Married To A Stranger. Allison Leigh

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ up later than you should.”

      Color suffused her cheeks. “I have been to college.”

      “Sweet pea, compared to the places I’ve been, that doesn’t mean diddly.” His voice lowered. “Never had an impure thought.”

      Her eyes flickered and she hurriedly climbed from the car. Her thick braid bounced in counterpoint to her hasty steps as she walked away from him.

      Let her go.

      He swallowed an oath along with the common sense that told him to leave well enough alone. He caught up to her as she pushed open the front door of her little white house. The place was as neat and tidy as she was, with precise rows of summer flowers in the beds lining the sidewalk. He closed his hand around her elbow, pulling her up short before she could shut the door in his face.

      “Wait.”

      Her chin tilted, but her eyes wouldn’t meet his.

      “Why? So you can make fun of me some more?”

      “I wasn’t.”

      She didn’t answer. The way her soft lips twisted was answer enough.

      He frowned. The bones in her elbow felt fragile. He slid his hand up her arm, curving around the taut flesh, feeling the flex of healthy muscle. Of skin that was smooth as satin against his fingertips. “I have to go back to Paris after the wedding.”

      She blinked. Hesitated. “Congratulations.”

      “It’s business,” he dismissed. “I travel a lot.” Too much, he thought vaguely. “I’m not going to be here for long. Why won’t you have dinner with me? I’m harmless.”

      Hope’s lips parted and she looked down at his fingers circling her arm. Harmless? Hardly. This man was built for harm. Harm of the heart. “I don’t—”

      “Want steak. That’s okay. Pizza, then.”

      “Why are you doing this?”

      “Man’s gotta eat.” He didn’t smile. “Woman’s gotta eat, too. What’s your favorite food?”

      She frowned. “Chinese. I don’t—”

      “We’d have to drive a ways to get that.”

      His thumb swirled against her arm. She looked up at him. “Tristan—”

      “Maybe I like the way you say my name.”

      Her throat knotted. Shivers crept down her spine and broke out on her arm where he would surely feel them. He probably thought she was insane standing there shivering in the warm early evening. “I’m a mess from this afternoon,” she whispered thoughtlessly.

      Tris looked at her lips. They were perfectly sculpted, impossibly soft-looking. Everything about her was soft. Her voice, her eyes, her skin. “Take a shower,” he murmured. “I’ll wash your back.” He wasn’t entirely joking, he realized. But he grinned, trying to look harmless despite his thoughts which were miles away from harmless.

      “Colbys,” she said abruptly, tugging her arm out of his grasp. “It’ll be a zoo at the pizza place. I’ll meet you there in a half hour.” Then she hastily stepped into the house and shut the door right in his face.

      Tris stared at the closed door. “I’ll be damned,” he murmured. Then he laughed softly, feeling better than he had in weeks, and turned around on her postage-stamp-sized porch. Across the street, the park stretched out, vibrantly green. The high school looked the same as always. And down the street and around the corner was the old elementary school. Where, among her students, shy Hope would laugh and smile and teach.

      Too bad he’d be long gone from Weaver by then. He’d have enjoyed seeing Hope in her element.

      He’d just have to figure a way in the next few days to get her to look him in the eye with those incredible eyes of hers. To scale that mile-high shyness of hers so that when he kissed her—he wasn’t sure when he’d decided it was something he was going to do—she wouldn’t run away.

      She’d kiss him back.

      The kiss was definitely something he looked forward to. Probably more than was good for either of them. But it would be just a kiss. What would be the harm in that?

      Chapter Three

      “Would you like wine?”

      Beneath the cover of the varnished wood table top, Hope’s fingers twisted together. “No, thank you.” She didn’t drink. Hadn’t ever had a hangover, just as he’d said earlier.

      She watched Tristan, who sat across from her in the dimly lit booth. He showed no surprise that she’d declined the drink. Of course he wasn’t surprised.

      The only surprise was that she was sitting here in Colbys, which served food but which everyone still considered a bar, with Tristan Clay. Hope had been to Colbys dozens of times in her lifetime. Never once had the booths seemed so cramped. So shadowy. So intimate.

      Tristan was reading the menu he held open between his hands. His fingers idly tapped the corner of the padded vinyl folder and Hope closed her eyes for a moment before focusing on her own menu. She shifted and her knee bumped something solid and immovable beneath the table. It wasn’t the table. It was him. She quickly angled her knees away from his and stared blindly at the menu. What was she doing here?

      “Decided yet?”

      She looked up as Tristan closed his menu and sat back in the booth. “Excuse me?”

      His eyebrow peaked. “Do you know what you want to order?”

      She nodded and shut her menu with a snap. She didn’t. But she wasn’t going to sit there like an idiot staring at words that her distracted mind wouldn’t read. She chewed at the inside of her lip. Rearranged her flatware and drained her water glass.

      He closed the menu and set it to the side of the table, folding his arms over the surface of the table. He seemed suddenly to loom over her from his side, but the portion of her brain that still functioned knew it only seemed that way because he was so tall and his shoulders so wide that he easily filled more than half of the bench on his side of the booth.

      A fact that did nothing to prevent her from pressing her spine more firmly against the seat behind her. Or from reaching for the chain at her throat and running an inch of it back and forth between her thumb and forefinger.

      His gaze was unwavering, but she was certain that he wanted to smile. She felt her entire body go hot with embarrassment. She dropped her hand to her lap.

      She wished that Newt Rasmusson, the owner of the place, would hurry up and take their orders—despite the fact that she didn’t know what she wanted—so at least that interruption would draw Tristan’s focus away from her.

      “Want to dance?”

      The jangle that shot through her was not a leaping, internal YES! It simply wasn’t. “No one is dancing,” she pointed out faintly. Her fingers sought the chain СКАЧАТЬ