Shadows of Yesterday
Page 15
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“You’ve blown it, big mouth,” she grumbled to herself. Why had she felt compelled to say anything? He had kissed her in broad daylight in a parked truck. He had almost touched her breast. So? Maybe it had been an accident. Maybe her kiss had robbed him of rational thought. Could a healthy man be held responsible for his actions when a woman kissed him back with the enthusiasm she had shown? Why had she panicked like some puritan maiden?
When she had felt his hand inching its way in oh-so-sensuous a manner toward her breast, why couldn’t she have merely tapped him playfully on the hand in teasing rebuke? Bubba’s wife would know how to say “no,” but leave room for a “maybe when we know each other better.” But she wasn’t Bubba’s wife, Leigh chided herself. She was what her mother would term “a well-brought-up young lady,” and she thought of sex as a commitment. She had been a virgin on her wedding night. She
The doorbell pealed loudly and Leigh bolted off the couch. Curbing the impulse to dash to the door, she took three deep breaths and walked at a more sedate pace to open it. Chad was standing with his arms spread, bracing himself against the doorjamb. Without moving anything but his head, he leaned down and captured her mouth.
For a moment she entertained the thought of resisting him, of demanding to know why he was an hour late, of reminding him that she wasn’t going to invite him to spend the night, but the power of his kiss banished such intentions from her muddled brain. His arms were lowered from the door frame slowly to enclose her in a tight embrace. Her feet instinctively scooted closer to his until they were touching chest-to-knees in one continuous, provocative line.
“I’m sorry I’m late. It couldn’t be helped. I promise,” he whispered seductively.
“I understand,” she heard herself saying. His kiss had reduced her to jelly. His hands were on either side of her face, stroking her lips with alternating thumbs.
“I like that… that… whatever that is you’ve got on.”
“I bought it today.” She had seen the long, embroidered caftan in a boutique window and had bought it immediately. It was just what she needed for quiet evenings at home… with Chad. Oh, stop it, stop it! She rebuked herself.
“I brought you a present.”
“You brought me a present?” she echoed, her heart racing.
He reached behind him and picked up two gift-wrapped boxes. “Open the big one first.”
She took the boxes from him and sat on the sofa while he took off his coat and crouched down in front of her. “Oh, no!” she exclaimed as she pulled the coffeemaker out of its package. “Let me guess what’s in the second box.”
“Right!” He snapped his fingers. “Three pounds of coffee.” She started laughing. “What’s so funny?”
“Nothing, except you have a present, too. Come into the kitchen.”
Bemused, he followed her into the kitchen and then joined in her laughter when he saw a coffeemaker identical to the one he had just given her already plugged in on the countertop. Beside it was a can of coffee. “You did do some shopping today, didn’t you?” He took both her hands and held her at arm’s length as he asked, “Does this mean that you plan on making me coffee often?”
“Does this mean you want me to?” she replied teasingly.
His answer was to pull her against him with an eagerness that forced the breath out of her body on impact. Urgent fingers tangled in the chestnut mane she had left loose, and he pulled her head back for the full enjoyment of his kiss.
Her hands cautiously rested on his ribs, touching, caressing, marveling at the hard muscles beneath them. Then they slid around to his back. Palms splayed, she rubbed her hands against the contours on either side of his spine.
“Oh, Leigh,” he breathed, pushing away from her. “If we start this now, I’ll never get any coffee.”
Now? Did that mean they would pick up later where they had left off? “And you’ll never get to sample my chocolate cake,” she replied in kind.
“There are other things I can’t wait to sample, but I guess the cake should come first.”
First? She made a nervous gesture to straighten her hair. “Why don’t you make the coffee? I’ll watch while I slice the cake.” She had to slow him down—no, slow them both down, she warned herself. Chad was only reacting to the invitation she knew she was communicating to him, despite her scruples, her anxiety.
He talked her through his foolproof method of making the perfect cup of coffee while she served slices of cake. He drank three cups of coffee while devouring two pieces of the rich chocolate concoction.
“How do you stay so trim when you eat so much?” Leigh asked him as he gouged a fingerful of icing off the cake.
“Hard work and good metabolism.”
“Do you ever work out at a health club? Jog? Play tennis?”
“Sometimes.”
“Did you play sports in high school and college?”
“Some.”
“Chad Dillon, don’t you ever give a straight answer to a question?” she asked, exasperated.
“Occasionally.”
“Ohhhh,” she ground out, much to his amusement. He dodged a hand flying in the direction of his head.
“I can think of better ways to work off frustration—not to mention calories,” he said slyly. He took her hand and dragged her toward the living room.
“The cake—”
“Will keep. Besides, I thought you were hinting I’d had enough. But there’s something else I haven’t had enough of. Not nearly enough…”
He left her standing in the middle of the room as he sat down on the sofa and tugged at his right boot until it came off. “What… what are you doing?” she asked, mesmerized.
Why was she just standing there? Why wasn’t she demanding to know why he was taking off his boots, why he felt at home enough in her living room to do so, what he thought they were going to do when he got them off? “Why are you taking off your boots?” she asked on a note that was supposed to sound severe and instead sounded huskily obliging.
“They’re beginning to hurt.”
