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"You've got a trickle of grease running down your chin," Austin pointed out matter-of-factly.

Candice automatically grabbed for her napkin and dabbed her chin--before catching sight of his wicked expression.

"Gotcha. Lesson number two: don't take everything and everyone so seriously." He started on his third slice of pizza. She was still working on her first. "By the way, are you going to breastfeed?"

Candice jerked in shock. The slice of pizza in her hand did a somersault, landing pepperoni side down on her silk blouse.

Austin kept right on eating, his look way too innocent to be believable. He shrugged his big shoulders. "Pizza now--baby puke later--one way or the other, that shirt had to go."

Lesson number three? Candice peeled the pizza from her shirt, grimacing at the stain left behind. It was ruined all right. And wet. Yucky.

Austin pushed back his chair. "I've got a t-shirt you can throw on."

"No, I--that's okay. It's not that bad." The possibility of wearing his shirt sounded so ... intimate.

He kept on going as if she hadn't protested, returning with an old black and gold football jersey. "It's not much, but it's my favorite shirt."

"You played football?" Why was she surprised? With those shoulders and muscled thighs, was it any wonder?

He rolled the shirt into a ball and threw it--football style. She caught it, fingering the slick, worn material. Silly tears stung her eyes. She must be tired, to cry just because he offered her his favorite shirt...

"Tight-end. You know where the bathroom is?"

Tight-end. Referring to the position he'd played in football conjured up an image of him cleaning the poolin those indecently short shorts. Oh boy, was it ever. Another admirable asset.