it.
He grimaced. Good grief, he was an OB-GYN.
The car swerved sideways, and he yanked up the purse, stuffed the tampon
inside and closed it for her. Her lips snapped shut.
Then she hit another bump in the road, and the chest in the back bounced
up and slammed down with a thump. He angled his head to see it. “What’s
in that box, anyway?”
Rebecca’s gaze darted everywhere but at him. “Just some junk for a
garage sale.”
He lapsed into silence as he remembered the dozens of garage sales his
mother had had. She’d sold everything she could stand to part with just
to provide for them. He’d hated seeing their things being hocked to
strangers for mere pocket change.
Surely Rebecca wasn’t that desperate for money.
If she was, she’d have a hell of a time paying her insurance if the
company raised it after they covered the damages to his car.
But her finances were not his problem, he reminded himself, battling a
twinge of sympathy. He was not playing Mr. Nice Guy again. He would
befriend Rebecca so she could introduce him to her father, then he’d
secure the job and move to Atlanta. Nothing more.
A half hour later Rebecca’s insides still quivered. What had happened to
her today? Not only had she ruined Thomas’s Porsche, but she’d damn near
run off the road and killed him. Then she’d lied to him about the silly
hope chest.
But she didn’t want him to think she was husband hunting, that she would
mistake his kindness for an advance. Because Thomas Emerson was the
nicest man she’d ever met. And the sexiest. And someone was going to be
the luckiest woman alive one day to have him for a husband.
Of course, that someone would not be her.
Memories of at least three painful past relationships traipsed through
her mind, trampling her mood altogether. Memories of men who had used
her to get to Suzanne.
No, Thomas wasn’t like those men. He was trustworthy and sincere and
helped women through his work. He would never use a woman. Although, she
had overheard him asking Hannah about Suzanne when she’d gone for punch.
She veered onto the interstate toward his house, grateful for the soft
jazz music filling the tense silence. Once she dropped him at his house,
she wouldn’t have to face him again. She could handle the insurance
information over the phone and never have to look into those startling
green eyes again. As long as she didn’t see him, she could put him
firmly out of her mind.
Then she wouldn’t have to drool over him and want the man so badly.
After all, she was a realist. She refused to torture herself and dream
about things she could never have.
Like Thomas Emerson.
Thomas shook his head as Rebecca drove away. She was an enigma. He’d
finally grown tired of the strained silence in the car and had ventured
into asking her about a book he’d ordered that hadn’t yet arrived.
She had transformed into an intelligent, well-spoken woman.
The past half hour they’d enjoyed a long discussion of various popular
titles as well as nonfiction topics. Rebecca was well-read and
insightful, and had even argued with him about the authors of some
hard-to-find classics. But when he’d suggested they stop by her place so
he could help her unload that chest full of garage sale items, she’d
grown flustered again. She’d claimed her neighbor, Jerry Ruthers, would
assist her instead.
Was this guy Jerry her boyfriend? Was he the reason she’d rushed to get
home and had refused Thomas’s offer of coffee?
An odd feeling pinched his gut. Maybe it was from the chocolate groom’s
cake he’d eaten at Alison’s wedding. No, probably from the jostling his
body had been subjected to on the harrowing ride home.
He walked inside his house, smiling at the expanse of polished hardwood
and detailed molding. As a child, he’d never imagined owning a house
like this, one with space and class. He tossed his keys onto the marble
table in the