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Cilla protest? Under what pretext could she say she didn't want another evening in Ren Colson's company? So she stood there, stewing over her helplessness while a few minutes of wind-up conversation transpired. Then Ren held the gate open for mother and child to exit through. "Cute little thing," he said, watching the two walk away.
    "Jewel's nearly six feet tall," Cilla objected.
    He sent her a weird look. "I was talking about the baby."
    "Oh. Well." Still, wasn't that just as strange? Did Ren actually have an opinion on infants?
    "Were you headed into the gym?" he asked, nodding toward the pool house. "I was thinking of taking a spin on one of the treadmills."
    He was dressed for it, in running shoes and a pair of long shorts and V-neck shirt in a quick-dry fabric. "Um..."
    "At dinner last night you mentioned there was a pair of them." He gave her a grin. "We could race."
    It was that white smile that undid her. It was relaxed, confident, and...not the least bit sexual. It had all been in her mind!
    And so, she and her pride decided there was no good reason for not following through with the work-out she'd intended all along. With luck, it would help alleviate the sudden bad mood that had dropped on her out of nowhere. Already unzipping her hoodie, she strode off.
    Of course there was no racing on a treadmill. And she didn't even try matching Ren's pace, because with her shorter legs she didn't have a prayer of keeping up. Now, maybe if she had Jewel's height...
    "You seemed surprisingly interested in baby Soul," Cilla heard herself say, her feet thumping a regular rhythm.
    He glanced over at her, a question in his eyes.
    "Is that a sign you want kids of your own?" Maybe the exercise was loosening her tongue as well as her muscles.
    "What would I know about raising a kid?" he asked, his response as easy as his gait.
    "That doesn't mean you don't want any," Cilla pointed out, then heard her mouth keep running on. "Do you have a significant other in your life at the moment?"
    He adjusted the treadmill's speed, upping it a little. "Told you I do better solitary."
    "Pretty sure that isn't the same as celibate," she said drily.
    His lips twitched. "No."
    She hesitated, then thought, in for a penny, in for a pound . "So, is there a regular casual visitor to your London bedroom?"
    He glanced over, his lips twitching again, as if he was enjoying this little game. "I haven't seen the inside of my flat there, Cilla, for over three months."
    Her face must have given away her frustration, because he laughed.
    At the low sound, she went a little breathless, but she'd been jogging for approximately five minutes, so it was likely anaerobia kicking in. "Never mind," she said, lifting her nose. "It's none of my business."
    Another of his chuckles rolled down her spine. "Don't get in a huff. No, baby, there's nobody 'regular casual' at the moment."
    She glanced over to see him grinning at her again. When their gazes met, he wiggled his brows. "But maybe I'll meet some lucky lady tonight."
    Her eyes rolled. "Lucky to meet you, I suppose you mean."
    And he just laughed harder.
    Yep, he wasn't looking at her sexually. He was laughing at her. So that moment of mutual lust must have all been in her head. What a relief.
    It was!
    And...it wasn't.
     
    Ren held the door open for Cilla so she could proceed him into the music club located on Sunset Boulevard, wondering how hard he should try keeping his gaze off her ass. Sure, he'd gawked when she'd traipsed out of her bedroom in the outfit-of-the-evening, but he'd had time to get used to it by now.
    His eyes drifted and he quickly jerked them up again. No, not used to it.
    Couldn't forget about it either. The image was burned on his retinas. She'd made a mini-skirt out of a black Lemons' tour T-shirt, of all things. She'd explained the process while he'd been rolling his tongue back into his head. Something about cutting off the sleeves and neckline and using a sewing machine to create new,