Men to Trust. Diana Palmer

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СКАЧАТЬ Violet down and rushed back down the hall ahead of her. He made it into the dining room just in time to see Yow feasting on Violet’s piece of cake, on the floor, in the ruins of the saucer it had been placed in.

      “Yow!” he bit off.

      The cat jumped back and hissed at Violet. For good measure she hissed at Blake, too, and ran quickly out of the room.

      Mee, seeing an opening, rubbed against Blake’s legs while she eyed the cake on the floor.

      Blake picked up the saucer pieces. While he was putting them into the trash, Mee grabbed up a piece of cake and trotted into the kitchen with it.

      “That cat,” he was muttering.

      Violet was chuckling, happier than she’d been in years, despite the cat’s antagonism. It was a rare look at Blake’s private life, at the man he was when he wasn’t working. She liked what she saw. His affection for the cats was obvious, even through his frustration with Yow.

      “They’re very different, aren’t they?” she asked while he took the lion’s share of the cake away from a frustrated Mee and put it in the trash, too.

      “They’re maddening from time to time,” he admitted. “But I suppose they’d taste terrible, even if I do have infrequent visions of serving them up in a casserole.”

      “You wouldn’t dare!” she exclaimed, laughing.

      He shrugged. “Well, not sober,” he confessed.

      She grinned at him, her whole face radiant with the sudden, new relationship that was building between them.

      She looked so pretty that Blake stopped what he was doing and just stared at her. Why hadn’t he realized how pretty she was? he wondered.

      Violet saw the look and was mesmerized by it. She stood staring back at him, while time stood still around them.

      Chapter Five

      Violet folded her hands in front of her, self-consciously. “I really like your house,” she said, for something to break the silence.

      He smiled. “I’m glad.”

      “I like the cats, too. In spite of everything,” she added. “It’s only a scratch.”

      He glowered toward the doorway, where Yow was looking in again. Mee was still twirling around Violet’s ankles. “We’ll have to work on Yow’s social skills. Maybe she lacks proper company. I might buy her a dog.”

      “You wouldn’t!” Violet exclaimed, laughing.

      He gave her a wicked look. “A big, ugly dog with a bad attitude,” he added.

      “You’d turn up in court as a defendant.”

      “Not unless Yow can afford legal representation,” he assured her.

      She laughed. It was amazing how carefree she felt with him, a man who’d intimidated her from their very first meeting when she’d worked for him. He was another man entirely away from the office.

      “Well, there’s still cake,” he pointed out. “We’d better get it while we can, before Yow tries again.”

      “What kind is it?” she asked as she seated herself at the table again.

      “Pound cake. It’s the only cake I can do myself.”

      “My favorite kind, too. I can make a layer cake, but I like these better.”

      He put a slice on a plate, and a fork, in front of her. “More coffee?”

      “Please,” she replied.

      He poured more coffee and they settled down with their cake, but she noticed that Blake kept a careful eye on the doorway in case Yow made another appearance.

      He wouldn’t let her help with the dishes, insisting that he could do them later. Instead, he walked her out onto the porch and settled her beside him in the porch swing.

      “I love this,” she said. “We used to have a porch swing, before we lost everything,” she mused. “I loved sitting in it, especially in the spring and summer. We had a big yard with pecan trees and a mesquite tree, and Mama had a flower garden, very much like yours.”

      He slid his arm behind her head and curled his long fingers comfortably into her hair. “It must be hard for both of you.”

      “We’re getting by,” she said softly. “I don’t really mind. I’m just sorry about Daddy, and how he died.” She looked up at him. “You haven’t heard anything about the autopsy yet?”

      “Maybe next week,” he replied. “I’ll tell you the minute I know for sure. Then we’ll both break it to your mother.”

      “That’s very kind of you,” she said.

      He bent and touched his lips to her forehead. “I’m a kind man,” he murmured, laughing softly. “I don’t even kick cats when they deserve it.”

      She smiled back, leaning closer. She loved being near him, feeling his breath on her face, his fingers in her hair.

      Blake was amazed at how receptive she was to his advances, how hungrily she met them. He hadn’t analyzed his feelings for Violet. He wasn’t going to. Not yet. But she kindled fires in his blood that he hadn’t felt since Shannon Culbertson’s death.

      Shannon. His eyes grew dark and quiet as he stared over Violet’s head and memories flooded in on him. He’d loved her. He’d given his heart completely, recklessly, without any thought for the future. Shannon had died, and his life had shattered overnight. He remembered that headlong passion with faint apprehension. It was dangerous to love. Very dangerous.

      Violet didn’t know what he was thinking, but she felt a sudden remoteness from him. She noticed that he was staring into space, thinking. Perhaps he was having second thoughts about the direction their relationship was taking. Was he sorry that he’d kissed her?

      He felt her intent stare. He turned his head and looked down into her eyes, searching them slowly. The look was more intimate than a kiss. His body began to swell from the intensity of it.

      “Is something wrong?” she asked after a minute.

      His fingers touched her chin, drawing it up. “I have cold feet.”

      “I don’t understand.”

      He drew in a long breath. “It’s too quick, Violet,” he murmured, looking at her. “I’m not sure I’m ready for this.”

      “For feeding me trout?” she asked, wide-eyed.

      He shook his head. “No. For…this.”

      He bent and kissed her, very gently. He lifted his head. “I like kissing you.”

      She smiled slowly. “I like kissing you, too.”

      “To what end?”

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