“Aaron.” She smiled sweetly, her face a map of crinkles. She’d recognised him, had got his name right. So far so good.
When Oliver went over, though, she called him David. Did that mean his fiancée Leonie would be mistaken for Mum? That could be awkward.
But you had to trust a woman to remember her own daughter. Even though Leonie was willowy and blonde, she clearly wasn’t Mum.
Gran frowned. “Where’s Andrea, David?” She directed this in a rather outraged tone to Oliver. “Flaunting your new floozy like this. It’s just not on.” She was just about to give Oliver a rap with her stick when Dad raced over. Finally the situation was explained to Gran’s satisfaction. Ten minutes later, after a cucumber sandwich and a nice cup of tea, Gran was beaming at everyone and tapping her foot to Frank Sinatra.
The doorbell rang.
“I’ll get it.” Aaron ripped fingers through his hair and dived into the hallway. It had to be Alice.
It was Alice.
Standing smiling up at him, she stole his breath. Eyes wide and dark, lips shimmery pink, her hair glossy and—shorter, much shorter. A neat bob with a straight fringe that made her look like she’d stepped off the set ofWhat’s New Pussycat?All she needed was a leopard-skin outfit and knee-high boots. As it was, she was wearing a chocolate brown velvet dress with a hint of cleavage, and pearls…thosepearls. Red-hot lust flew to his groin as he remembered the last time she’d worn them at the art gallery. Well, this was potentially embarrassing—particularly among a group of octogenarians.
Aaron stepped forward and kissed her cheek, caught her apple-blossom scent. “Love your hair,” he managed.
“Oh, you do?” Alice cocked her head and her hair hung heavy to one side, just below her left ear. “I had it done in Sydney. Dad persuaded me it would look nice shorter.”
“It does. You look amazing.”
She blushed and it made her even more beautiful. Aaron’s blood hammered a crazy beat in his ears.
He grinned at her like a loon then stepped back, subtly re-arranged himself by tugging at his belt. As he took her bag their fingers grazed and everything revved up again. It wouldn’t do to drag her into a cupboard at Gran’s ninetieth, would it?
Luckily, before lust got the better of him, Andrea swooped. “Alice, you must see the cake before I bring it out.”
Alice cast him a little smile that spoke volumes as Andrea hurried her away, both of them whispering.
He stuck his hands in his pockets to hide any residual evidence of arousal and stilled the urge to bounce up and down on his heels. He’d planned his and Alice’s own special after-party, now he just had to cool his jets for an hour or so longer.
Taking a deep breath, he strolled over to the laden dining table and picked up a plate of sandwiches.
“Mrs Braithwaite, isn’t it?” he queried the lady on the sofa with the pink rinse and the toy poodle on her lap one shade lighter.
“You’re Betty’s grandson, aren’t you?” When he nodded, she beamed delightedly. “Do call me Edith.”
Holding out the platter, Aaron gifted her his most charming smile. “Edith, can I tempt you to a cucumber sandwich?”
Edith winked as she reached out a blue-veined hand. “Thank you, dear boy. Consider me tempted.”
Clearly there was no such thing as being too old for the game.