Working Overtime. Raye Morgan
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Название: Working Overtime
Автор: Raye Morgan
Издательство: HarperCollins
Жанр: Современные любовные романы
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“If onlys” didn’t change anything. He was a pragmatic man and reality was all he cared about. And reality dictated that he stay away from women like Char—women who had family in mind.
Poor Grace. Suddenly he had a clear picture of her, of that awful pleading look in her eyes. Even after all these years, that look made him shrivel up inside. All she’d ever wanted was a family. And that was exactly what he couldn’t give her.
Char was nothing like Grace, but she had similar interests. He had to stay away from her. For his own sanity, for her peace of mind. And with that decided, he finally fell asleep.
Michael’s eyes drifted open a crack. Sunlight spilled into his room. He glanced at the clock. Damn. He’d forgotten to set the alarm. He closed his eyes again. No use getting up until he was sure the coast was clear. Might as well get a little more sleep.
This was his third morning in the old Victorian. On the first and second he had very carefully awoken early and cleared out before Char and her children got up, getting breakfast at a local coffee shop and heading for work in time to avoid all contact with the little family across the hall. He’d had to deal with Char a few times at the office, but he’d managed to keep the contact short and sweet—and very reserved. Neither one of them had made any reference to the incident on the bed. Relations between them were strictly professional and they were going to stay that way if he could manage it.
But this morning he’d misjudged. He’d gotten in so late last night, he’d prepared for bed like a robot and fallen asleep instantly. Now he was going to have to spend some more time in his room if he was going to wait them out and emerge after they’d left the house. So he dozed, barely noticing as doors opened and closed up and down the hall, as little feet pattered past, as Char’s heels made a staccato but muffled tattoo on the corridor carpet.
He had a short, seductive dream in which he reached out and touched Char’s shoulder, his hand sliding in between two silky strands of her beautiful blond hair, and she turned, dressed in the cranberry-colored, scoop-necked wool sweater she’d worn to work the day before—a sweater that did for her form what a layer of powdered snow did to the Sierras—and he reached down into the scoop and…
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