Fortune's Special Delivery

He ran a hand over the front of his sweater and arched an eyebrow. “Is there something wrong with my clothes?”

“Not if you want to constantly be recognized while you’re in Austin,” she told him. “You dress like you’re British.”

“I am British.”

“Which is why we’re going to turn you into an American for a few weeks.” She smiled and stepped away from the building. “Trust me, Charles.”

“I’m not wearing Wranglers,” he mumbled, and she did laugh.

“No Wranglers,” she agreed. “But at least one ten-gallon hat.”

He shot her a horrified glance.

“I’m kidding.” Alice found that she enjoyed teasing Charles. “Austin’s fashion style is fairly casual and, because of the college and the music scene, it’s less ‘cowboy’ than a lot of places in Texas. You’ll be fine.” She started for the walkway next to her building. “My car’s in the lot around back.”

“We can take mine.”

“You don’t have a car seat base.”

He flashed her a proud smile. “I do, and I had it installed at the fire station the hotel concierge recommended.”

She sucked in a breath, trying not to let her heart be influenced by the thoughtfulness of that gesture. He lifted the car seat out of her hands, their fingers brushing.

“Hullo there, little man,” he said to Flynn as he tipped back the sunshade. Flynn gurgled in response.

“I need to grab his stroller from the trunk of my car.” She shrugged at Charles’s questioning glance. “There’s not a lot of room in the apartment, so I keep it in the car when I’m not using it.”

He considered that for a moment. “A boy needs a yard to romp in, Alice.”

“Flynn has a while to go before the ‘romping’ stage begins.”

“If you’d let me—”

“My apartment is fine.” She held up a hand. “One step at a time. Please.”

“One step at a time. Let’s drive around back to your car.” He hit the remote start on the key fob and then clicked the infant carrier into the base waiting in his back seat. This was the first time she’d gotten in a car with her son and not been driving since her father brought her home from the hospital after Flynn’s birth.

Charles held open the door and she slipped into the buttery leather seat, stowing the diaper bag at her feet.

“Do you always wear heels?” he asked, leaning over the top of the door.

“Whenever possible,” she admitted. “These are low for me.” Today she’d gone casual with a pair of polka-dot espadrilles with a stacked one-inch heel.

“I like them,” he said simply, but the intensity in his eyes as they raked over her body made awareness whisper across her skin.

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