Another pause.
“I wondered whether you’d like to come over for a glass of wine. The kids are asleep. I have scotch if you don’t like wine. I could make tea or coffee if you don’t drink alcohol. I just thought maybe we could ... get to know each other. You know, talk. And, just to be clear, I’m not suggesting anything else.”
So fucking was probably out. “Got it.”
“Would you like to come over?”
Hell, yes, he would. “Give me ten minutes to get dressed, and I’ll walk down. You caught me getting out of the shower.”
“Oh! Oh. Okay.” She cleared her throat. “See you in ten minutes.”
He ended the call and walked back to the bathroom, feeling a foot taller and energized. He towel-dried his hair, then slathered his face with shaving cream, and shaved away two days’ growth of beard.
Was it the kiss that had gotten to her? Had she been thinking about it all day the way he had?
You’d like to think so, wouldn’t you, dumbshit?
Forget kissing anyway. Ellie had said just talking.
Yeah, okay. Jesse could respect that.
He finished shaving, rinsed his face, and walked off to his bedroom to get dressed. He stared into his closet at the broad assortment of battered blue jeans, T-shirts, flannel shirts, sweaters, and climbing clothes he owned, and he found himself wondering what a classy woman like Ellie Meeks would like to see on a man.
She was married to an army pilot, remember?
Okay, right. She wouldn’t be expecting a skinny tie or pleated slacks. Besides, Jesse didn’t own anything like that anyway.
He pulled on a black T-shirt and slipped a gray flannel shirt on top of that. A clean pair of boxer briefs, some jeans without holes, and a pair of wool socks, and he was good to go. Just to be on the safe side, he tucked a condom into his pocket.
Yes, he’d heard what she’d said. Yes, he would respect her limits. But sometimes sex just happened. If it did, he wanted to be ready.
He put on his boots, slipped into his parka, then grabbed his keys and stepped out into the night.
* * *
Oh, God! Oh, God! Oh, God!
Ellie stared at her reflection in horror. She had invited a man over to her house—and not just any man, but a sexy man who had kissed her today, her freaking neighbor!
What in God’s name was she supposed to wear?
Unable to decide, she scurried from her bedroom to her bathroom, brushed her hair, washed her face, and put on mascara. She was ready from the neck up, at least.
She hurried back to her bedroom and stared into her closet. Casual. She should keep it casual. It was nine o’clock on a weeknight, and they were getting together in her living room. What could be more casual than that?
She put on a clean pair of panties and her sexiest, pushiest push-up bra, then yanked her skinny black jeans off their hanger, put on a white lace camisole, and pulled her heather blue V-neck cashmere sweater over her head. She’d just smoothed her hair back into place when a knock came at the back door.
Shit!
She gave herself a quick once-over in the mirror—and froze. Dan had given her this sweater for Christmas one year.
Panic shot through her.
She glanced at the wedding band on her finger. What the hell had she been thinking to invite Jesse over like this?
Another knock.
It was too late to change her clothes—too late to change what she’d set in motion.