The Best Of Both Worlds. Elissa Ambrose
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Название: The Best Of Both Worlds
Автор: Elissa Ambrose
Издательство: HarperCollins
Жанр: Контркультура
Серия: Mills & Boon Vintage Cherish
isbn: 9781472081940
isbn:
“Is there any other way to sneak up on a person?” he returned, trying to disguise his discomfort with humor. She wasn’t the only one who’d been caught by surprise. Feelings he’d suppressed for years had suddenly resurfaced—and he didn’t like it. Didn’t like it one bit. He pushed his unease aside. “So why the glum face?”
“I’m not glum. I’m gaining a sister, aren’t I? Add one sister, subtract one husband. It’s an even trade. Me, glum? I’m having a wonderful time, can’t you tell?” She twirled around, layers of skirt swirling at her feet. Losing her balance, she fell against him.
“Whoa, I think the lady needs a shot of caffeine. What do you say? There must be someplace open at this hour.”
“This is Middlewood, remember? Not even Merlin’s Diner stays open, not that I’d suggest we go there. I’m not that cruel.” She leaned her head against his shoulder and closed her eyes. “But I’m not ready to go home,” she said, her voice suddenly quiet. “I can’t…I just can’t…”
“Rumor has it that I make a mean cup of coffee,” he offered. “How about my place?”
She drew back and smoothed the wrinkles on the shoulder of his jacket. “I’m sorry, Carter. I’m making a mess of your tux—and I’m making a spectacle of myself.” She looked up at him with large, dark eyes. “Maybe I will take you up on that coffee.”
Snuggling close to him on the drive to his apartment, she murmured, “Have I mentioned that I think you’re sweet?”
Sweet? He’d been called a lot of things by a lot of women, but he couldn’t remember sweet being one of them. And at that moment sweet wasn’t how he was feeling. With Becky nestled beside him, the alluring aroma of her perfume was scrambling all his senses. He had to struggle to keep from slamming on the brakes and taking her in his arms.
In the elevator going up from the parking garage to his fourth-floor apartment, she wrapped her arms around his neck and said, “Maybe there’ll be a power failure. Maybe the doors won’t open and we’ll be stuck in here for hours. This way you won’t be able to leave—I hate when people leave. This way I’ll have you under my control.”
Gently he disengaged her arms. With all the willpower he could muster, he said, “This isn’t what you want, Becky. You’re feeling low and you’ve had too much to drink.”
“Why, Carter Prescott,” she said, looking up at him with innocent eyes. “What could you be thinking? I should tell you that the only way I’ll ever consider going to bed with you is if there’s this terrible snowstorm—”
“I guess I’m out of luck,” he said as the doors to the elevator opened. “It doesn’t look like it’s going to snow anytime soon.”
She turned to him, her eyes shining with sudden lucidity. “I’m not drunk,” she said softly. “I admit I’ve had a little too much champagne, but I know exactly what I’m doing. My whole life has just gone down the drain, and at the moment I don’t want to think about tomorrow. Right now is all I have. And right now,” she said, running her fingers along his arm, “I’m pretending that it’s the middle of winter….”
Now, three months later, he was the one pretending. Pretending that what had happened between them had meant nothing at all. It was ironic, he thought as he plowed his way back to his apartment. He was the one who usually gave that speech about not wanting to think about tomorrow.
I hope you don’t think this means anything.
He turned onto Elm and his heart stopped beating. Becky. There she was, on the corner. He tried to follow her, but visibility was poor. By the time he reached the place where he had seen her, she had vanished.
He must have been mistaken. What would Becky be doing out on a night like this? But then again, where she was concerned, he’d learned to expect the unexpected.
A car turned onto the street, and for a moment she thought it was Carter’s. But in the blowing snow she couldn’t be sure. She rounded the corner and found herself outside the bed and breakfast where she’d stopped earlier that day. The ad for an assistant cook was still in the window.
She walked up the pathway, past the Douglas fir with the twinkling lights and silver streamers. Once again she hesitated, but this time she didn’t turn back. Not my world, she thought, but a job is a job. She picked up the brass knocker and banged on the door, then waited for her life to change.
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