Page 38 of Temptation at His Door

That was because he was on a date, and he didn’t want to talk about his kids. He was a father twenty-four seven; he wanted a break.

And they hadn’t connected because he’d spent most of their time together thinking about Ju...

Crap.

Ronan pushed his plate away and took a large sip of his wine.

“Would you like to go?” he quietly asked her.

“No, but I know you do,” Janie said, her voice soft but pride flashing in her eyes. She pushed her chair back and stood up. “Why don’t you settle the bill while I visit the ladies’ room?”

Ronan followed her to her feet and watched her walk away. The maître d’ immediately approached him, concern on his face. “Mr. Murphy, are you leaving? Has the food displeased you?”

Ronan placed his hand on the elderly man’s shoulder. “No, John, not at all. The service and meal were impeccable, as always.”

Ronan exchanged casual conversation with John until Janie returned. Ronan flashed John a smile. “I’ll see you again, John.”

Sympathy flashed in the older man’s eyes. “Thank you for joining us tonight, Mr. Murphy, madam.”

“Add a good tip to the bill, John,” Ronan told him, knowing that the restaurant had his credit card details on file.

John nodded gravely, murmured a quiet thank-you, but Ronan caught the flash of mischief in his eyes and sighed. He was about to make a decent contribution to John’s bank account this month. Ronan placed his fingers on Janie’s back to guide her to the door.

“Have a good evening, sir,” John said, whipping in front of them to open the door.

He would. If he could get back to Joa.

Ronan tipped his face to the stars and shook his head. He had a dead wife, a failed date on his arm and he was thinking about his sons’ nanny.

He was all kinds of messed up.

Joa heard the slam of the front door and the ping of Ronan’s keys hitting the ceramic plate on the hall table. Sitting on the multicolored Persian carpet in the great room, she looked up as his big frame blocked out the light coming from the delicate French-inspired chandelier hanging in the double-volume hallway.

Being tall, he was a natural clotheshorse and she approved of his outfit of dark jeans, a checked brown-and-blue shirt worn under a flecked cream sweater, topped off by a well-worn but obviously expensive leather bomber jacket.

What she didn’t approve of was the fact that he was dating.

Ronan Murphy was still in love with his wife and men who were still head over heels for their dead wives didn’t date. Or shouldn’t date.

Then again, neither should they have hot sex on the sofa.

Joa pushed a loose strand of hair behind her ear and looked up at him as he shrugged out of his jacket, throwing it onto the back of the nearest chair.

“You’re home early,” she commented, pulling her finger off the paper plate in her hand. She had glue everywhere, on her fingers, on her loose-fitting flannel pants, in her hair. “How was dinner?”

“Interminable,” Ronan replied, resting his hand on the back of the sofa opposite her. He looked at the mess on his floor—paints, glue, colored paper and markers scattered across the carpet—and frowned. “What are you doing?”

Ah, she’d been waiting for him to ask. “Do you recall hearing anything about the boys needing animal masks for Zoo Day?”

“What the hell is Zoo Day?”

“It’s been in their communication book, on and off, for about a month now.”

“Uh, I tend to forget to check that.”

She’d realized that. “And because you didn’t, I was reminded by them both, just after supper, that they needed masks. Aron demanded a chimpanzee mask and Sam, a tiger.”

Ronan pulled a face. “I could just go and buy them one.”

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