Winning His Heart: The Millionaire's Homecoming / The Maverick Millionaire. Melissa McCloneЧитать онлайн книгу.
Night.” He shrugged, embarrassed.
But she felt as if she drank in the words like a flower deprived too long of water.
In that Lakeside Life feature on David and Blaze Enterprises, it had said, almost as an aside, that David had one of the largest private collections of art in the country. Again, the man who stood in front of her did not seem like the same boy who had raced her on bicycles down these tree-lined streets.
This David, this man of the world and collector of art, thought she was worthy of a painting? He saw something else in her besides a furrow-browed worrier?
Kayla could feel tears smarting her eyes, so she said swiftly, carelessly, turning her head from his gaze and pressing her fingers into her forehead to erase any remaining worry lines,“I guess the swelling has gone down, then.” She pretended she was concerned about the swelling from the beesting rather than the worry lines!
She felt his fingers on her chin, turning her unwilling gaze back to him.
He searched her face, and she felt as if she was wide open to him: the loneliness, the crushing disappointment, the constant worry, all of it. She felt as if he could see her.
And she realized, stunned, she had always felt like that. As if David could see her.
The longing that leaped within her terrified her. The longing and the recrimination. She suddenly felt as if every choice she had ever made had been wrong.
And she probably still could not be trusted with choices!
Kayla reminded herself she had made a vow that she was not going to offer herself on the altar of love anymore.
She had vowed to be content with the house Kevin’s parents had given her—restoring it to some semblance of order, never mind its former glory, should be enough to fill her days! Add to that her dog, when she found him, and eventually her business when she discovered the right one.
Those things would fill her, complete her, give her purpose, without leaving her open to the pain and heartache of loving.
She hated it that the night was working some odd magic on her, that she would even think the word love in the presence of David.
She broke free of his fingers and his searching gaze, darted down the steps and across the back lawn.
“Kayla,” he called. “Stop.”
But she didn’t. Stop why? So that he could dissect her heartbreak? Lay open her disappointments with his eyes? No, she kept on going. Nothing could stop her.
Except his next words.
“Kayla, stop. I think I see the dog.”
AT FIRST KAYLA THOUGHT it was a trick. Kevin had not been above using what she wanted most to get his own way.
Once we get established, in our new town, then we can talk about a baby.
She whirled, already angry that something about David being here was bringing all this stuff up. She was prepared to be very angry if David had used her dog to make her do what he wanted.
He was not looking at her, but had gone to the railing of his deck and was watching something intently. She followed David’ gaze, and though it was dark, she saw Bastigal’s little rump, tail tucked hard between his legs, disappearing through the Blazes’ hedges and heading out onto the street.
Kayla’s heart leaped with hope.
David stepped back inside the door, shoved his feet in a pair of sneakers and went down the back porch steps two at a time. He blasted through the boxwood, careless of the branches scraping him.
Kayla looked down at her own bare feet, and contemplated the skimpy fabric of her nightgown. By the time she went and got shoes on, or grabbed a sweater to cover herself—her sweater had gone inside with Mrs. Blaze—the dog would be gone. She doubted Bastigal would come to David even if he did manage to catch up to him.
It was the middle of the night. It was not as if anyone was going to see her.
Except him. David. And he thought I should be painted.
Without nearly enough thought, with a spontaneity that felt wonderfully freeing, Kayla took off through the hedge after David.
She saw he was crossing the deserted street at a dead run. If Kayla had had any doubt that he had maintained the athleticism of a decade before, it was vanquished. He ran like the wind, effortless, his strides long and ground covering. In the blink of an eye, David had crossed the silvered front lawn of a house across the street. Without breaking stride he charged around the side of a house and disappeared into the backyard.
She followed him. She thought her feet would give her grief, but in actual fact she had spent all the summers of her life barefoot, and she loved the feeling of the grass on them, velvety, dewy, perfect lawns springing beneath her feet.
She arrived in the backyard just in time to watch David hurdle effortlessly over a low picket fence into the next yard. She scrambled over it, catching her nightie. She yanked it free and kept running. She didn’t see Bastigal, but David must have seen the dog, because he was chasing after something like a hound on the scent.
She caught up with David after finding her way through a set of particularly prickly hedges. They were in the middle of someone’s back lawn. She cast a glance at the darkened windows.
“Do you see him?” she whispered.
He held a finger to his lips, and they both listened, and heard a rustle in the thick shrubs that bordered the lawn.
“Bastigal!” Kayla called in a stage whisper, both not wanting to frighten the dog or wake the neighbors.
Twigs cracked and leaves rustled, but she didn’t catch so much as a glimpse of her dog, and the sound was moving determinedly away from them.
David moved cautiously toward it. She tiptoed after him. And then David was off like a sprinter out of the blocks, and Kayla kept on his heels.
Three blocks later, she had done the fast tour of every backyard in the neighborhood, and they now found themselves on Peachtree Lane, in the front yard of a house that was on Blossom Valley’s register of most notable heritage homes.
“I think we lost him,” David said, and put his hands on his knees, bent forward at the waist and tried to catch his breath.
“Dammit.” She followed his lead and rested her hands on her knees, bent over and gasping for air. She was so close to him she could see the shine of perspiration on his brow, the tangy, sweet scent of a clean man’s sweat tickled her nostrils.
“Don’t move a muscle,” David whispered. He nodded toward the deep shadow of a shrub drooping under the weight of heavy purple blossoms.
One of the blossoms stirred in the windless night. The leaves parted.
Kayla stopped gasping and held her breath.
A little beige-colored bunny came out, blinked its pinky eyes at them and wiggled its nose.
“Is that what we’ve been chasing?” she asked.
“I think so.”
“Dammit,” she said for the second time.
But despite her disappointment, Kayla was aware that her blood felt as if it were humming through her veins, and that she felt wonderfully, delightfully alive.
She began to laugh. She tried to muffle her laughter so as not to disturb the sleeping neighborhood.
David straightened, watched her, arms folded over his chest. He shook his head, and then smiled. Then he chuckled.
She collapsed on the grass, on her back, knees up. She tugged her nightie, now torn at the hem where it had snagged, down over her bare knees, and then spread her