“Oh.” So much for outraged virtue.
The second boot dropped to the carpet with a soft thud. He didn’t say a word but looked up at her and extended his hand. As if following a mystic’s command, she crossed the room toward him, stepping out of her own shoes as she walked.
When she had felt his hand inching its way in oh-so-sensuous a manner toward her breast, why couldn’t she have merely tapped him playfully on the hand in teasing rebuke? Bubba’s wife would know how to say “no,” but leave room for a “maybe when we know each other better.” But she wasn’t Bubba’s wife, Leigh chided herself. She was what her mother would term “a well-brought-up young lady,” and she thought of sex as a commitment. She had been a virgin on her wedding night. She
The doorbell pealed loudly and Leigh bolted off the couch. Curbing the impulse to dash to the door, she took three deep breaths and walked at a more sedate pace to open it. Chad was standing with his arms spread, bracing himself against the doorjamb. Without moving anything but his head, he leaned down and captured her mouth.
For a moment she entertained the thought of resisting him, of demanding to know why he was an hour late, of reminding him that she wasn’t going to invite him to spend the night, but the power of his kiss banished such intentions from her muddled brain. His arms were lowered from the door frame slowly to enclose her in a tight embrace. Her feet instinctively scooted closer to his until they were touching chest-to-knees in one continuous, provocative line.
“I’m sorry I’m late. It couldn’t be helped. I promise,” he whispered seductively.
“I understand,” she heard herself saying. His kiss had reduced her to jelly. His hands were on either side of her face, stroking her lips with alternating thumbs.
“I like that… that… whatever that is you’ve got on.”
“I bought it today.” She had seen the long, embroidered caftan in a boutique window and had bought it immediately. It was just what she needed for quiet evenings at home… with Chad. Oh, stop it, stop it! She rebuked herself.
“I brought you a present.”
“You brought me a present?” she echoed, her heart racing.
He reached behind him and picked up two gift-wrapped boxes. “Open the big one first.”
She took the boxes from him and sat on the sofa while he took off his coat and crouched down in front of her. “Oh, no!” she exclaimed as she pulled the coffeemaker out of its package. “Let me guess what’s in the second box.”
“Right!” He snapped his fingers. “Three pounds of coffee.” She started laughing. “What’s so funny?”
“Nothing, except you have a present, too. Come into the kitchen.”
Bemused, he followed her into the kitchen and then joined in her laughter when he saw a coffeemaker identical to the one he had just given her already plugged in on the countertop. Beside it was a can of coffee. “You did do some shopping today, didn’t you?” He took both her hands and held her at arm’s length as he asked, “Does this mean that you plan on making me coffee often?”
“Does this mean you want me to?” she replied teasingly.
His answer was to pull her against him with an eagerness that forced the breath out of her body on impact. Urgent fingers tangled in the chestnut mane she had left loose, and he pulled her head back for the full enjoyment of his kiss.
Her hands cautiously rested on his ribs, touching, caressing, marveling at the hard muscles beneath them. Then they slid around to his back. Palms splayed, she rubbed her hands against the contours on either side of his spine.
“Oh, Leigh,” he breathed, pushing away from her. “If we start this now, I’ll never get any coffee.”
Now? Did that mean they would pick up later where they had left off? “And you’ll never get to sample my chocolate cake,” she replied in kind.
“There are other things I can’t wait to sample, but I guess the cake should come first.”
First? She made a nervous gesture to straighten her hair. “Why don’t you make the coffee? I’ll watch while I slice the cake.” She had to slow him down—no, slow them both down, she warned herself. Chad was only reacting to the invitation she knew she was communicating to him, despite her scruples, her anxiety.
He talked her through his foolproof method of making the perfect cup of coffee while she served slices of cake. He drank three cups of coffee while devouring two pieces of the rich chocolate concoction.
“How do you stay so trim when you eat so much?” Leigh asked him as he gouged a fingerful of icing off the cake.
“Hard work and good metabolism.”
“Do you ever work out at a health club? Jog? Play tennis?”
“Sometimes.”
“Did you play sports in high school and college?”
“Some.”
“Chad Dillon, don’t you ever give a straight answer to a question?” she asked, exasperated.
“Occasionally.”
“Ohhhh,” she ground out, much to his amusement. He dodged a hand flying in the direction of his head.
“I can think of better ways to work off frustration—not to mention calories,” he said slyly. He took her hand and dragged her toward the living room.
“The cake—”
“Will keep. Besides, I thought you were hinting I’d had enough. But there’s something else I haven’t had enough of. Not nearly enough…”
He left her standing in the middle of the room as he sat down on the sofa and tugged at his right boot until it came off. “What… what are you doing?” she asked, mesmerized.
Why was she just standing there? Why wasn’t she demanding to know why he was taking off his boots, why he felt at home enough in her living room to do so, what he thought they were going to do when he got them off? “Why are you taking off your boots?” she asked on a note that was supposed to sound severe and instead sounded huskily obliging.
“They’re beginning to hurt.”
“Oh.” So much for outraged virtue.
The second boot dropped to the carpet with a soft thud. He didn’t say a word but looked up at her and extended his hand. As if following a mystic’s command, she crossed the room toward him, stepping out of her own shoes as she walked.
