment’s thought. When her glance drifted to the staircase, he knew her choice before she spoke. “I think I’d like to take a good soak and get into sweats.” She looked at him, her expression one of hope. “Will you still be up?”

      What could he say? He wanted to be asleep. He should be asleep. It had been a very long day. But he knew even if he blew her off and went to bed, he’d get no sleep tonight. Not with her in the next room. “Since when have I not been here for you when you wanted to talk?” he said. Why are you going to be here for her now? Are you that much of a glutton for punishment? he admonished inwardly, but he wasn’t listening to reason. He was too focused on Kimberly’s beautiful eyes.

      “I’d have to say you’ve always been there for me.” She smiled, reaching up to pat his cheek. “I’ll be down in a half hour.”

      “Would you like something to eat.”

      “I’d kill for some of your great pancakes.”

      “Pancakes, it is.” He carried her bag up the steps, watching her as she moved ahead of him. Her long, slim legs hypnotized him. The slight sway of her hips transfixed him. The swinging bounce of her hair tormented him. He bit back an oath. When they reached her room he set down her bag. “See you…whenever,” he said, feeling uncharacteristically awkward.

      “See ya, Jax.” She hugged his neck and planted a kiss almost—but not quite—on his lips. She and her suitcase had disappeared before he could breathe again.

      When he managed to turn away from her door, he ground out, “Blast you, Jax.” He headed downstairs. “You are the world’s heavyweight champion fool.”

      Kim lounged in a tub of steamy water, her hair piled in a swirly heap on top of her head. Bubbly jets massaged her from all sides. Such luxury. Jax had come a long way since the days when he lived in the cookie-cutter tract house next door. She loved this bathroom. All marble and mirrors, and the guest room closet was huge. Empty and huge. Well, it was empty before she hung up her stuff. She sighed and inhaled the fragrant air. She could smell Jax’s cologne. Odd. Maybe it was in her hair. She reached up and tugged down a strand and sniffed. “Ah,” she said through a sigh. His scent lingered there. “You smell so good.” She inhaled deeply once more before stuffing the strand back up out of her face.

      She closed her eyes and thought about him. How great he looked. Had she ever seen him in a suit before? She couldn’t recall. Though he didn’t have on a tie or suit jacket, he still looked very dashing, very GQ. And she liked his hair. She’d forgotten how shiny and soft and jet-black it was. With just a touch of curl. When it was slightly mussed, and an errant lock fell across his forehead, he gave off appealing, swashbuckling-pirate vibes. For a science geek, it was totally against type, but charming. His hair had been that way tonight. Slightly disheveled with a hint of “rogue pirate.” While the rest of his attire spoke of solidness, reliability and good character, that one curl screamed “sexy bad boy.”

      She giggled at the absurd notion. The preoccupied nerd who won Science Fairs, who was valedictorian of his senior class and whose dog never ate his homework, a bad boy ! “Very funny,” she said aloud. She’d purposely dropped the word “sexy” from the “bad boy” image, since long ago she’d placed Jax in a category where sexy and sex and all its ups and downs had no place.

      Suddenly restless, she decided she’d soaked long enough. Besides she could smell pancakes. She turned off the stimulating jets and rose from the tub, feeling better, at least physically. The delicious aroma of the pancakes reminded her she hadn’t eaten since breakfast, a cold muffin and bitter airport coffee as she ran for her flight.

      “Jax,” she said as she toweled off with the softest, thickest navy terry towel she’d ever seen, “You are my rock. I love you.” She grimaced, stopped, then shrugged it off. “Of course you love him,” she said. “He’s your best friend in the world. You can say ‘I love you’ and not rock any boats.” She hung her towel on its bar and walked into a bedroom decorated in tasteful shades of green and beige. “Naturally, though, you probably shouldn’t say it to him.”

      She didn’t know why not, really. It just seemed like going too far. Every man to whom she’d said those three words had eventually walked out of her life. “No,” she said. “That must never happen to me and Jax.”

      A few moments later, dressed in comfortable navy sweats and a pair of thick athletic socks, she bounded down the stairs. “It smells good in here,” she called. “Where are you, Jax?”

      “In the Lunar Module preparing for landing. Where do you think?”

      She laughed, amazed that she could. “In the Lunar Module preparing for landing, of course. I keep up.” Around the corner from the main living area, she headed past a contemporary dining-room table and chairs. Beyond that she spied a door and walked through it into the kitchen where a small, round oak breakfast table and four matching chairs snuggled in an alcove before a floor-to-ceiling bay window.

      Outside, Kim could see the light show of downtown Chicago’s high-rises. When she turned away from the scenery, she noticed the table set for one, and looked curiously at Jax. Shirtsleeves rolled up to his elbows, he stood over a skillet. A platter sat beside the gas range piled high with pancakes. “Hey, how many