Saying Yes to the Boss. Jackie BraunЧитать онлайн книгу.
tugged at him with disorienting force. Now those lights were gone as well thanks to the storm. He shivered at the thought of what would have happened to him had the electricity failed earlier.
“I can get you another blanket if you’re cold.”
He hadn’t heard her return, but he glanced over to find her standing next to him, brows furrowed in concern. She’d changed into a pair of capri pants and a pullover that was probably some pastel shade, although he couldn’t discern its color in the firelight. Her feet were bare and the ponytail she’d swept her hair into exposed the graceful line of her neck. She looked younger, softer. And yet he still felt it, that insane blast of attraction that had him wondering if he’d struck his head harder than he’d thought.
“Dane?”
He realized he was staring and coughed. “No, I’m fine. The past few hours are catching up with me is all.”
“I’m sure. You had quite the ordeal.”
In her hands she held a first-aid kit and a bottle of painkillers.
He nodded toward the bottle. “Got anything stronger than ibuprofen?”
The smile she offered was sympathetic. “Sorry, no, but I had just opened a really good bottle of Chianti before you knocked at my door. I’m willing to share.”
“You don’t have anything with a little more…kick?”
As a general rule, he wasn’t one to wallow in the false comfort of hard liquor, but he could do with a good bracing belt of whiskey right about now.
“You probably shouldn’t even have wine,” she told him, sounding almost prim. “But I’m feeling indulgent. Sit.”
She didn’t wait for him to comply, but gently nudged him back into the chair and then knelt on the floor in front of him.
“Let me see your hand.”
Dane did as Regina instructed, deciding he could do with a little TLC and pampering after all he’d been through. Then he sucked in a sharp breath along with an oath when she dabbed the cut on his palm with enough stinging antiseptic to kill half the bacteria in the free world.
“God! Blow on it or something,” he begged between gritted teeth.
“That would defeat the purpose of disinfecting it.”
His eyes were watering. His hand was on fire. “I’ll take my chances. A nasty case of gangrene has to be less painful.”
He leaned over to blow on it himself. When he looked up afterward their gazes held. The air seemed to sizzle as he watched the firelight reflected in her dark eyes. She had questions, too. He saw them there. And it came as a huge relief to discover that he wasn’t the only one mired in this odd, instantaneous need.
The moment stretched before she finally looked away and muttered, “Men are such babies.”
“You’re not going to start in with that argument about how if it were up to us to give birth the human race would have ended with Adam, are you?”
No hint of feminine interest remained, but he felt sure he hadn’t imagined it. She smiled at him with the same smug superiority he’d often seen on his sisters’ faces.
“No. We both know which one is the weaker sex. Why rub it in?”
Then she ran the cotton swab of antiseptic over his broken skin again.
Dane decided to change the subject. To take his mind off the pain, he asked, “So, what have you got against developers that makes you keep a shotgun handy?”
“You mean besides the fact that the one I’ve had to deal with lately is greedy and unprincipled and only interested in buying Peril Pointe so he can tear down my home and put up condos or another high-priced resort that will make that snooty Saybrook’s on Trillium look like a pauper’s retirement community?”
She was affixing butterfly bandages across the ravaged skin of his palm during her vehement response and Dane grimaced. No way in hell he was going to admit to her that in the most basic sense of the word he was a developer or that he and his two sisters actually owned the resort she’d referred to as “that snooty Saybrook’s.”
So, when she finished her minidiatribe, he worked up what he hoped was a charming smile.
“I’ll take that wine now, please.”
CHAPTER TWO
THE grandfather clock chimed out the hour as they sipped their wine. It was only ten, but it seemed much later. Indeed, it felt as if hours had passed since Regina first opened the door to find a drenched and injured Dane Conlan on the other side of it. With the electricity out and no phone service for who knew how long, it was clear she wouldn’t be saying goodbye to her handsome houseguest anytime soon.
The thought had her bringing the glass of Chianti to her lips again and drinking deeply.
Two years had passed since Ree had spent an evening alone in the company of a man. The last encounter had ended with a screaming match inside a tent pitched in the Nevada desert. Actually “match” wasn’t the word for it as Ree had done all the screaming, peppering her accusations with the Italian curse words she’d heard her grandfather using when Nonna Benedetta was out of earshot. None of the verbiage had gotten a rise out of the recipient. Paul Ritter had barely managed to look up from the dusty dig log he so meticulously kept to respond.
“Let’s talk about this later, Regina.”
That had been Paul’s mantra throughout their previous five years of marriage, during which Ree had followed her archaeologist husband from one godforsaken dig site to another. Each time he’d promised this one would be the last and he would get a teaching post at a university. Ree wanted a home of her own. She wanted to start a family.
Two years later, she was legally separated and had filed for divorce. Paul had yet to sign the papers, not because he wanted to make their marriage work, but because he just hadn’t gotten around to it. She knew that because the one time she’d managed to reach him by telephone, he’d admitted as much, right after which he’d launched into an excited monologue on his team’s most recent findings. His work, once again, took precedence.
Regina hadn’t pressed the issue. Why rush failure? So she remained in limbo. Now she wondered, was that any better?
She glanced over at Dane. She barely knew him and yet in the span of a mere hour she’d already formed the opinion that he didn’t believe in postponing trouble or confrontations. No, he seemed the sort who faced whatever came along when it came along—from a sinking boat to a raging electrical storm to an angry woman aiming a firearm at his heart.
One broad shoulder poked from the afghan her grandmother had knitted a half-century earlier. Even the cover’s mauve-and-pink squares couldn’t detract from his masculinity. In the flickering light she noted the firm musculature on what she could see of his chest, arms and legs. More than good genes, it took discipline to get a body that looked like that. Ree respected discipline as long as it didn’t snuff out all spontaneity.
She glanced up then and realized he’d been watching her study him. Clearing her throat, she asked, “Are you hungry or would you rather just go to bed?”
His slow smile seemed to fan the heat that was flooding into her cheeks.
“I’m famished.”
It was Dane who spoke and yet Ree found herself moistening her lips. Another kind of appetite whetted as she repeated, “Famished.”
He winked then. “Yeah, but first I’d like to clean up a bit more, if that’s okay with you?”
She’d brought him a damp washcloth and towel after bandaging his hand, not trusting him to stand long enough at the bathroom sink to wash his face. But she could appreciate his desire to rinse off more of the grime.
“Of