Marriage On Demand. Susan Mallery

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      He sat in the single chair opposite the sofa and set his mug of coffee on the upturned crate that served as an end table. She slowly lowered herself to the middle of the couch. The oversize cushions threatened to swallow her whole.

      “If I don’t lose power, they should get the phone working in a couple of hours,” he said, reaching over and clicking on a floor lamp.

      She clutched the mug tighter. “And if you do lose power?”

      “It means the whole line is down, and you’ll be stuck here until tomorrow.”

      Her mouth opened to form a perfect O but she made no sound.

      “I promise I don’t bite,” he said, leaning back in the chair.

      “I know.” She sighed, sounding disappointed.

      Lightning flashed outside the windows, and thunder filled the room. Rebecca flinched at the loud noise, then took a big gulp of coffee. She sucked in a breath, then coughed. “There’s liquor in this!”

      “So?”

      She raised her eyebrows and looked at him as if he’d just suggested they take a naked stroll through the local church. “What do you think you’re doing by serving liquor?”

      “My mistake. I could have sworn you were over twenty-one. At least twenty-two.”

      She straightened in her seat and glared at him. The gold tones of the sofa contrasted with the pristine white of the borrowed robe and the dark brilliance of her curly hair. “I’ll have you know I’m twenty-nine, but that isn’t the point.”

      “What is?” he asked mildly, his calm voice a contrast to her shrill tones.

      “That I…that you…” She drew a deep breath, then sagged back against the cushions. “You could have warned me.”

      “I thought it might warm you from the inside.”

      Like electricity seeking a conductor, her gaze sought his mouth. Oh, no. He knew exactly what she was thinking, damn her innocent little hide. He told himself she was a fool. He told himself to ignore her. It didn’t help. He could practically taste her. His heartbeat quickened and his blood flowed hotter.

      She sipped her coffee, never taking her gaze from him. Most of the time he found her feelings for him faintly amusing. From a distance she was easy to take. But here, in the close confines of his loft, with the storm cutting them off from the rest of the world, it would be far too simple to take her up on her offer.

      He eyed her relaxed posture and the way his robe had slipped off one of her knees, baring her calf and part of her thigh. Her skin looked smooth. He knew it would be warm to the touch, soft and supple.

      He forced himself to look away and concentrate on the facts. One, she was a friend of Travis and Elizabeth’s. He wouldn’t hurt either of them for anything, and dallying with Rebecca was bound to upset them. Two, she wasn’t his type. At twenty-nine she’d probably been involved with men before, but not men like him. He knew that. There was something about him. He didn’t know if it was his money or his desire to stand outside and observe without always participating, but women seemed to find him attractive. The invitations came fast and furious. He was always careful about which ones he accepted. The rules of the game were simple—no emotional involvement, no promises, no commitment. He glanced back at his guest. Rebecca Chambers and those like her played for keeps.

      “Austin, I—”

      “Don’t worry about it, honey. Just tell me why you’re here.”

      Her eyebrows drew together in a delicate frown. She reminded him of a porcelain doll come to life. He would do well to keep thinking of her as off-limits, he told himself as the collar of her robe parted slightly, allowing him a view of her pale throat.

      “Because of the fire.”

      “Fire?” He jerked his thoughts back from their erotic journey and concentrated on what she was saying.

      “The one in town a few days ago. I’m sure you heard about it.”

      “Just that a couple of old buildings burned down.” He shrugged. “I’ve been working hard this week, and I haven’t been to town.”

      “Oh.”

      She took another sip of her coffee, then set the mug on the table in front of her. As she bent forward, the robe gaped more, allowing him to see down the front. She had a small build, but the shape of her breasts was perfect. Creamy ivory crested in coral. His mouth grew dry. He clenched his hands into fists and wished to hell she would stay upright.

      “The children’s home burned down.”

      “What?” He sprang to his feet. “Is everyone all right?”

      “We’re fine. We were lucky. It was during the day. The older kids were at school and the younger ones were at the park playing. No one was there, so there weren’t any injuries. But we lost the whole building. All our supplies, the kids’ toys, everything.”

      “It’s gone?” He stalked over to the large window taking up most of one living room wall. He didn’t even have to close his eyes to picture the old two-story building. It had been built sometime in the thirties. Most of the bigger rooms had murals. He’d often stood for hours studying those paintings, wondering who the people in the pictures were and what the artists had been thinking as they’d painstakingly worked their art.

      He reached the window and braced his hands on the sill. He could feel the chill of the wind and the dampness from the storm. A large bolt of lightning flashed across the sky and the lights in the room flickered.

      “Austin?”

      “Yeah?”

      “Are you all right?”

      “What?” He inhaled sharply, as if he could still smell the odors of stew, old athletic shoes and baby powder. “Yeah. I’m just surprised.”

      “I didn’t know you had a connection with the children’s home.”

      He heard her bare feet on the floor as she walked toward him. He didn’t turn around, but continued to stare out in the darkening afternoon and the rain pouring down. “I lived there for a couple of years.”

      He glanced down at her. She stood next to him, staring up. Her mouth hung open. She closed it slowly and didn’t say anything, but he could see the questions in her brown eyes. If he told her the whole story, she’d get all compassionate and misty-eyed. It happened to women all the time. Occasionally he used the story to his advantage, but not today. Not with Rebecca. He didn’t want to encourage her. Not because he wasn’t interested, but because he was.

      “You’re an orphan?” she asked, her voice low and sympathetic.

      “Not exactly.”

      “Then why were you in the home?”

      He didn’t answer. He stared down at her, knowing he was giving her what Jasmine had laughingly called the ice glare. She hadn’t been intimidated by it because she hadn’t been involved enough СКАЧАТЬ