Do You Take This Baby?. Wendy WarrenЧитать онлайн книгу.
or are you gracing the old hometown with a longer visit?” As a wide receiver for the Seattle Eagles and the proud bearer of a Super Bowl ring, Ethan was one of Thunder Ridge’s favorite sons. He truly was a local celebrity, with fame lasting a lot longer than fifteen minutes. And his ads for BoldFit men’s skivvies had garnered a new generation of teenage girls who were swooning over him.
“I’m Scott’s best man. Have to fulfill my duties.”
“Getting the keg for the bachelor party? Just FYI, Elyse will sever body parts if you hire a stripper.”
He grinned hugely. “I don’t know any strippers.”
“Not even the ones you’ve dated?”
He laughed outright, not the least bit offended. “And how about you?” he asked. “You still live and work in Portland, right? Last time I was in Thunder Ridge, I stopped by to see your parents. They mentioned they don’t see you as much as they’d like.”
The news that he still visited her parents when he was in town did not come as a surprise. Her mother proudly mentioned it each occasion when it happened. Ethan was two years younger than Gemma and the same age as Scott Carmichael, Elyse’s fiancé. He and Scott had met while playing middle school sports. Growing up with an aunt and uncle who’d rescued him from a dysfunctional situation, he’d spent lots of evenings and weekends accompanying Scott to the Gould home. Elyse and Scott were already an item in middle school, and Gemma’s mom had considered Ethan a “trustworthy chaperone.” Ha! She should only have known.
“My parents won’t be happy until every one of us kids moves back into our old rooms—with or without our spouses and children,” Gemma said, intending to dismiss her mother’s complaint, but then she winced. Ethan’s eyes narrowed, and she realized her parents must have told him that her engagement to William Munson, a math professor, had ended almost a year ago. “Anyway,” she said with false brightness, “I come home almost every weekend.”
Oh, hell’s bells. Could you sound more boring?
A burst of hysterical laughter rose in the family room. Her star turn as the worst bridesmaid on the planet must be playing in surround sound.
Looking down so Ethan wouldn’t see the heat that rose furiously to her face, Gemma wiped her hands on the apron she wore over her dress. “Well, I’d better go...check on the dessert.” A lame excuse, for sure, but she needed to escape.
He grabbed her arm before she could leave. “Why do you let them take advantage of you?” The words were soft, but penetrating.
She blinked at his expression. Gemma had seen Ethan on TV when his team went to the Super Bowl. The whole town had watched. Ernest Dale at Ernie’s Electronics had set up three TVs in the store window, all programmed for the game. Gemma couldn’t have missed it if she’d tried; Thunder Ridge had turned into one giant Super Bowl party just for Ethan.
As the wide receiver, he’d caught a number of passes and was playing well, but then three-quarters into the action, he’d missed an outside pass. He took off his helmet and threw it to the ground, the camera following him. Jaw square and tense, brow lowered, eyes penetrating, he looked very much the way he did right now—angry and disgusted.
“I don’t know what you mean,” she said, because she truly didn’t. Her family wasn’t perfect, of course not, and as the baby, Elyse could appear spoiled at times, but they loved Gemma. She was the eldest daughter, and perhaps the only one in their family tree who was logical, practical and coolheaded in a pinch. “No one is taking advantage of me. I help because I want to.”
“Admirable.” His eyes looked almost iridescent in the afternoon sun slanting across her parents’ backyard. “But who helps you?”
Maybe it was his lowered voice adding intimacy to the question. Or perhaps Gemma was simply tired and vulnerable, but tears pricked her eyes. Oh, no, no. We are not going there. Not with him.
She had thoroughly humiliated herself twice in her life. One of those times was being replayed in the family room for everyone to see. The other incident was long past, but in many ways it had been worse, and Ethan Ladd had been responsible for it. Partly responsible. Mostly responsible.
Oh, what the hell, it had been all his fault. He had ruined her senior year homecoming dance. He had ruined her senior year, period. Gemma had her revenge, but she’d stayed emotionally distant and physically away from him as much as she’d been able to after that miserable night. No way was she going to give in to the weird urge to blubber into his broad chest now.
“Thank you, Ethan,” she said in her best Professor Gould voice, “but I have lots of support. Right now, all I need is to make sure the cheesecake stands at room temperature for twenty minutes before we serve it, so if you’ll excuse me.”
“I’ll come with you.”
“That’s not necessary.”
“Yeah, it is. I brought my own veggie burger. Left it in the kitchen.”
She glanced at his heavily muscled body, evident even beneath the T-shirt and jeans. “Veggie burger?” she said doubtfully, walking toward the patio door that led to her parents’ ample kitchen. “Since when?” In high school, he’d once sat in their kitchen and scarfed down four hot dogs and half a large pepperoni pizza.
“I consider my body a temple.” Mischief undercut his tone. He reached the door, opened it and held it open, his arm high above her head, looking down at her as she passed through. She caught his wink. “Have to make up for all those years of debauchery.”
He was angling for a response. “Careful you don’t change too quickly,” she replied, “you wouldn’t want to send yourself into shock.”
Ethan’s easy laughter rang through the kitchen. Her body responded to the sound, sending shivers over her skin. Darn.
“I was kidding about the veggie burger. I only like them if they have meat and cheese.” He went straight to the refrigerator and peered in. “That’s a lot of cheesecake.” He began to stack the boxes in his arms.
“I’ll do it,” she protested.
Paying no attention, he deposited the cakes on the center island and opened the white cardboard. “Rocky road,” he murmured. Knowing exactly where to look in her mother’s cabinets, he retrieved a plate and fork.
“Stop!” she ordered as he began to work a knife into the dessert. “I told you, those aren’t supposed to be sliced until they’ve sat at room temperature for twenty minutes.”
“A rule clearly intended to be broken. Like so many other rules,” he purred, sliding a slice of the mile-high cheesecake onto the plate.
“I thought you were treating your body like a temple.”
“I am. I’m bringing it an offering.” Ethan seemed to let the bite melt in his mouth. His eyes half closed. “Mmm-mmm.”
Gemma’s knees went weak. How did he do that? How did he make eating look sexy? If she floated the fork through the air the way he was doing, she’d probably drop a chunk on her bosom. No wonder he’d garnered as much celebrity for his sex appeal as he had for playing football. Suddenly, Gemma felt very, very hungry, but not for cheesecake.
Fiddlesticks. Ethan Ladd short-circuited her brain and hampered her logic. It had been different when she had a fiancé. William was intelligent, educated, taught at the same college as her and was pretty much perfect for her. They’d met in the library, for crying out loud. Engaged to William Munson, Gemma had no longer thought about men who were wrong for her. She’d stopped reacting when Ethan’s name came up or when she heard he was in town, working on the McMansion he’d built on four acres that backed up to Long River. She had become neutral.
She needed another fiancé, stat.
“Gemma? Hey, Gemma!”
Ethan’s voice made her jump. “What?”
“I