He’d been out of line to force himself on her. But he hadn’t forced himself, had he? Tom eased his car into the parking space on the tree-lined street and cut the engine. He leaned back against the soft leather seat. His head pounded like bumper cars taking a test drive. Laughter erupted from the nearby sidewalk café and he glanced over. He wished he could enjoy the Sunday afternoon sunshine like the restaurant patrons and the couples who strolled languidly along the quiet walkways of Trolley Square. Thoughts of Mary Beth drove peace from his mind. Her pride and beauty, the warmth of her kiss, stirred him. She’d enjoyed kissing him—he hadn’t imagined that. He yanked the keys from the ignition and clenched his hand around the hard metal. He needed her friendship and forgiveness. He’d never earn either if he couldn’t keep his hands to himself. Easier said than done. Every time he saw Mary Beth he wanted to kiss her and hold her. Hell, he wanted to do more than merely hold her.
