Seven-Year Seduction. Heidi Betts

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СКАЧАТЬ and accepted the much-needed drink.

      “Thanks, man.” He took several long swallows before lowering the bottle.

      “No problem. Trouble in paradise?” his best friend asked.

      “Yeah. I think I just got kicked out of my own house.”

      “Ouch. You and Lori had a fight, then. What about?”

      Nothing he could share with Nick.

      “It’s not important,” he mumbled, hoping Nick wouldn’t press for details.

      He took another swig of beer, then dug into his pants pocket to feel for his wallet. “I hate to take off so early, but I’d better start looking for a hotel vacancy or I’m going to end up sleeping in my truck.” Which he’d have to walk home to retrieve, since they’d driven to the wedding and reception in Lori’s car.

      “Listen,” Nick told him. “Why don’t you stick around a while longer, enjoy yourself, then you can crash at my place. Karen and I are heading straight for the airport after this and won’t be back for two weeks. If you and Lori make up, great. But if you don’t, you can stay there as long as you like.”

      “Are you sure?” Connor asked, touched by his friend’s generosity. But then, the Curtises had always treated him better than he deserved.

      Even as a rough-and-tumble foster kid from across the street, they’d invited him in and acted as if he was no different than Nick or any other boy their age.

      Never mind that he was hell on wheels, with a chip on his shoulder the size of Texas, working on getting kicked out of his eighth or ninth foster home. They’d accepted him, trusted him, even grown to love him as much as he loved them.

      His eyes grew damp just thinking about how accepting they’d been of him, despite the asinine things he’d done to test them. They’d changed his life, and if it took him until the day he died, he’d do everything he could to repay them.

      “Mi casa es su casa,” Nick quipped. “I’d feel better knowing someone was around, anyway.”

      “Thanks, man, I really appreciate it.”

      “No problem. Now, why don’t you come on over to the table with us, and when we leave, we’ll swing past your place so you can pick up your truck.”

      Connor cast a sideways glance at his friend as they negotiated the crowd and headed toward a smiling Karen, still decked out in her white wedding dress and veil.

      “You’re going to ride me about this after you get back from your honeymoon, aren’t you?”

      Nick snorted, not bothering to hide his amusement. “Oh, yeah. Getting dumped at my wedding, kicked out of your own house… It’s too good to let go.” He slung an arm around Connor’s shoulders. “Don’t worry, buddy, I’ll still remember all the details when I get back.”

      Connor shook his head, rubbing at the headache that was beginning to form right between his eyes. “That’s what I’m afraid of.”

      The scent of fresh-brewed coffee filled the air and tickled Beth’s nose where it was buried in her pillow-case. She rolled to her back with a groan and slowly opened her eyes.

      Well, the room wasn’t spinning. That had to be a good sign.

      She wasn’t intoxicated—not anymore—but she was hungover. She could feel it, from the throbbing in her brain to the thick pile of cotton coating her tongue.

      What had she been thinking? She’d left her brother’s wedding reception with a full magnum of champagne and ended up drinking so much the bottle ached.

      She never did that sort of thing, and it galled her to realize she’d let things get to her so much last night that she’d turned to alcohol to numb her emotions.

      Thank God it was over, though. Nick and Karen would be on their honeymoon by now, or at least on their way to sunny Honolulu. And all of their guests would have gone home, Connor and his peroxide-blond girlfriend included. She never needed to see him again.

      Life couldn’t get much better.

      She pushed herself out of bed and lurched to the connected bathroom, using the nightstand and dresser to keep from falling over. After brushing her teeth and splashing a little water on her face, she felt more human. She was even walking straighter as she made her way downstairs, following the mesmerizing fragrance of java and the promise of a jolt of caffeine.

      Turning the corner into the kitchen, covering a yawn with the back of her hand, she opened her eyes to find a man standing at the counter with his back to her.

      A yip of fear and surprise passed her lips before she could stop it, and the man whirled in her direction. If she hadn’t been feeling so sluggish and out of sorts when she woke up, she might have figured out earlier that in order for her to smell fresh-brewed coffee, another body had to be in the house to make it.

      And she’d been wrong: Life couldn’t get much worse.

      Connor watched her with wide eyes, just as stunned by her sudden appearance as she was by his presence. He clutched a cup of steaming coffee in his hands, a splotch of the dark brew staining the front of his shirt where it had sloshed over the lip of the mug when he’d spun around.

      Good, she hoped he’d burned himself.

      “What are you doing here?” she asked, not kindly, grasping for the edges of a robe that wasn’t there. Instead, she was standing in the middle of her family’s kitchen, covered only by the paper-thin camisole she’d worn beneath her bridesmaid gown.

      Last night, after she’d dug her brother’s spare house key out of the flower bed where he kept it hidden in the bottom of a resin lawn ornament and climbed the stairs to her old bedroom, she’d shrugged out of the pink-and-green concoction, but left the camisole on. With spaghetti straps and a hem that hit high on the thigh, it was no more revealing than any of her other satin nighties.

      Besides, she’d been alone in the house…just her and Dom Pérignon…and not expecting guests.

      “I could ask you the same thing,” Connor responded, setting his mug on the countertop and grabbing a paper towel to blot at the stain on his shirt, just above the waistband of his low-slung jeans.

      Lord, he wore denims like no one else she’d ever seen. Even out in L.A., where every waiter or valet was an aspiring actor or model, the men didn’t have waists and hips and buttocks like Connor Riordan. They would never be able to pull off the open flannel shirts over faded T-shirts the way he did, or the worn blue jeans and work boots.

      Not that it had any effect on her whatsoever. She was merely making a mental observation, the same as she might be slightly awed by a famous, high-powered celebrity who waltzed into her office back on Wilshire.

      “In case you’ve forgotten, this is my house.”

      “Since when?”

      She lifted a brow, her annoyance growing in direct proportion to the pounding in her skull. What she wouldn’t give for a cup of that coffee and fifty aspirin right about now.

      But she couldn’t СКАЧАТЬ