Christmas Baby. Judy Duarte

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ making her appear radiant and almost…angelic.

      Unaware of his gaze, she looked up and smiled. “I never knew my father, so it was only my mom and me at first. After my mother died, I moved in with my grandparents. I’m afraid it’s just Gram and me now.”

      Marcia had been an only child, too, which had made it nearly impossible for her to relate to a big, rambunctious family like the Hollisters.

      Shane had a feeling Jillian would feel the same way if she ever met them. And that was just one more reason a relationship with her wouldn’t work out.

      But tell that to his hormones. Damn, she was a beautiful woman, even if she was mortal and prone to imperfections.

      So why couldn’t he spot any of them?

      As she lifted her water goblet, brought it to her lips and swallowed, he followed the simple movement as it moved down her throat.

      When he’d kissed her there that night, running his tongue along her neck and throat, she’d come alive in his arms.

      Had the memory ingrained itself in her mind, too?

      He kept reminding himself that they really weren’t suited, but that didn’t seem to matter right now.

      “So what was it like growing up as one of five kids?” she asked, as if she had no idea he’d been ogling her from across the table.

      “It was okay, I guess.” He’d idolized his older siblings until his teenage years, when he’d found them bossy and a real pain in the ass. But in retrospect, he realized they’d just been looking out for him, even if they’d sometimes overstepped their boundaries.

      He’d actually thought his family had been the typical, all-American variety until he married Marcia. She’d been annoyed by them and couldn’t understand the closeness they’d shared. In fact, she’d thought they were intrusive and out of line most of the time.

      It had made life pretty miserable for everyone, not just her and Shane.

      But it had been more than his family that had bothered her. She’d hated his job, too.

      When Shane was promoted to detective, his marriage seemed to get better because he’d received a pay increase and was no longer patrolling the city streets. He’d also known better than to vent about the ugliness that he saw nearly every day. Instead, he’d stretched the truth and made his job sound safe and routine.

      But Marcia hadn’t bought it. When she’d accused him of cheating on her with his partner—something he hadn’t done—he’d finally thrown in the towel.

      Shane wondered what Jillian would say if she knew how many of his family members worked in one law enforcement field or another. Or if he told her that he’d wanted to be a cop ever since he could remember and that he’d once believed he’d been born to wear a badge.

      Stuff like that hadn’t mattered to Marcia. She’d hated everything about his line of work, which was why she’d eventually been the one to cheat, something he’d learned after the fact.

      “You’re not very forthcoming,” Jillian said.

      He hadn’t meant to clam up completely. “I’m sorry. It’s just that my ex-wife didn’t like my family or my job. So when you start asking me about either one of them, I get a little defensive and cryptic. It’s an old habit, I guess.”

      “I’m sorry to hear that.”

      To hear what? That he had old baggage and habits?

      He didn’t want her to think that he was still dealing with the aftereffects of his divorce. “For what it’s worth, I did everything I could think of to make my marriage work. I went so far as to buy a house in a small town about an hour or so from Houston, even though that meant I’d have a big commute each day.”

      “It didn’t help?”

      “No, it was more than my family dynamics creating problems. My ex used to push me to change careers, to find a job that paid more money, a position that would allow me to spend more time at home. But that was one compromise I wasn’t willing to make.”

      “So now you’re a tumbleweed. You can come and go as you please.”

      “Yeah, I guess you can say that.”

      She grew silent, and while he was tempted to get the conversation back on track, he wasn’t sure what to say that wouldn’t lead him back to the things he didn’t want to discuss. Like the losses he’d suffered—his wife through divorce, his son through death and his career by choice.

      “I have a question I’ve been meaning to ask you,” he said.

      “What’s that?” She picked up her napkin and blotted her lips.

      He couldn’t see any reason to tiptoe around it, so he came right out and laid it on the table. “Do you ever think about the night we met?”

      Her gaze lifted from her plate, and as it locked on his, his heartbeat rumbled in his chest. In the silence, a thousand words passed between them.

      “Sometimes,” she admitted.

      Her expression was far more revealing, and he suspected that her musings were more in tune to his own—and that she thought about what they’d shared in Houston more than she wanted him to know.

      “So what do you want to do about it?” he asked.

      She paused as though giving it some real thought, then bit down on her bottom lip before saying, “I don’t know, Shane.”

      He could have pressed her at that moment, but to be honest, he wasn’t sure if it would be in his best interest if he did. After all, they had very little in common and lived nearly two hours apart.

      Instead, he picked up his fork and tried to convince himself that he had an appetite for pasta, cheese and marinara sauce, when he hungered for a lot more than food.

      When they finished their meal, Shane paid the bill and they walked back to his pickup, the soles of their shoes crunching along the blacktop-covered parking lot.

      So now what? he wondered. Where did they go from here?

      He didn’t ask, though. Not when he still questioned the wisdom of getting involved in a relationship that had a snowball’s chance in hell. So he decided to bide his time and see how things played out.

      Ten minutes later, they were standing at her door, with a lovers’ moon overhead.

      “I’m sorry for prodding you earlier,” she said. “I didn’t mean to pry or make you relive painful memories.”

      “I can’t blame you for being curious. You don’t know me very well.”

      “I know you better than I did before.” She smiled up at him, revealing a shy side of herself, then reached into her purse for the keys. “I’m glad you looked me up.”

      Was she? Even though he hadn’t been as “forthcoming” as she would have liked?

      Truth СКАЧАТЬ