Brambleberry Shores: The Daddy Makeover / His Second-Chance Family. RaeAnne ThayneЧитать онлайн книгу.
With a sense of freedom he hadn’t known in a long time, he ran on the hard-packed sand, dodging waves and the occasional long, ragged clump of kelp. The dog raced right along with him, easily matching his stride to Eben’s and in no time they had a comfortable rhythm.
By the time they reached the headlands on the north end of the beach, he felt loose and liberated, as if the jog had chased all the cobwebs from his mind.
He paused for a moment to enjoy the full splendor of the sunrise slanting out across the water while the dog chased a couple of seagulls pecking at something in the sand.
After some time, Eben checked his watch with some regret. “We’d better hustle back. Some of us need to go to work,” he told the dog, who tilted his head with a quizzical look then barked as if he understood exactly what Eben had said. The dog turned and charged back down the beach the way they’d come.
The beach had been largely empty on their way north but on the run back, they passed several other joggers and beachcombers, all of whom greeted him with friendly smiles—or at least offered smiles to Conan.
Several called the dog by name and gave them curious looks that Eben deflected with a wave. All the locals were probably wondering who was running with Sage Benedetto’s dog but he didn’t have the breath to enlighten any of them, even if he’d wanted to.
“Wait out here,” he ordered the sandy dog when they reached the beach house, his breath still coming fast and hard. Conan flopped onto the deck and curled his head in his paws, apparently content to rest.
He let himself into the house and found Sage exactly where he’d left her, sound asleep on his couch.
A quick peek into Chloe’s room showed him she was still asleep as well, the blankets jumbled around her feet.
He closed her door with gentle care and returned to the family room. Okay, so he hadn’t worked all the restlessness out of his system, apparently. Some of it still simmered through him, especially as he watched Sage sleep on his couch. She looked rumpled and sexy, her lashes fluttering against the olive skin of her high cheekbones and the slightest of smiles playing over those lush lips.
What was she dreaming about? he wondered, hunger tightening his insides.
Maybe it was a reaction to the blood still pumping through him from the good, hard run—or, he admitted honestly, probably just the delectable woman in front of him—but Eben wanted her more than he could remember ever wanting a woman.
He cleared his throat, again fighting back his heretofore unknown voyeuristic tendencies. “Uh, Ms. Benedetto. Time to go. The run’s over.”
Her mouth twitched a little in sleep but her eyes remained stubbornly closed. She made a little sleepy sound and rolled over, presenting her back to him, looking for all the world as if she were settling in to nap the morning away.
Now what was he supposed to do?
“Sage?” he said again.
When she still didn’t respond, he sighed and reached a hand out to her shoulder. “Sage, wake up. You have to go to work, remember? We both do.”
After a moment, she heaved a long sigh and turned over again. She blinked her eyes open and gazed at him in confusion for a moment before he saw consciousness slowly return like the tide coming in.
She sat up, gave a yawn and stretched her arms above her head. Eben swallowed and did his best to remember how to breathe.
“I have to say, that had to be just about the best jog I’ve had in a month,” she murmured with a sleepy, sexy smile.
She rose, stretching again with graceful limbs, and Eben stared at her a long moment—at the becoming flush on her features, at the wild tangle of her hair, at her slightly parted lips.
He sensed exactly the instant his control slipped out the window—when she smiled at him again, her head canted to one side. With a groan, he surrendered the battle and reached for her.
She was soft and warm and smelled of the leather sofa where she had been sleeping and an exotic spicy-sweet flowery scent that had to be purely Sage.
He told himself he would stop with just a tiny taste. He had taken her dog out running, after all. Didn’t she owe him something for that? Stealing a little morning kiss seemed like small recompense.
He didn’t expect her mouth to taste of coffee and mint and he certainly didn’t expect, after one shocked second, for her to make a low, aroused sound in her throat then wrap her arms around his neck as if she couldn’t bear the idea of letting him go.
From that point on, he lost all sense of time and space and reason. His foolish idea of giving into the heat for only an instant with one little taste went out the window along with the rest of his control.
The only thing he could focus on was the woman in his arms—her intoxicating scent and taste, the texture of her sweatshirt under his hands, the soft curves pressing against him.
He needed to stop, for a million reasons. He barely knew the woman. She barely knew him. Chloe could wake and come out of her room any moment. He had just jogged three miles down the beach and back and probably smelled like a locker room.
All these thoughts flickered through his mind but he couldn’t quite catch hold of any of them. The blood singing through him and the wild hunger burning up his insides were the only things that seemed to matter.
He deepened the kiss and she sighed against his mouth. He was intensely aware of her soft fingers in his hair, of the other hand curving around his neck. Even with the heat scorching him, the wonder of feeling her hands on him absurdly drew a lump to his throat.
How long had it been since he’d known a woman’s touch? Brooke’s shockingly sudden death from an aneurysm had been two years ago and he hadn’t been with anyone since then. Even for months before her death, things had been rocky between them. He knew he had failed her in many, many ways.
The specter of his disastrous marriage finally helped him regain some small measure of control.
He stilled, then opened his eyes as the sensation of being watched prickled down his spine.
Not Chloe, he hoped, and swept the room with a glance. No, he realized. Sage’s big red dog watched them through the wide windows leading to the deck. And if Conan had been human, Eben would have sworn he was grinning at them.
Though he ached at the effort, Eben forced himself to break the kiss and step back, his breathing uneven and his thoughts a tangled mess.
“Well. That was…unexpected,” she murmured.
Her color was high but she didn’t look upset by their heated embrace, only surprised.
He, on the other hand, was stunned to his core.
What the hell was he thinking? This kind of thing was not at all like him. He was known in all circles— social, business and otherwise—for his cool head and detached calm.
He had spent his life working hard to keep himself in check. Oh, he knew himself well enough to understand it was a survival mechanism from his childhood—if he couldn’t control his parents’ tumultuous natures, their wild outbursts, their screaming fights, and substance abuse, at least he could contain his own behavior.
Those habits had carried into adulthood and into his marriage. In the heat of anger, Brooke used to call him a machine, accusing him of having no heart, no feeling. She had to have an affair, she told him, if only to know what it was like to be with a man who had blood instead of antifreeze running through his veins.
This new, urgent heat for an exotic, wild-haired nature girl sent him way, way out of his comfort zone.
“My apologies,” he said, his voice stiff. “I’m not quite sure what happened there.”
“Aren’t you?”
He sent her a swift look and saw the corner of her mouth