Christmas Baby. Judy Duarte

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СКАЧАТЬ several occasions, her shoulder had brushed against Shane’s. Each time it happened, she’d been tempted to slip her hand into his.

      She’d been alone for months, determined to create a home for her baby while she chased her dream to teach. And now, as she strolled along one of Brighton Valley’s quaint, tree-shaded streets, she relished Shane’s musky scent and the soul-stirring sound of his soft Southern drawl.

      With each step they took, the memory of their lovemaking grew stronger, triggering an almost overwhelming sense of sexual awareness and urging her to reach out to him, to take whatever he had to offer.

      Instead, she continued to walk by his side, convinced that she needed to fight temptation. After all, she might want to pin her hopes on him as her lover and her baby’s father, but it was way too soon for that.

      What if it was all an act? What if he was only playing the part of a nice guy?

      It was a risk she wasn’t willing to take this early in the game.

      Yet that didn’t mean she wasn’t enjoying their evening as they toured the shops, chatting about things as Shane gave her his tour. She’d especially found it interesting to learn that Darla Ortiz, who owned the hair salon, had been a Hollywood actress back in the day.

      “Darla has a wall full of framed, black-and-white head shots of various movie stars who were popular forty and fifty years ago,” Shane said, “and each one is autographed to her.”

      “That’s so cool! I’ll have to make an appointment while I’m here, just so I can see those photos.”

      “Do you like old movies?” he asked, as if he’d just uncovered an interesting bit of Jillian trivia.

      “My grandparents raised me, remember? So I spent a lot of time watching the classics on television.”

      He grew pensive for a moment, then turned to her and brightened. “If you don’t mind spending a quiet evening at home, I can see if there are any good movies on TV.”

      “Sure. That sounds good to me.”

      Once they were back at the apartment, Shane reached for the remote and clicked on the television. Then he surfed the channels, pausing momentarily to catch a baseball score.

      “I’m not finding anything too exciting,” he said, “but there’s an old Cary Grant movie that will be starting in a couple of minutes. Are you up for something like that?”

      “Which one is it?”

      “Father Goose, with Leslie Caron.”

      “Ooh, that’s a good one.”

      “You don’t mind seeing it again?”

      “Not at all.”

      Jillian wasn’t sure how Shane actually felt about spending the evening watching classic movies, especially one he might consider a chick flick, but she’d find out soon enough.

      After placing the television remote on the glass-topped coffee table, Shane went into the kitchen. A few minutes later, the microwave hummed. Before long, a popping sound let her know that he was making popcorn. She smiled at the thoughtful gesture.

      “I’m going to make a root beer float,” he called, as he opened the freezer door. “Would you like one, too? I can also give you plain ice cream or something else to drink.”

      “Are you kidding? I’d love one. I haven’t had a float since my grandfather died. Do you need some help?”

      “Nope. I’ve got it.”

      As the movie began, they took seats on the sofa, with the bowl of popcorn between them and root beer floats in hand, and soon fell into the story.

      Shane laughed in all the appropriate spots, which Jillian took to mean that he found the old movie as entertaining as she did. But even if that wasn’t the case, she had to give him credit for being a good sport.

      The film was a classic romantic comedy at its best, and as Jillian reached into the popcorn bowl, her fingers brushed Shane’s, sending a rush of heat up her arm.

      As she glanced at him, she caught him looking at her.

      For a moment, the only romance she could think about was the one brewing between her and Shane, especially since it was nearing the witching hour for lovers.

      Not midnight, of course, but bedtime…

      “Sorry,” she said, conjuring up an unaffected smile.

      “No problem.”

      As their gazes locked, as the sexual awareness that buzzed between them grew almost deafening, she broke eye contact and returned her focus to the television screen. Yet even though she pretended to watch Cary and Leslie with the interest of an avid fan, it took ages to get back into the story.

      When the credits began to roll on the screen, Shane got to his feet. “Are you up for another movie? Or maybe a game of cards?”

      She smiled, realizing the next two weeks might prove to be more pleasant than either of them had thought.

      “Actually,” she admitted, “I didn’t sleep very well last night, and I’m fading fast.”

      “All right. You take the room. I’ll fix a bed on the sofa.”

      While she was tempted to object and tell him that she didn’t mind sharing the bed with him, she wasn’t sure she would be able to climb between the sheets and face the wall when he was just an arm’s reach away. So she clamped her mouth shut and watched him pull a blanket and pillow out of the linen closet.

      “You can have the bathroom first,” he said. “I’ll use it when you’re finished.”

      “I won’t be long.” As she headed for the bedroom to get her makeup bag and nightgown, she realized she ought to be grateful for Shane’s concessions and his obvious attempt to make her feel welcome and at home.

      But for some reason, as she prepared for bed, disappointment settled over her at the thought of sleeping alone.

      Jillian might have turned in early last night, but she’d lain in bed for hours, unable to sleep.

      Just knowing that Shane was mere steps away had driven her crazy, and the fact that he’d been so sweet to her had only made it worse. He’d treated her with nothing but kindness and respect ever since the night they’d first met, and it was difficult to imagine him as a police officer who’d overstepped his bounds and assaulted a suspect in custody.

      Of course, she didn’t know that he’d done anything wrong. After all, the article she’d read said that he’d been reinstated. So that probably meant he’d been innocent of any wrongdoing.

      She’d been tempted to bring it up, to ask him about it, but she’d decided to wait for her friend to report back with more details. Then she could come to her own conclusions about the man who’d shown her only kindness and understanding.

      Or was she missing something?

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