Ready for Marriage?. Anne Marie Winston

you want me to be there?’’ It was an impulsive offer, born of his concern for her.

      Her eyebrows rose and a look of surprise flitted across her features. ‘‘I think I can handle it.’’ She smiled at him. ‘‘But I appreciate the thought.’’

      He wanted to talk to her about the feelings rolling around inside him, but he wasn’t sure how to start. And in any case, he couldn’t seem to make himself utter a word.

      Kristin’s smile faded. She reached over and laid a hand on his arm. ‘‘Derek? Are you all right?’’

      No. How can I be all right when all I can think of is you? And it wasn’t just the sexual thoughts that were making him crazy, although they sure weren’t helping. He’d always cared about Kristin in a platonic big-brother way. But now there was a more personal element to the way he felt, a tender sweetness that caused his chest to tighten and his heart to pound. It was just friendship, he assured himself. He had cared about her for years.

      Aloud, he said, ‘‘I’m fine.’’ He laid his free hand over hers where it rested on his forearm. ‘‘Will you come over for dinner tomorrow evening? I’m on call, but you know how that goes. It probably will be quiet until about 2:00 a.m.’’ He smiled sheepishly. ‘‘And I have an ulterior motive. I’d like your opinion on some of the applications I’ve received for the nanny position.’’

      Her smile faded. ‘‘I already have plans for tomorrow evening. I’m sorry. Could we make it Saturday night?’’

      What plans? Who with? ‘‘Sure,’’ he said. He lifted his hand and moved his arm out from under hers, busying himself picking up dishes while he fought the jealousy that urged him to demand she tell him her plans. Was she going out with the Fourth of July date again? Or someone entirely different?

      She silently began helping him clear the table, putting things in the dishwasher and setting salad dressings back in the refrigerator. When he risked a glance at her, her expression was unreadable, and an unaccountable streak of annoyance ran through him. He realized he’d expected her to try to smooth things over, to cajole him into talking to her like she always had before when he’d gotten into what she called ‘‘a mood’’ about something.

      But she hadn’t. She acted as if she weren’t even aware of his mood, and that made him feel even worse. She’d cared before. He knew she had. But ever since she’d brought up marriage and he’d flipped out, things hadn’t been right between them. And now…now he was afraid maybe he’d ruined the relationship he had with her.

      She’d said she was glad he’d stopped by. Did she mean that? Was it directed at him, or was she simply pleased that he’d brought Mollie to see her?

      No, she’d been smiling at him when she’d said it, smiling in a very feminine way that he was certain had been meant for him.

      The telephone rang.

      ‘‘Oh, rats,’’ Kristin said.

      He glanced at her. She’d just plunged her hands into soapy dishwater. ‘‘Do you want me to get that?’’

      She shrugged. ‘‘Sure. Thanks.’’

      He reached for the handset in the cradle on the far counter and turned it on. ‘‘Hello?’’

      There was a moment of silence. ‘‘May I speak to Kristin, please?’’ It was a deep, masculine voice.

      A wave of sheer, unadulterated jealousy ripped through him. He had to work to keep the satisfaction from his voice as he said, ‘‘I’m sorry, she can’t come to the phone right now. May I take a message?’’

      ‘‘Sure.’’ The guy sounded ridiculously cheery. ‘‘Is this Kristin’s father?’’

      The question caught him flat-footed. Her father? Was the guy kidding? ‘‘No,’’ he said, aware that his voice was more than a little testy. ‘‘It isn’t.’’

      ‘‘Oh. Sorry.’’ The man sounded less sure of himself now. ‘‘Would you just tell her Rod called to confirm our date tomorrow night? I’ll pick her up at seven.’’

      ‘‘Sure thing.’’ Derek wanted Rod to come over so he could pound him into the ground.

      ‘‘Thanks, man.’’

      Derek hung up the handset and slowly turned to Kristin. ‘‘That was someone named Rod. He’ll pick you up at seven tomorrow night.’’

      ‘‘Oh.’’ Her face grew pink. ‘‘Thank you,’’ she said in a small voice.

      ‘‘You’re welcome.’’ He clipped out the words, then turned and headed for the living room. ‘‘Hey, Miss Mollie, it’s time to go home.’’

      ‘‘No!’’ Mollie clutched another book to her breast. ‘‘Not done reading!’’

      ‘‘Okay. One more,’’ he said. ‘‘You have two minutes to finish that one.’’ He didn’t want to have to go back into the kitchen and face Kristin so he leaned against the wall and watched as his daughter became completely engrossed in the pages of the book she was ‘‘reading.’’

      ‘‘Derek?’’ Kristin’s voice was soft.

      He glanced back into the kitchen.

      She stood in the middle of the room, one bare foot atop the other, with that glorious out-of-control mane of hair rioting around her and falling over her shoulders. Her hands were absently twisting her T-shirt hem and she’d pulled it so taut that her smooth, flat stomach was exposed. The shirt also outlined the curves of her breasts and he realized she had no idea how she looked to him. How badly he wanted to go to her and smooth a hand down over that delicate skin, to cup her breasts and lower his mouth to them, to see that hair spread over his pillow.

      ‘‘Are you angry with me?’’ She was frowning.

      ‘‘No.’’ Not exactly. He didn’t move.

      ‘‘Well, then, what’s wrong?’’

      He shrugged, determined not to give voice to the little green monsters racing around inside him. ‘‘I’m just not very satisfied with our relationship right now and I don’t know what to do about it.’’ Well, that was honest.

      ‘‘You don’t have to do anything about it.’’ Her chin lifted a fraction.

      He turned completely around to face her without saying a word, merely holding her gaze with his until the belligerence drained out of her expression.

      He should leave. He was going to leave. He was leaving right now.

      He stepped toward her, reaching for her hands, prying her fingers out of the shirt fabric and intertwining his fingers with hers. ‘‘I’m not trying to hurt you,’’ he said quietly.

      ‘‘I know.’’ Her throat moved as she swallowed and suddenly there were tears swimming in her eyes.

      ‘‘Don’t cry,’’ he whispered. ‘‘We’ll work it out.’’

      ‘‘How?’’ Even though her voice was as quiet as his he recognized the challenge in the single syllable.

      A taut, expectant silence hummed between them for a moment.

      ‘‘I don’t know.’’ He felt his shoulders sag. God, what was he supposed to say? Was she still hoping he’d change his mind about marriage?

      Without warning, an image of Kristin languidly reclining in his bed, her mane of hair trailing across his white sheets, assailed him. Marriage would give him unrestricted access to her lithe, subtle curves, to her sweet, drugging kisses, to the shattering pleasure he knew he could find in her arms.

      Marriage. That was crazy. He couldn’t marry her. You were supposed to marry someone you loved, not someone for whom you had a