LITMIR.BIZ

Скачать книгу

got a headache?”

      “I’m psychic. And you’re rubbing your head again.”

      She blinked and dropped her hand self-consciously.

      His grin flashed. “Come on. I’ll get you something to change into.” He vanished into the short hall, his voice reaching her easily. “I’ll fix dinner while you soak. Steaks okay?”

      “Don’t go to any trouble.” She followed, confused by his shifting moods and wondering about the condition of his kitchen, given what she’d seen of the rest of the place. “Sandwiches or takeout would be…” Speech and feet both drifted to a halt when she reached his bedroom.

      At first all she saw was the bed—huge, unmade, with tousled sheets, scattered pillows, and the comforter dragging the floor at one corner. It looked much the way her bed had on one morning five months ago.

      Had someone shared that bed with him recently?

      He spoke, drawing her attention to his amused face. “Don’t worry. The mere sight of a bed won’t make me pounce on you.”

      “Why bother?” she muttered. “Been there, done that.” As soon as the words were out, she cursed her slippery tongue. “I didn’t say that.”

      “Yes, you did. You’re thinking of the last time we were in a bedroom together.”

      “No.” Memories pressed at her, an insistent thrust of heat and haste and impulse. The flavor of his mouth. The feel of his hands, quick and demanding. And her own dizzy need rising to meet those demands. “Not at all.”

      “I am. I’m remembering the way you taste when your pulse is pounding here.” He lifted a hand and touched his own throat beneath the jaw.

      Her own hand lifted involuntarily, mirroring his gesture, and quickly dropped. Her pulse was pounding. Dammit. “I don’t care to wander down memory lane tonight. I’d rather wash the grime off.”

      “Why do I like that cool, sarcastic mouth of yours so much?” He shook his head. “Hell if know.”

      His lips were smiling. His eyes weren’t. They were dark, intent. Hot. Oh, she knew that expression, was as fascinated by it tonight as she had been five months ago. As fascinated as birds are said to be by the gaze of a snake. That’s superstition, she told herself. And couldn’t keep from falling back a step when he moved toward her.

      His smile widened. “Your nightie,” he said, and held out what she only then noticed he held—an old sweat suit. “I told you I wouldn’t pounce, but if you get the urge, feel free to jump on me.”

      “In your dreams.”

      His mouth still curved in that infuriating, knowing smile. “Oh, you have been, Charlie. You have been.”

      Her mouth went dry. Something fluttered in her chest—something too much like yearning. She snatched the clothes from him and escaped with as much dignity as possible.

      The air was warm and moist, the water warmer and soothing. Her hair smelled of almonds from Rafe’s shampoo. Charlotte lathered her left leg, then drew the razor along her calf.

      This bathroom might have been conjured out of one of her private fantasies. Oh, admit it, she thought. The entire apartment seemed to belong in one of her daydreams, not her real life.

      Except for the mess. Her mouth curved. She’d never pictured her dream apartment with so many piles of misplaced objects. Or a hammock. But the expensive furnishings, the artful use of color and space, the curving iron staircase and fireplace and beautiful rugs—she’d dreamed of a place like this, possessions like these, for years.

      Charlotte had a hunger for nice things. A product of my deprived childhood, she thought with bitter humor, dipping her leg beneath the water to rinse. It wasn’t a quality she admired in herself, but she accepted it. Possessions would probably always matter a little too much to her.

      She leaned against the back of the tub. Had he really dreamed of her?

      It didn’t matter. It couldn’t matter, she told herself fiercely. She knew better than to confuse fantasy with reality. Maybe he had dreamed of her. They’d been incredibly good together in bed. But dreams weren’t a guide for real life, and great sex wasn’t a basis for a marriage.

      In dreams, she thought, her eyes drifting closed, anything could happen.

      Someone rolled over inside her.

      Her hand went to her stomach. It amazed her every time, this motion created by another being right inside her body. Would she grow used to the sensation in the next four months? Would she be more grouchy than awed when the baby was bigger and woke her up at night, kicking?

      She smiled. She didn’t think so. Much to her surprise, she loved being pregnant. Oh, at first she’d been scared and nauseous, appalled that this could happen to her, that she could have been so irresponsible. But the first time the baby had moved…she rubbed her middle, smiling, her eyes still closed. Now she even liked the way her body was expanding, the solid shape the baby made inside her. After being alone in her body all her life, she couldn’t stop marveling at being two instead of one.

      Funny. She’d never dreamed about being pregnant, yet now that she was, she loved it. Her fantasies had usually revolved around success in some form. Stock options. A well-fed 401K. Beautiful things of all sorts, from handmade quilts to designer suits to a hopeless craving she’d suffered from for months for an antique rolltop desk.

      Though there had been another dream…. No, that was too important a word for her foolishness. A silly fantasy, that was all it had been. It had seemed harmless. She’d worked at the Connelly Corporation for three years and as Grant’s assistant for two, and Rafe had never asked her out. She’d been sure he never would, sure her longing would go safely unrequited…until the night five months ago when the Connellys had held a barbecue at their lakeside cottage.

      She’d gone there to get Grant’s signature on a contract. And Rafe, damn his observant eyes, had realized something was bothering her. Grabbing at the first excuse that had come to mind, she’d claimed to be ill. Big mistake. Grant had refused to hear of her driving back to work. He’d refused to hear of her driving at all.

      Rafe had offered to take her home. And she, foolish dreamer that she’d been, hadn’t protested nearly enough….

      One night in May

      “So what’s wrong?” Rafe asked as they headed back to the city on Lake Shore Drive.

      “Just a bug, I guess.” Outside, the air was dreamy with dusk. To their left, the vast waters of Lake Michigan were turning gray and secretive in the fading light. There were secrets inside the car, too. They pressed on Charlotte, weighed her down, made her want to be anywhere but here, with this man.

      She leaned her head against the headrest and tried to relax. The ride was smooth and quiet, the leather seats absurdly comfortable. But the tension vibrating inside her wouldn’t let go. “I’d pictured you with a sporty little two-seater.”

      “If I get the urge to travel with my knees jammed up to my chest, I fly economy class. No need to buy a car that does that for me.”

      A smile tugged at her mouth. Rafe had a way of making her smile, making her angry, making her feel all sorts of things she didn’t want to feel. “I’ll bet you’ve never flown economy in your life.”

      “You’d lose.” He signaled and slowed the car. “I don’t think you’re sick.”

      She sat up straight. “What a strange thing to say. Unless your ego is crowding out your brain, and you think I lured you away from the party to have my wicked way with you.”

      He chuckled. “Don’t I wish. No, you did your best to get out of accepting a ride. You’ve got an annoyingly large independent streak, Charlie.”

      “My name is Charlotte,” she corrected him automatically, looking down at her lap. Her fingers rested there calmly

Скачать книгу