Wedding Series Boxed Set (3 Books in 1) (The Wedding Series) by Patricia McLinn

afternoon to catch up, and that it was all his fault " - let's go to dinner."
    "I have plans."
    Most men would have instantly withdrawn at the deliberate chill in those three words. She should have remembered that when it came to what nine out of ten men would do, she faced Mr. Ten.
    "Plans?" he repeated as if he'd never heard the word. "Don't you want to have dinner with me?"
    She opened her mouth and shut it immediately, uncertain it would deliver the sentiment she needed to express.
    Damn the man.
    "I have a lot of work to do."
    Why did the truth sound so lame?
    "Didn't you have a good time last night?"
    "Yes, I had a good time, but -"
    "Good. I did, too. I want to hear about your business, and you should probably know more about mine before we make a final choice on this permanent temporary." Not giving her a chance to respond, he continued. "We'll try this pizza place I know where they serve deep-dish by the pound. It's across the street from where the St. Valentine's Day Massacre took place back in the twenties, and legend has it one victim crawled to the front step and breathed his last right there."
    * * *
    NEARLY FOUR HOURS later Bette found herself trying to figure out exactly where she'd lost control.
    Somewhere, she figured, between the time Paul played on her sense of responsibility by mentioning the need to discuss business and the time he cast out the lure of deep-dish pizza. She dismissed as overly pessimistic the voice that insisted on whispering that control had walked out the minute he had walked in the day before.
    The dinner had been wonderful. And so, she had to admit, had the company.
    He'd regaled her with tales of the oddities he'd seen in his business and of the escapades he'd pulled in his life. He'd also drawn stories from her of her childhood and her travails in setting up her business, but she didn't enjoy that half as much as when he talked - and made her laugh.
    As the cab carried them south from the restaurant toward the center of the city, she studied him. A man whose business was children's toys. A man who refused to live by schedules or plans. A man who seemed wary of committing to something as simple as choosing a temporary assistant. Logic said a man wary of committing to anything.
    Or anyone?
    "Wait a minute. Stop here," Paul ordered the cabbie as they neared the northern limit of Michigan Avenue's Magnificent Mile.
    Bundling Bette out of the taxi, he paid the fare and started her off across the wind-whipped boulevard.
    "What are you doing? Where are we going?"
    "The beach."
    "What?"
    "Oak Street Beach. I haven't been there all summer."
    He took her hand and wrapped it securely in the warmth of his, then led her across the lanes of traffic. They'd reached the sidewalk bordering the beach before she thought to protest further.
    "Don't you think it's a little late in the season to be going to the beach?"
    "Didn't want to rush into anything," he said with a grin, still pulling her along.
    "Hey. Wait a minute. I'm getting sand in my shoes." Hauling back on his hand, she managed to stop him.
    "Take 'em off."
    She glared. "I also have hosiery on, and besides, it's October."
    "It's also probably seventy degrees, and the sand's been soaking up sun all day."
    He had a point; she ignored it. "I'm not taking my shoes off and walking in the sand in my hose. And before you say it," she rushed on, "I'm not taking off my hose on a public beach, either."
    He looked at her a long moment, and she had the impression that a measuring and accounting was taking place.
    "You want to go back?" It was an offer more than a question.
    She considered the toes of her shoes, already awash in a wave of sand. The black leather pumps needed polishing anyhow, and their wedge heels were nearly flat. She glanced at the tall, lighted buildings standing sentinel behind them, then out to the glistening roll of the lake and finally back to Paul.
    He watched her without judgment, not goading, not pressuring. Just