The Playboy's Office Romance by Karen Toller Whittenburg

Author:Karen Toller Whittenburg
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Harlequin
Published: 2013-08-28T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter Seven

Cal barreled around the corner at full, four-year-old, throttle and careened to a stop, his vroom, vroom noises cut off by a loud, braking errrrrkkkk as he caught sight of Lara. He looked her up and down, from the swirl of shimmery fabric at her feet up the slender lines of the evening gown, to the sequined bodice and the sheer swatch of silk that led to a glistening, sequined collar around her throat. His eyes widened as he spied the dangling diamonds at her earlobes and the sparkling accents dusted throughout her upswept hair. “Hubba, hubba,” he said in a throaty treble, clearly impressed.

She cocked an eyebrow. “Where did you learn that?”

“My daddy says when you see a pretty girl, you should say hubba, hubba.”

It figured that his poor excuse for a father would think that an important lesson to teach his son. “Well, your daddy is wrong. When you see someone all dressed up, the proper thing to say is, ‘you look very pretty.’”

Calvin grinned up at her, the space where his front tooth should have been making the smile puckishly lopsided. “You look very pretty, Aunt Lara.”

A tide of love for this skinny little boy flooded her with warmth from the inside out. “Thank you, Cal. That’s the nicest thing anyone has said to me all day.”

His grin was both self-conscious and pleased, but he stayed very still as she stooped and pulled him close for a hug. It was almost as if he was afraid to hug her back for fear of mussing her clothes or knocking off a few sparkles. As if something like that would matter. “Now, remember, Bridget is staying over tonight and she’ll be sleeping in my bed, so don’t forget and crawl in with her in the middle of the night. Stay in your own bed, okay?”

He nodded, then pulled back to look at her with a frown. “Where will you sleep?”

“I’ll be very late getting home tonight and I’ll sleep on the sofa. When you wake up in the morning, that’s where I’ll be.”

“Where are you going?”

She tapped his button nose. “I am going to the Cinderella Ball.”

“I like balls.”

“Not that kind.”

“Uh-huh. I do. I can throw a ball really, really far.”

She straightened, her leg muscles cramping from the tension of stooping in the form-fitting gown and balancing on high heels. “This kind of ball isn’t something you play with. It’s an event where everyone is dressed up and there’s dancing, and lots and lots of talking. You wouldn’t like it, believe me.”

His brow furrowed. “Do you like a Cind’rella ball, Aunt Lara?”

“Sometimes.”

“Tonight do you like it?”

She brushed his cowlick into place with her fingers, but it barely stayed down a second before springing back upright. “I think tonight has…possibilities.” Which perfectly described her state of mind. She’d been keyed up all day, anticipating the evening, and telling herself over and over again that this feeling, this expectancy, this heightened sense of possibility had nothing whatsoever to do with Bryce Braddock.

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