Пятьдесят оттенков синего. Наталья Косухина

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СКАЧАТЬ style="font-size:15px;">      If asked, he’d deny he had ever wanted this, but for a moment he allowed himself to imagine being right here enjoying one of the Alaska’s long winter nights with a family—a woman like Lily and a little girl like Annmarie.

      The timer pinged and Quinn gave himself a mental shake. e had tried the family thing right after college and it hadn’t lasted a year. No way was he repeating that experience. Bad as it was for him, he wouldn’t subject anyone else to his Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde behavior ever again. The honeymoon period, doing everything he could to please. The rebel-without-a-cause period, being a royal pain and sabotaging the very relationships he wanted. He’d finally grown up and admitted the obvious. Wanting a family and having the goods to make it work…those didn’t come in the same package—at least, not with him. End of story.

      He lowered the footrest and handed the cat to Annmarie. She grinned at him, then skipped toward the kitchen, the cat draped over her shoulder.

      “He’s awake, Mom. Guess what? He snores. I heard ’em.”

      Quinn grinned at that. Annmarie really was a pistol. He stood, deciding he really did feel better, not good enough to whip anyone, but at least his still-aching head didn’t feel as though it would fall off when he moved it.

      “And snoring sounds like?” Lily asked from the kitchen.

      “Like Sweetie Pie when she purrs, only louder.”

      Nothing had ever been more inviting than Lily’s soft, answering laugh. Or maybe it was the mouthwatering aroma coming from the kitchen.

      At a slower pace, Quinn followed Annmarie. Lily stood at the stove, her back to him. She had changed out of the tailored slacks into a print skirt that skimmed her ankles. An oversize towel was wrapped into an apron around her slim waist. Her feet were bare and tapping to the rhythm of a Country tune on the radio. The scientist had been replaced by an earth mother cooking in a cheery yellow kitchen.

      “Are you making cobbler yet?” Annmarie pulled a chair across the floor toward the counter. “I want to help.”

      “Fine, but put the cat down and wash your hands first.”

      “Hi,” Quinn said.

      Lily turned around, her smile welcoming, her gaze frankly searching his face. There it was again…an invitation in her dark eyes that he found all too tempting.

      “Hi. How are you feeling?” She came toward him and pulled one of the chairs away from the table in the center of the room, motioning for him to sit down. “What can I get for you—a soda, milk, coffee?”

      “Nothing, thanks.”

      She wiped her hands on the makeshift apron and returned to the stove where something sizzled in a large cast-iron skillet.

      “Whatever you’re cooking smells great.” What he had intended was to make his excuses, thank her for her hospitality, and leave. Instead he moved closer, drawn by both the woman and the tantalizing aroma of her cooking.

      She flashed him another smile over her shoulder, then expertly turned over the pieces, cooked to a crisp golden brown. “Comfort food—fried chicken. I thought you might enjoy that.”

      “Sounds great.” The same thing as agreeing that he’d stay for dinner. Then he’d go home.

      “And smashed potatoes,” Annmarie said from the sink where she was washing her hands. “Uncle Ian says they’re his favorite, did you know that?” Without waiting for an answer she added, “And he likes cold pizza, too, but Mommy thinks that’s yucky.”

      Quinn caught Lily’s gaze. “What about cold fried chicken?”

      “On a picnic…”

      “With potato salad…”

      Lily shook her head. “Cole slaw and chocolate cake.”

      “Sign me up.” The way to a man’s heart, he nearly said, which was the same as admitting he wanted more from this surprising woman. He merely offered, “Your picnics sound better than mine.”

      “Aunt Rosie and me, we planned lots of picnics, and then it always rained,” Annmarie said, once again pulling her chair toward the counter. “Can we make cobbler now, Mom?”

      “Yes.” Lily set a mixing bowl in front of Annmarie.

      The little girl looked at Quinn. “You could help, too, Mr. Quinn. Mommy measures and I get to put everything in the bowl. But I can share.”

      “Thanks, but I think I’ll just watch.”

      Annmarie grinned. “And you get to put your finger in to see if it tastes good.”

      He laughed. “Would I have to wash my hands?”

      “Certainly,” Lily said, giving him a mock frown that he didn’t believe for a minute.

      Within seconds he figured out that he was in the way by simply standing around, so he retreated to the kitchen table and sat in the chair that Lily had pulled out. He had never imagined that he’d find watching a woman and a little girl so fascinating, but it was. The flour that ended up on the floor instead of in the bowl didn’t seem to bother Lily a bit. She was patient and funny with her daughter, both of them clearly enjoying the process.

      Throughout the interplay, Lily somehow managed to maintain a running dialogue with Quinn, eliciting from him that his head still pounded and bringing him a Dr Pepper after he mentioned that was what he liked.

      “Where’s your sister?” he asked as Lily slid the raspberry cobbler into the oven.

      “I have two. Rosie is on a walk with Ian. And Dahlia is in Colorado.”

      “With Uncle Jack,” Annmarie piped in. “He was Mr. Jack and Uncle Ian was Mr. Ian and then there was the wedding and I got two uncles on the same day.”

      “I see,” Quinn said.

      Lily smiled. “Can you believe we planned a double wedding in less than two months?”

      It was the sort of question that required a “No, I don’t believe it,” so he shook his head.

      “We had a great time. Lots of family, lots of food. And perfect for Rosie and Dahlia.”

      Family. That again.

      “Mommy says just because Aunt Rosie is having a baby doesn’t mean Aunt Dahlia is,” Annmarie offered. “I really, really want a baby sister or a baby brother, but Mommy says she won’t be having any because that takes a mommy and a daddy.”

      “Aha.” Quinn had the feeling this was part of an ongoing conversation between the two when he noticed the chastising look Lily gave Annmarie.

      She tousled her daughter’s hair. “Time to help me set the table, sweetie.”

      Quinn stood. “That’s something I can help with.”

      “Okay.” Lily pointed to where the plates and flatware were kept, then returned her attention to the stove and the dozen things that suddenly СКАЧАТЬ