Always Valentine's Day. Kristin HardyЧитать онлайн книгу.
Suspicion bloomed into anger. And betrayal. “So you know who Carter is.” Probably right down to his net worth, Larkin thought as she strode down to her door, key card in hand.
“I followed the industry, and Carter was a part of it,” Christopher responded. “I don’t get what the problem is here.”
“Let me catch up a minute. You were a Washington mover and shaker, and then one day you just decided to throw it all away to become a farmer?”
“I wouldn’t use the words throwing it all away,” he said curtly. “I decided I wanted something else.”
“Except it sounds like that something else isn’t treating you too well.”
A muscle jumped in his jaw. “If you knew anything about farming, you’d know that’s pretty common.”
“How convenient for you that you met me.”
He frowned. “Meaning?”
Larkin gave him a bright, hard, merciless smile. “It’s funny how it works when you’re the daughter of a man like Carter. The whole world wants to be your best friend. Every guy with any ambition wants to date you—hell, forget dating, they want marriage, as long as it comes with a piece of the pie. They want to get close to the man. I’ve been offered five-carat diamond engagement rings.” She ran her key card and opened her door. “And you thought you were making progress with just a kiss or two?”
She started to walk inside but he caught at her shoulder. “That’s nuts. Paranoid.”
She whirled on him. “You want a list of the times it happened?” She’d had a lifetime of sharp-eyed people who wanted to use her to get close to Carter and his money.
She just hadn’t expected Christopher to be one of them.
“Are you saying I kissed you because of Carter?” Christopher asked tightly, anger stirring in his words.
“Are you trying to say it had nothing to do with it?” She’d felt the chemistry when they’d met, but between the flirtation of the afternoon and the raging need that had flared that evening lay a vast gulf. Between the flirtation of the afternoon and the heat of the night, Christopher had seen her with Carter. Christopher, who knew exactly who Carter Hayes was, and how much money he had. “Why didn’t you tell me you recognized Carter?” she demanded, striding inside.
He stalked after her. “Because I didn’t. When I saw you guys before, you were down the hall. I didn’t get a good look.”
“Yeah, right.”
There was a subtle change in his stance, even though he didn’t move. If she’d been paying attention, Larkin would have seen it. “So I’m a hustler now, is that it?” he demanded.
Too caught up in her own fury, she didn’t register the gathering storm. “You tell me. All I know is that it’s kind of funny how things changed. One minute, you’re just some guy chatting on deck. Then you see me with Carter—or excuse me, someone,” she qualified elaborately, missing the narrowing of his eyes, “and suddenly the next time we’re together you go all continental with the hand kissing and the heavy stares and…” She swallowed, remembering the flare of heat and need, noticing for the first time the palpable tension that hung around him.
“And?” he bit off, a dangerous flash in his eyes.
She flushed. “And nothing. If you want to try to get to Carter through me, you’re going to have to do a lot more than just kiss my hand.”
“Gladly.” And before she knew what he was about, he’d dragged her to him, lips coming down hot and possessive on hers.
This wasn’t a soft whisper of invitation; it wasn’t about tempting. This was frustration and challenge, anger and need. It was an all-out assault on her senses. Desire whipped through her in those first few stunned seconds, and she was helpless to do anything but feel. Every fiber of her being focused on the hot press of his mouth, the demand of his hands, the male flavor of him as her lips parted and he took them both deeper.
He kissed her with an almost arrogant ownership, as though he’d already plundered every inch of her body. As though he already knew exactly how she liked to be touched.
And he did.
The ship moved beneath them, but it was the arousal surging through her veins that had her clinging to him as she swayed against him on legs that would no longer hold her. The feel of his palms running over her bare shoulders made her shiver. She breathed in, open mouth to his, as though it was him she needed, more than sustenance, more than air. Her world had reduced to just this: his lips, his hands, his body against her.
He had no business kissing her like this, Christopher knew. But he’d been holding back practically since he’d first seen her. Somewhere along the line, the goading had loosened the tight grip he kept on his control. It wasn’t just irritation at the insult that had the passion and frustration inside him bubbling over. He needed more. He needed for her to acknowledge this pull between them. He needed to know that it clawed at her, too.
She was soft and pliant against him. The silken strands of her hair brushed at his cheek. She tasted dark and sweet and sinfully delicious, like some stolen treat to be scooped up with a fingertip and savored.
He worked his way across her cheek to the line of her jaw, tasting her skin. With a helpless noise, she let her head fall back. He pressed his lips against the curving line of her throat, inhaling her scent, half devouring her. The desire drummed through him, the need to take, the compulsion to satisfy the howling demand.
She wrapped herself around him, mouth moving avidly under his, making soft purring noises of pleasure.
He could take her at this moment, he knew. The bed was mere steps away. He could have them both naked in seconds and be sliding into that purely female softness, sliding into heat and sensation and inevitability to take them both over the edge. Instead, he made himself pull away, leaving her to stare at him, eyes dazed, mouth swollen from his.
“Wha…” She blinked. “I…”
“Trust me, Larkin.” He looked down at her. “Whatever happens between you and me has absolutely nothing to do with Carter.”
And he pulled open the door and walked away.
While he still could.
Chapter Three
Juneau was possibly the narrowest city Larkin had ever seen, clinging stubbornly to the tiny strip of flat ground that lay between the Gastineau Channel and the high mountains that rose abruptly a few hundred yards inland. What it lacked in width, it tried to make up for in length, stretching out along both sides of the inlet.
Larkin walked down the gangway, buttoning her coat against the chilly air. There must have been other days she’d started the day so cranky, but she couldn’t remember when.
“Flying over glaciers,” Carter said from behind her. “Now there’s something you don’t do every day.”
“Forget about the glaciers. Let the Trasks entertain themselves. We should do the zip line,” Larkin said. “What’s a zip line?”
Strenuous, risky, adrenaline-laced. Just the ticket for the mood she was in. “It’ll be fun. You’ll see.”
“Next time. For now, we’ve got a plane and pilot to ourselves for the day. We’ll see parts of Alaska you can’t get to on foot.”
Impatient to the last, Carter had hired a private plane and pilot. Forget about group excursions, he’d said. They’d see what they wanted to see, when they wanted to see it.
Them, and now their new guests.
Molly Trask stood on the pier beyond the bottom of the gangway, her cheeks pretty and pink with cold. “Good morning,” she called out as they approached.
Great,