Single Dad. Jennifer Greene

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СКАЧАТЬ dollars. But I doubt she had any understanding of its dollar value. It looked like a little thing to her. Just something pretty. And she’s of the age where she’d know about dragons from fairy tales. You know, you won’t break that chair if you sit back in it,” she murmured with amusement.

      Josh wasn’t worried about breaking the chair. He was worried about him. When she didn’t immediately hustle to some back room for a robe or cover-up, it finally registered that the scarlet outfit wasn’t pajamas. Apparently it was just one of those gummy-silk things that women walked around in these days. The shirtish top was loose, oversize. Not even suggestive of bedrooms or bedroom attire, if a guy didn’t have a dirty mind.

      Josh was trying to keep his mind clean. He was trying, in fact, to think like a celibate monk. Only, he’d never been a monk, and a full bottle of bleach wasn’t likely to wash the X-rated thoughts racing through his mind.

      She was really something. And so was her place.

      The building was a good hundred years old, he guessed. The tall-pitched ceiling had to be hell on her heating bills. The old-fashioned windows were draft suckers. A white marble—cracked marble—fireplace stood in the far corner, another drafty nightmare if it wasn’t regularly maintenanced and cared for. She probably had to worry about blinking lights with wiring this old. Josh told himself he was judging the whole thing from an objective masculine perspective, but the truth was, he wasn’t thinking about her fireplace flue.

      The carpet was a pale water blue and as plushy as a sponge. The couch and chairs had sink-deep cushions, the fabric soft and that same muted blue color. One lamp had a fringed shade, and the other—the one behind her head—was Tiffany-style, with roses against a blue sky background. Piles of candles sat on her coffee table. Not unused candles, like in any normal place, but vanilla-and spice-scented candles that she obviously lit and enjoyed, because the wax had swirled and pooled in the holders. She had a crystal ball on the mantel. An honest-to-Pete crystal ball, like witches used, and it picked up all the soft colors from everywhere and reflected them right back.

      Nothing was bright. Nothing was noisy. There wasn’t a football in sight, no doll carriages to trip over, no dirty dishes, no video game screeching. Every scent, texture and sound was distinctly sensual—hedonistically, worrisomely sensual—and so was she.

      It wasn’t her fault, Josh kept telling himself, that she looked like a guy’s seductive fantasy of a dream lover. The long legs were probably genetic. Blond hair probably ran in her family, too. It wasn’t as if she’d done anything to sell the package. Her hair had no special style, not full of gunky hairspray. It was just so silky, so long, that any man was naturally going to imagine his hands wrapped in it. And she was wearing a gold pendant—nothing big or gaudy, but the little chunk was trapped in the shadow of her plump breasts, drawing his eyes there. Forcing his eyes to the dip of ivory flesh in the vee of her shirt...especially when she was bending right over him.

      “Would you like some more?”

      Belatedly he realized she was holding the coffeepot, trying to offer him a refill. “Maybe one more quick one,” he said, then abruptly wiped a hand over his face. He wished he hadn’t said “Quick one.”

      “A little more brandy, too?”

      “No brandy for me this time, but thanks.” If that splash of brandy was responsible for this abrupt surge of hormones, he wanted no more of it. He wanted to kick himself. Maybe it had been a month of Sundays since he’d been alone with a woman, but he knew how to behave around one. He was also a practical, grounded, blue-collar kind of guy. He knew damn well when a lady was way, way out of his realm.

      She poured them both more coffee, and carried her cup back to the couch, tucking her legs under her. “Killer never told me what you did for a living....”

      “I’m an electrical contractor.” He almost chuckled. She cocked her head, expressing interest, but he couldn’t fathom a woman who was into crystal balls wanting to hear anything about wiring and electric circuits. It was past time he acted like a grown man who could handle a conversation without stuttering. “Have you owned your shop long?”

      “Treasures? About four years now.” She grinned. “I think you met my partner the other day...the six-foot-tall black woman with the bifocals and the gorgeous mocha skin? Her real name is Dorothy, but her nickname’s always been Dot.”

      He remembered the Amazon. When he walked in the shop, she’d treated him like handling lost-soul construction workers was the most fun she’d had all day. “She has quite a sense of humor.”

      “She’s wonderful. We met at an antique jewelry auction a million years ago, and clicked right away. I used to work with silver, designing pieces, but I was never good enough to make a living at it. But I know jewelry, and she knows about the business end of running a shop. When the building came up for sale about four years ago, we decided to give it a go together.”

      “You do okay?”

      “Better than most gift stores, I suspect. The location’s great, and we’ve kept the payroll down to just the two of us and a part-time guy. Unique jewelry is our main thing. Even in recession times, most women can’t resist a new bangle or pair of earrings. Me, either. In fact, that’s what I try and stock—what I can’t resist,” she admitted humorously. “Anyway, we’re hardly banking millions, but we’re keeping afloat.”

      “You seem to like kids....” Jeez. Talking with her wasn’t coming half as hard as he’d expected, but there were clearly some subjects that made her light up like a Christmas tree. She darn near bounced with enthusiasm, her smile turned up a thousand wattage.

      “I’m crazy about kids. Wish I had a dozen of my own, but I make do, borrowing nieces and nephews and any relatives’ kids I can beg, borrow or kidnap whenever I have the chance.”

      “Come from a big family?”

      “If I told you how big, you probably wouldn’t believe it. My mother’s been divorced four times—at last count—and my dad’s on his third wife. My background hasn’t given me much faith in the institution of marriage, but I’ve collected whole clans of relatives along the way. In fact, I developed this theory, growing up.”

      “Yeah?” He hadn’t a clue where she was leading, but if it was going to make her eyes sparkle and dance like that, he was willing to hear anything.

      “Yeah. As a kid, I couldn’t see a reason on earth why I had to lose all my relatives because of divorce. I mean they were getting divorces. I wasn’t. So I decided to keep the relatives I was fond of. My aunt Betty, for instance, was a blood relative, but she was always a pistol. When she divorced my uncle Henry, I kept him. And my mom’s second husband’s parents—I’ve kept them as honorary grandparents. And then there are people like Jeanne—she’s a writer—she was my dad’s first wife’s niece...your eyes are crossing, Josh, are you getting a little confused?”

      Damned if she wasn’t teasing him. “I’m just trying to picture who you have over for dinner on the holidays,” he said dryly. “The idea that you can keep or throw out the relatives you want is a little...unusual.”

      “Families don’t seem to exist like they used to. If that’s the way it’s going to be, I figure we’ll have to create our nuclear-age families out of a new mold. And you’re divorced, so you already know how complicated it can get for the kids around birthdays and holidays—which ex-aunts and uncles get invited for which occasions—”

      “Yeah, it gets complicated.” But his СКАЧАТЬ