Single Dad. Jennifer Greene

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СКАЧАТЬ he recalled that his sole reason for coming here had been to talk about Killer. Vaguely he recalled the madhouse of chores and noise and kids that he needed to go home to—soon. Yet he’d stretched out his legs. He couldn’t remember when. Her place, the warmth of lamplight and quiet and soft blues, gave him the strange feeling of being in a spellbound cocoon. When was the last time he’d shared a basic conversation with a woman? When was the last time a woman had curled up across from him, and focused her attention on his face as if nothing else mattered in the world except the conversation between the two of them?

      “It’s hard to believe you mean that—about being antimarriage. Maybe the odds of a couple staying together aren’t too hot today. And just having been through a divorce, I get a case of hives even thinking about wedding rings again. But you must have been tempted to get married sometime. And if you want kids...”

      “I want kids. But I’d never get married just for that reason. There’s no stigma against being a single mom these days. Obviously the situation is better for a child with both a mom and dad, but a ring doesn’t guarantee that.”

      He argued with her. A damn silly argument, considering that nobody knew better than him how little a ring guaranteed. But it was fun, bickering the pros and cons of marriage back and forth with her. Eventually they moved off marriage and tried out an argument about politics—no way they could agree on anything there; she was a flaming do-gooder liberal, which he could have guessed. But they weren’t really fighting. She kept laughing, and making him laugh. She had a hatful of free-spirited wild ideas about life and love and everything else. Josh couldn’t begin to guess if she was serious, nor did it matter. For the first time in forever, he wasn’t thinking about work or bills or kids or when he was going to find time to change the oil on his Bronco.

      But damn. When his gaze accidentally flickered to the dials on his watch, he almost had a stroke. How could he possibly have been there two hours?

      He lurched to his feet faster than a bee-stung bear. “Damn. I didn’t realize how late it was. And I never meant to take up your whole evening.”

      “I didn’t mind. I enjoyed talking with you.”

      “Yeah...I enjoyed it, too.” Belatedly he realized how true that was, how much fun he’d had over the past two hours...and it worried him.

      Ariel trailed him into the blue-and-white kitchen. “I’ll get your jacket. Hopefully it’ll be dry by now.” She glanced out the black windows. “It’s still drizzling, but I haven’t heard a boomer in a while. Looks like the worst of the storm finally passed.”

      She fetched his denim jacket from the minuscule entryway and held it up with a smile.

      “Thanks,” he said. It only took a second to put on his boots and yank on the jacket. Then he meant to reach for the doorknob and go. There was no reason his leaving her had to be complicated.

      But somehow he found himself still standing there. Close to her. Awkwardly close. In her bare feet, she reached his nose in height. With the sink light behind her, her delicate features were less shadowed than simply softened, blurred. Feminine scents seemed to surround her. Not one, but a blend—mango from her shampoo, and peach from the hand cream he’d seen her reach for, and yeah, he could catch an exotic spice from the perfume where her skin was warm. Her skin looked real, real warm.

      When he’d first walked in, his tongue had been tangled somewhere near the roof of his mouth. Studying her over the evening, he’d seen she was pale. Too pale. And she had a plain old ordinary chin. Discovering those imperfections had been a relief. No way a guy could have a normal conversation with his personal Christie Brinkley fantasy. But she wasn’t that now. The legs, the body, the sultry green eyes—it was all still there, all just as distracting. But somehow over the evening she’d become...real.

      And she looked at him, impossibly, as if she found him real, too. “You’re not really going to ground Killer for the rest of her life, are you?” she queried.

      “I haven’t a clue what I’m gonna do with her,” he admitted dryly. “But thanks...for not being mad about her taking those things. And just...for listening.”

      “No problem,” she said lightly.

      “Well...good night.”

      “Good night,” she returned.

      He reached for the door. So did she. Their hands brushed, making them both chuckle.

      They both jumped back to give the other room, making them both chuckle again.

      And then their eyes met. And the most confounding thing happened.

      Three

      All evening, Josh had the weird sensation that it was wicked and wrong to be alone with her. His six-year-old was having trouble handling the temptation of Ariel’s magic. He wasn’t afraid of crystal balls or card tricks, but yeah, he was uncomfortably aware that the lady had some kind of magic. Dangerous magic, because she sure as hell seemed to have cast some kind of spell on him.

      For that reason alone, he never meant to kiss her. He’d have sworn in court that neither the thought nor intent was remotely on his mind. And a guy was supposed to be able to count on those handy physics laws of the universe—like the relationship between fire and fuel. If nobody lit a match, nobody had to worry about the repercussions of starting a blaze.

      There were no matches in sight. There was just an instant—an innocent instant—when they were standing together in her shadowed doorway. Her face was tilted up to his. He was wearing his denim jacket, ready to leave, his hand even on the doorknob. Their eyes met. It couldn’t have been for more than a millisecond. Nobody made a soul connection in a millisecond. For cripes’ sake, Josh didn’t even believe in hoaxy ethereal stuff like “soul connections.”

      But something happened. Something insane. Something that made it feel perfectly natural to lift his hand to gently touch her cheek. When she turned her head, he bent down, as if they already naturally knew the steps to this dance. When their lips met, though, there was nothing natural about the kiss.

      Her lips were softer than butter. Softer than spring. Her eyes turned this smoky misty green, and then they closed, as if inhaling the texture of this sensation was all she could concentrate on. She tasted sweet, and to kiss her small mouth, her lips, was like sliding on silk.

      Hormones. His mind lanced on the word, seeking excuses and explanations for an explosion of emotion that had no such simple reason. Yeah, his whole body tightened from the chemical connection. And below his belt, he knew exactly what she was doing to him.

      But that crazy, wild kiss had nothing of lust in it. It was a lost kiss. A testing, tentative, beguiling acknowledgment of longing and loneliness.

      He’d never denied being lonely; it was just supposed to be a back-burner item, a problem he’d take out and deal with after the kids were grown and he had time for it. Only, she put it on his table right now. How many nights he’d been alone. How fiercely he missed believing there would ever be someone to talk to, be with. How rich, how heady, how mountain-tall a man could feel with a woman who cared about him.

      He wasn’t used to riches—not extravagant, expensive, luxurious riches like her. Her silk rustled alluringly against his denim. His callused hands seemed an impossible contrast against her pearl skin. The pulse was beating hard in her throat. Hard, but not fast. The whole world had tuned down to slow motion, as if life СКАЧАТЬ