A Weaver Beginning. Allison Leigh

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      Chapter Three

      Shocked, Abby inhaled sharply.

      He tasted like dark chocolate. Cold milk.

      And things that she’d never experienced and suddenly wanted to, so very badly.

      But just when she was adjusting to the notion that Sloan McCray’s lips were brushing across hers, he was lifting his head. “Next time you talk to your friends, you can tell them that you lived up to your promise.”

      He meant sharing the chocolate, of course. But she couldn’t do a single thing except sit there and mutely nod.

      The lines arrowing out from the corners of his dark eyes crinkled a little. “You pour a helluva cocktail,” he murmured before turning away and walking silently to the door.

      A moment later, he was gone.

      And Abby was still sitting there as mute as a stump of wood.

      “Izzit New Year’s?” Dillon’s sleepy voice startled her so much she jumped off her stool as if she’d been stung. She rounded the counter and went over to the couch where he was knuckling his eyes.

      “It is. And time for you to go to bed, Mr. Marcum.”

      He giggled a little, the way he always did when she called him that. “I stayed awake the whole time, didn’t I,” he boasted as he slid off the couch, dragging his blanket after him.

      “Sure thing, honey.”

      He padded barefoot into the first bedroom. “I think Mr. Sloan is a White Hat,” he said.

      She folded back the comforter for Dillon to climb into bed. It was noticeably cooler in his room than in the living room, but the comforter would keep him warm enough. “Why’s that?” The video game was the classic story of good against evil. White Hats against Black Hats. Of course in this instance, it was geared for children, so the hats were worn by animated dinosaurs. Dillon loved all things dinosaur.

      Her little brother shrugged as he climbed onto his twin-size bed. “’Cause.”

      “Sounds like a good reason to me.” She brushed his dark hair off his forehead and kissed him. “Go to sleep. Oatmeal with raisins in the morning.”

      He threw his arms tightly around her neck. “You’re not gonna leave, too, are you, Abby?”

      Her heart squeezed. He didn’t mean leave his bedroom.

      He meant leave.

      “I’m not ever going to leave,” she promised. She smacked a kiss on both of his cheeks and settled him against his pillow. “Ever,” she added.

      He let out a long breath as if her answer had actually been in doubt then grabbed his fleece blanket up against his cheek and turned onto his side.

      Abby left his room, pulling the door halfway closed so that he’d still be able to see the light from the bathroom next door.

      Then she returned to the living room, blew out all the candles and cleaned up, washing and drying the crystal glasses carefully before putting them back in the cupboard.

      Seeing that the fire was burning low and steadily, safely contained by the screen, she shut off the lights in preparation of going to bed herself.

      Instead of going to her own room, though, she found herself at the front window, peering into the darkness.

      She touched her fingertips to her lips.

      Felt her stomach swoop around.

      It was a first for her.

      Oh, not the kiss. She’d been kissed before. Just never at midnight. Never on New Year’s Eve.

      But she needed to remember that to Sloan McCray, the kiss was probably nothing more than a simple gesture.

      She looked at the house next door. Wondered where his bedroom was. Wondered if he was thinking about her, too.

      But then she shook her head. He’d called her “wet behind the ears.” And the way she was standing there, gazing at his house in the darkness, would only prove that she was. So she turned on her heels and went into her bedroom across the hall from Dillon’s.

      Her bed wasn’t the narrow twin that Dillon’s was, but it was just as innocent. She peeled off her leggings and her sweater and pulled open her drawer. Her pj’s were about as seductive as Dillon’s, too. Soft cotton pants СКАЧАТЬ