Dark Tides. Celia Ashley
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Название: Dark Tides
Автор: Celia Ashley
Издательство: Ingram
Жанр: Короткие любовные романы
Серия: A Dark Tides Romance
isbn: 9781616505653
isbn:
“You didn’t have any trouble recalling what you needed to do to make that happen,” she said.
“I guess some things don’t require conscious memory. Some things you don’t forget.”
“Like riding a bike,” she murmured. He gave her a quizzical look from beneath his lashes but didn’t ask. Meg let out a long breath. She listened as the wind picked up, causing a sudden, musical clamor on the porch.
“What is that?”
“Wind chimes,” she explained. “Metal tubes of varying lengths are hung around a circular plate with fishing line, and when they strike each other in the wind, they make that noise. There are eight tubes, so they probably correlate to every note of a tonal octave. I don’t know for certain. I’ll show them to you tomorrow.”
Beside her, he nodded, reaching over to take her hand. “What’s this on your finger?” he asked, rubbing his nail along a bit of dried paint.
“I still couldn’t sleep, so I was painting. I think I could sleep now, though,” she admitted with a small laugh.
Without answering, he slid his hips down, pulling her close so her head lay on his chest. The folds of the blanket revealed his ebbing erection. She badly wanted to touch him, to stroke him back to eager hardness, but she kept her hand balled into a fist against the curling hairs of his chest.
“Go to sleep, then, Meg,” he whispered above her head. “But tell me one thing first.”
“What’s that?”
“What were you afraid of?”
She opened her fingers into the soft, black curls on his chest. Beneath the drifting current of her steady respiration, his nipple stood erect. She knew what would happen if she touched him there, knew it as surely as if she’d already done so, as if she’d already explored the places that made him moan. Closing her eyes, she burrowed closer beneath the curve of his arm, breathing in his musky male scent.
“It might be easier if I told you what I wasn’t afraid of,” she said.
“All right,” he agreed affably.
“You,” she said. “I’m not afraid of you.”
The rumble of a chuckle vibrated beneath her ear.
“And what we just did?”
“Not afraid of that either,” she answered. His fingers moved through her hair, stroking the slightly damp locks back from her crown before they settled on her shoulder.
“I don’t think there’s much that frightens you, Meg Donovan, but there is something that does, and it seems to be undermining a great deal of your life. I’m glad it’s not me. I’d like to do this again sometime.”
She snorted in a distinctly unfeminine manner as she wrapped her arm around his waist. “Whatever you say,” she murmured, leaving him to wonder to which of his three statements she’d responded. She closed her eyes again. Outside, the wind chimes continued their music, and she knew she would never hear them again without thinking of this night—this quirky, scary, perfect night. That was one of her problems. She attached meaning, significance, to everything, when sometimes none existed. Sometimes things happened. Period.
And sometimes, like with Caleb, the trail of significance in the wake of an occurrence stretched farther than she could hope to comprehend.
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