He gave a brief nod, then drove off.
Miles was satisfied with how they'd handled things. Molly's lack of clinginess had even earned her a few points in his estimation.
Fifteen minutes later, stopped at a red light, he opened a photo Felix had sent him.
Molly stood in the corridor outside a private room, phone pressed to her ear, wearing a backless sweater.
From the front, the dark gray knit looked unremarkable—a basic cut. But the back was open from the shoulder blades down, the fabric only resuming where a large bow cinched at her waist. Her black hair spilled over her jade-pale skin, the stark contrast neither jarring nor obvious, but creating something subtly sensual—an atmosphere of intimate allure.
No wonder she'd kept her jacket on throughout dinner, never once complaining about the heat.
She'd been afraid that taking it off would shatter her good-daughter-in-law image in front of his mother.
...
Molly sat on the private room's sofa, surveying the row of handsome men standing before her. She frowned slightly.
"Not a single one?" Kirsten asked.
"They're all pretty enough, but 'pretty' isn't really a compliment for a man."