That Loving Touch. Ashley Summers

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ enjoying her high color. “Where do you live in Kentucky?”

      “Keedysville.”

      “Ah, yes, I go through Keedysville on my way to the Derby. I live in Holt’s Landing, on the Ohio side of the river,” Sam said, revealing more than he intended.

      “Holt’s Landing,” she repeated slowly. “Your folks settle the town, did they?”

      Frowning at the coolness in her voice, Sam promptly forgot his bias against personal detail. “My great-grandfather staked the first claim, built a pier, named it The Landing. Eventually it became known as Holt’s Landing.”

      “Ah.” She sipped tea, her gaze on his face. “So that makes you a VIP, hmm? Very Important Person in town. Beau monde. Or, in simple English, Big Shot.”

      His eyebrows shot up. “Are you serious? I mean about all that VIP stuff. And what’s all this beau monde nonsense?”

      “Not nonsense, fact. You are a big shot in Holt’s Landing, aren’t you?” she asked bluntly.

      Taken aback, Sam replied, “Well, I guess in a way. You don’t like big shots?”

      “Not much to like that I’ve seen.” Her mouth quirked. “Of course there might be exceptions.” She tasted her soup. “Um. This is very good.”

      “Yeah, I do wonders with a can opener. You want to tell me why you don’t like us VIPs?” he asked. She shook her head. He laughed, absurdly nettled. A flurry of snow pelted the windows, challenging the glowing dance of firelight on the wall. The world seemed to shrink to just this cozy little circle of warmth and that nettled him, too. For some reason he felt vulnerable. “Then how about answering my first question,” he growled. “Why are you here instead of in Kentucky?”

      “Because there’s nothing for me in Kentucky. Everything worth having I brought with me.” Her cool green gaze glanced off his. “And that’s all I care to say about that.”

      Sam sensed that she regretted speaking so freely. Still, he itched to pursue it, to uncover the secret darkening her eyes. But that’ll have to go unscratched, he warned himself. No way are you getting mixed up with this woman.

      Unbidden, a smile teased his mouth as she unwound the turban, shook out her hair, smoothed it. Such a feminine gesture, he thought. She certainly was a sexy little thing! Soft, silky, warm and sweet; woman. He shifted, blazingly aware of the tight fit of his jeans. Since when has that been your definition of a woman, Holt? he jeered his mawkish thought. “I like your hair wet.” The words just popped out of his mouth.

      “What?” she asked blankly. “How can you know if you like my hair wet? You’ve nothing to judge by.”

      “True.” His jaw jutted. “But I know what I like. And I like the way it makes all those streaming little curls.”

      She shrugged. “I’m not responsible for what my hair does. It has a mind of its own.”

      She sure knows how to end a subject, Sam thought, smarting at her flat tone. He busied himself opening crackers. Maybe she was just backing off...which would be a refreshing change from the piranhas that chased him most of his life. He decided to backtrack, too, before he got in any deeper. But when her gaze met his, a question jumped assertively to mind.

      “How did you get that bruise on your cheek?”

      “Slipped and fell getting out of the ditch. That might be why I was a bit out of it when I arrived—I hit my head a good whack.” She placed a hand lightly on her stomach. “But it’s all right now.”

      Another closed subject. Sam studied this intriguing woman. She mystified him. And she’d as good as told him to mind his own business. Ordinarily he would be glad to do just that But this wasn’t ordinary. She was a challenge—and Sam Holt liked a challenge. That foxy little face filled his vision, until there was nothing else in focus except those emerald eyes and her sculpted mouth.

      Rattled by the depth of his interest, Sam attacked his soup. He wasn’t by nature a curious man. Why was he so eager to learn every little detail of her life? His gaze fastened on the soft, potentially addictive mouth he wanted very much to taste. His interest was nothing unusual, he acknowledged, lips curling in a knowing smile. He simply wanted to take her to bed.

      “My truck’s mired in a snowdrift on down the road,” he remarked. “That’s why I couldn’t get you to a doctor. How did your car get in a ditch?”

      “I missed the lane and tried to turn around, but a tree jumped out in front of me,” she said drolly. “I managed to get myself to your place before falling apart.”

      He frowned. “Very resourceful. You might have sustained a concussion, you know.”

      “Maybe. But I’m fine now, so...”

      Her delicate shrugs were similar to privacy fences, he thought. He wondered what she would have done if he wasn’t here to intervene. Was she glad that he had intervened? Did she find his actions even a little heroic? A cynical inner laugh mocked his schoolboy thought, yet there was an unsettling edge of longing in it.

      “All that red hair kind of threw me when I first saw you,” he said. “I feared you had a temper to match.”

      “No, I’m pretty even-tempered.” Her head tilted. “Why did you fear?”

      “Because of what you might do when you began thinking clearly again!” he quipped. “You might decide that I undressed you, did God-knows-what to you, then just threw a blanket over you. I guess, basically, that’s what I did. Except that God does know what I did, and even approves, I think.”

      “I’ll take your word for that.” Her voice hardened. “Besides, what’s past is past, so why keep on about it?”

      “Because it’s important, at least to me. After all, my word’s my bond—” Sam broke off as she yawned. “You need your rest. Go on to bed, I’ll clean up in here.”

      The fire’s crackle was loud in the hush. Wind-driven snow pelted the window like a handful of pebbles. Sam slapped down his cup. A glance at her aloof profile replaced annoyance with chagrin as he discerned the reason for her silence. “I guess you’re apprehensive about staying with a stranger,” he said gruffly. “But there’s not much I can do about that right now. Like it or not, you’re here for the night.”

      She shot him a glance. “Well, we’re two adults. I guess we can sleep under the same roof without the sky falling,” she murmured with a touch of wry humor. “Thank you, Mr. Holt. I accept your gracious invitation to spend the night.”

      

      His luxurious guest bedroom was blue and white, deepcarpeted, softly lit. Turning off the lamp, Carrie nestled under the puffy down comforter and closed her eyes. Thoughts swirled around her mind like images from a kaleidoscope. She felt tired and sleepy, but her senses were alert to sounds outside her door.

      The man sharing this beautiful cottage made it cozy just by his presence. Yet, were it not for footsteps going down the hall, she’d wonder if he wasn’t a figment of an overactive imagination. He had loaned her a T-shirt to sleep in, laundered, of course, but that same imagination insisted that she still detected his masculine scent.

      Carrie’s СКАЧАТЬ