“Is there anything we can do to help?” Sidney asked.
“Yes.” Simon pointed at the two of them. “Go home. You two have been awesome today—thank you for everything.”
Sidney treaded softly on her way out, and Vaughn followed behind.
In the doorway, he looked back and saw Simon tenderly stroke Isabelle’s cheek. She opened her eyes for a moment and smiled, and the two of them shared a look so intimate that Vaughn felt like an intruder just standing there.
He had no idea what it felt like, having that deep of a connection with another person. But seeing his brother look so content in spite of all the chaos of the day, he suddenly found himself wondering.
“Everything okay?”
Vaughn turned back and saw Sidney waiting for him in the hallway. Shaking off the unsettled feeling that had crept over him, he nodded. “Yes.”
• • •
“DID SIMON SEEM a little stressed out to you?” Sidney asked, as they drove back to her place.
“I’d say more than a little,” Vaughn said.
“Isabelle, too. She hired a wedding planner to help out, but there’s still so much that she has to do on her own. I’m worried she’s going to push herself too hard after this surgery.” Her big-sister protective instincts were kicking in more than ever after today’s scare with Isabelle. “I’ll talk to her about delegating a few things to me.”
“Maybe I could help with some of the wedding stuff, too.”
Sidney laughed, then saw Vaughn frown. “Wait—you’re being serious?”
He shrugged. “Sure, why not?”
“No offense, but you don’t exactly exude a ‘wedding planning’ vibe.”
“And thank God for that. But I think I can manage a few tasks. How hard could it be to pick out a photographer? Or a band? Just ask them if they plan to play ‘Y.M.C.A.’ or that annoying Kool and the Gang song. If they say no, they’re hired.”
“A little more goes into planning a wedding than that,” Sidney said dryly. Then she bit her lip, not having meant to lead into that topic.
Vaughn glanced over, but said nothing further. They drove for a few moments in silence, and Sidney couldn’t help herself from sneaking a few peeks.
He really was just so . . . attractive. With his shirtsleeves rolled up around his forearms, and that strong, sexy jawline, and that body, and those striking hazel eyes, Special Agent Vaughn Roberts was the kind of man a woman noticed—even across a crowded coffee shop when she was supposed to be meeting someone else for a date.
I know you’d envisioned yourself being on a different track at thirty-three, but there is one really awesome thing about being single. You can have meaningless, mind-blowing sex with a guy like that.
“You shouldn’t look at me like that,” Vaughn said, in a low voice.
“Sorry. I was just . . . thinking about something my friend Trish said.”
He studied her. “When’s the last time you had anything to eat?”
Sidney checked the clock on the dashboard and saw that it was after ten o’clock. “Probably the same time that you had anything to eat.”
“We could stop somewhere.”
Sidney thought about that for a moment. “Actually, I’d really like to go home and get out of this dress and heels.” Then she looked at him. “I have a refrigerator stocked with finger sandwiches and minicakes, if you’re interested.”
He held her gaze, his eyes a molten dark green-gold. “I just so happen to love minicakes.”
Sixteen
AFTER LETTING VAUGHN inside, Sidney excused herself to change out of her dress and heels. Sadly, she did not invite him upstairs to join her.
So instead, Vaughn settled for watching the sway of her hips as she walked up the steps. Sometimes he didn’t know whether he was coming or going with this woman. In the car, he’d thought there’d been a little flirtation going on between them, but for all he knew “fingers sandwiches and minicakes” really meant . . . finger sandwiches and minicakes.
Hands tucked in his pockets, he checked out the living room and adjacent dining room, able to get a better look now that the space wasn’t crammed with twenty-five bodies. What struck him immediately about the townhome was that it had been decorated in an intriguing blend of modern and antique furniture pieces.
A few minutes later, Sidney rejoined him downstairs just as he was eying a rustic African statue that set atop a contemporary sleek lacquer chest.
“Your style is more eclectic than I would’ve guessed.” He turned and saw that she’d changed into black yoga pants and a pink tank top that scooped low enough to reveal the top curves of her br**sts.
“I sort of fell into that style out of necessity,” she said. “I left New York with only half of the furniture I’d collected while there. It wasn’t enough to fill this space, so instead of trying to find pieces that semi-matched what I had, I figured I’d go with something completely different.” She looked around the room. “Actually, I kind of like the way it turned out.”
“I take it your ex-fiancé got the other half of your furniture?”
She tilted her head. “So you’ve heard the story, then.”
“Bits and pieces.”
“Hmm.” Clapping her hands together, she changed the subject. “So. About those finger sandwiches.”
Apparently, they really had been talking about actual finger sandwiches.