She’d told him that while it was good that he had gotten a job, there could still be cash-flow problems while waiting for that first check. He’d simply smiled.
They’d laughed and talked and danced. But when he put his arms around her while they were dancing, she couldn’t help but wish it were Ryan holding her tight.
The doorbell rang as Betsy was tying her snow boots. If she and Ryan were going to play in the snow, she was prepared. Flannel-lined pants, ski sweater with silk underwear, Eskimo parka and pink plaid aviator hat.
She’d told Tripp last night about her plans. When she’d mentioned she was planning on wearing her aviator cap with the fur inside, he’d laughed. He’d told her if he could wrangle an invitation he’d go simply to see her in that hat.
The doorbell rang again.
“Coming,” she called out.
Puffy ran ahead barking her own greeting.
Betsy hurried to the door and flung it open. Her heart flip-flopped when she saw Ryan. “Good morning.”
His navy ski coat made his eyes look more blue than gray and the smile on his face was enough to melt her heart. He held out an insulated paper cup to her.
“What’s this?” She took the cup from his hands and waved him inside.
“Cappuccino. I know it’s your favorite, and I thought it’d get your Saturday morning off to a good start.”
Betsy tilted her head when she saw his hands were now empty. “You didn’t get one for yourself?”
“I had some coffee on the way over.”
Betsy took a sip. “It’s delicious.”
“That good, eh?”
“Here.” She held out the cup to him. “Try it.”
He glanced down where her lips had once been and she immediately regretted her impulsive gesture.
“I’m so sorry. Take off the lid—”
His lips closed on the same spot where hers had been only moments before. “It is good.” His gaze never left hers. “And I don’t mind drinking after you. After all, we’ve kissed. How is this so different?”
“We kissed a long time ago.” Betsy stopped herself from admitting that she knew exactly how many days it had been since he’d last kissed her. “It scarcely counts.”
“I can remedy that.”
Before she knew what was happening, he’d placed the cup on the side table near the front door and tugged her to him. Betsy told herself not to fall under his spell, but an invisible web had already begun to weave around her, pulling her in.
He tilted her chin up with a curved finger before his mouth closed over hers. His kiss was sweet and slow, exquisitely gentle and achingly tender.
The momentary thought that she should pull away vanished as she gave in to the moment, to the delicious sensations streaming through her body.
His tongue swept across her lips, and she opened her mouth to him. A smoldering heat flared through her, a sensation she didn’t bother to fight.
“Oh, Bets.” His voice was a husky caress.
His hand slid under her sweater, beneath the silky undergarment. Red flags popped up in her head. She ignored them.
His long fingers lifted and supported her yielding flesh as his thumbs brushed across the tight points of her nipples. All the while he continued to kiss her.
Then a knock sounded at her door.
She stiffened.
“Ignore it,” he murmured.
When three more quick knocks sounded at the door, Betsy knew the unexpected visitor wasn’t going away. “It’s Mr. Marstand from next door. That’s his signal. He knows I’m home.”
With obvious reluctance, Ryan dropped his hands to his sides and took a step back.
Betsy adjusted her sweater and hurried to open the door. Her elderly neighbor stood shivering in a light jacket.
Stepping aside, Betsy motioned him in. “Mr. Marstand, you need a heavier coat.”
The older gentleman wasn’t much taller than Betsy with a mop of unruly white hair and skin pulled taut over his bones. His mustache needed trimming. But his dark eyes were bright and missed nothing.
“I’m only shivering because it took you so long to open the door.” Ralph Marstand’s eyes settled on Ryan.
After pushing the front door shut, Betsy turned and hurried to the sofa. She grabbed a cotton throw and wrapped it around the man, then gestured to the sofa. “Take a seat,” she said. “I’ll brew you up a nice cup of tea.”
Ryan was all for being hospitable, but they were expected at Cole and Meg’s for lunch. He tried to catch Betsy’s eye, but she was too focused on the old man.
He dropped into a chair opposite the man and Puffy immediately jumped into his lap. Ryan thought about pushing the Pom off, but Mr. Marstand was staring.
“How long have you known Betsy?” the old man asked.
It had been years since Ryan had dated a girl, rather than a woman. But he remembered being back in high school and having to be interviewed by their father before his date could leave the house. “Pretty much all her life. I’m a friend of her brother, Keenan.”
“The one who’s in prison?”
“I’m sure Betsy’s told you that Keenan is innocent.” Without realizing what he was doing, Ryan stroked Puffy’s soft fur. To his surprise, instead of growling or baring her teeth, the puffball licked his hand.
“You spent the night.”
“What?”
“You heard me.” The older man’s eyes were filled with disapproval.
“I just got here.” Ryan paused. Had Betsy had an overnight guest? Could Tripp have... Nah, Betsy was too smart to succumb to Tripp’s charm. But then she had sounded sleepy when he’d called, as though he’d awakened her. The question was, who else had he awakened?
“Did you see a car parked over here last night?” Ryan fought to keep his tone casual and offhand.
But before the old man could answer, Betsy swept into the room with a tray in her hand and three cups of steaming tea. She smiled at the two men and placed the tray on the coffee table. “I heard you chatting in the kitchen. What were you talking about?”
“He wanted to know if the guy who picked you up last night—the tall blond one—spent the night.” Mr. Marstand picked up one of the mugs and took a sip.
“What?” Betsy’s eyes narrowed. “How dare you!”
Puffy hopped off his lap as if it were a sinking ship.
“Nonono,” Ryan said. “You misunderstand. He was interrogating me—”
“I asked you a few simple questions,” Mr. Marstand said with great indignation. “Since when is it a crime to be friendly?”
“He was the one who asked if I’d spent the night.”
“I don’t recall that part.” The old man tapped his head with a forefinger. “But then my memory isn’t what it used to be.”
Betsy gave Marstand an understanding smile.
Ryan wanted to slug him.
“Did you ask Mr. Marstand if Tripp spent the night?” Betsy pinned him with her gaze.
“I did not,”