Mercury Rising. Christine RimmerЧитать онлайн книгу.
work out, that’s all.”
“You’re looking away again. Let’s have some truth, Jane. Let’s have it out straight.”
She snapped her gaze back to collide with his and she muttered between clenched teeth, “You’re being purposely cruel. I’ve had enough of that, in my life. Cruelty. From a man.”
He leaned her way, just a little, enough that she felt him, encroaching, not quite enough to make her move back. “Listen,” he said in a low voice. “I’m not him. Not Rusty. Yeah, all right, I’ve had my run-ins with the law. I’ve made trouble. I’m not exactly a solid citizen. And I’ve got no interest in getting married. But I’ve never held up a damn convenience store. I earn my way. I pay for what’s mine. And the kind of cruel I’m guessing Rusty Jenkins was to you, I’m not and would never be. Get out your stack of bibles. I can swear to that.”
Her lips felt dry and hot. She licked them.
His gaze flicked down, watched her do that. “God,” he whispered.
And she forgot everything, but the sound of his voice and the shape of his mouth. All at once, they were leaning in, both of them. She smelled him, smelled the heat and the maleness, the clean cotton scent of his T-shirt. She felt his breath across her cheek.
Just before their lips could meet, she shoved her chair back and jumped to her feet. “No.” It came out every bit as desperate-sounding as she felt. “No, please…”
He sat back, draping a hard arm over the back of the chair, looking up at her through lazy, knowing eyes. “I wasn’t sure. About you, about how you felt. Sometimes, when a man wants a woman, it’s easy to imagine reactions that aren’t really there. But it’s there, isn’t it? It’s as bad for you as it is for me.”
She clenched her fists at her sides. What could she say to that? What could she tell him? The truth was unacceptable. And she was not a woman who told lies. “Nothing is going to happen between us. It’s…not what I want. Please understand.”
“Not what you want?”
“You know what I mean.”
“Oh, yeah. I think I do.” The gleam in those pale eyes told it all. He knew what she meant, all right. All the wrong things she meant. Her good intentions were nothing to him.
“You’re purposely misconstruing what I’m saying.”
“You’re not saying what you really mean.”
“I am. Yes. I’m not going to go out with you. Nothing is going to happen between us. You’d better forget me. And I’ll forget you.”
He shook his head. That smile that wasn’t quite a smile was back on his sinfully beautiful face. “How long’s it been, since this started, this thing between us, this thing that you keep telling yourself is going to just fade away? Months, anyway, right?”
“What does it matter? I want you to go now.”
He didn’t budge from that chair. “It matters because you’ve been fighting it, right? And don’t think I haven’t been fighting it, too. I have. I mean, come on, I got your messages. Loud and clear. You know the ones. Get back. Keep away. Don’t come near.”
“But here you are, anyway.” She was sneering. She couldn’t seem to stop herself. “Sitting in my kitchen.”
“You invited me in.”
“And I also asked you to leave, not two minutes ago.”
He chuckled then. “Jane, Jane, Jane…”
“Stop that!” She realized she’d shouted, brought the volume down to a whisper of rage. “Don’t you laugh at me.”
His face had gone dead serious. “I’m not. You know I’m not. I’m just telling you the truth. Being honest, the way you say you want it. I don’t think this is funny at all. The truth is, I want you. You want me. You deny it. I deny it. But it keeps on. It’s kept on for months. Ignoring it is not going to make it go away.”
She had no reply for that. He was right. They both knew it. “Look. I mean it. I’d like you to leave now.”
“Fine.” He gathered those long legs up and stood.
She stepped back, clear of him. His body could not be allowed to touch hers—even accidentally, in passing.
He gave her a look that burned and chilled at the same time. “I suppose you want me to go out like I came in. Through the back. That way, there’s less chance someone might see that I was in here, less chance your mother might hear about it.”
She drew herself up. “The implication being that my mother somehow runs my life?”
“Admit it.” His voice was way too soft. “You don’t want her to know I was here.”
It was Jane’s turn to shrug. “Okay. It would make it easier on me if she didn’t know—which is a very good reason for you to go out the front.”
He frowned. “I don’t get it.”
“I invited you in here. I’m not ashamed that I did. If my mother finds out, well, okay. She finds out.”
“She hates me—hates all us bad Bravos. You know that, don’t you?”
She did. “My mother is difficult. Her life didn’t work out the way she would have liked it to. She has a tendency to take out her disappointments on others. It’s sad, really. She needs love so much, yet she’s always pushing people away.”
He wore a musing look. “You surprise me.”
“Because I know my own mother?”
“I guess. I had you pegged differently, when it came to her.”
“Maybe you had me pegged wrong.”
“Maybe so.”
“The point is, I’m a grown woman. I’ve done nothing wrong here. Neither of us has. And I won’t live like a guilty child.”
He studied her for a moment, then he let out a hard breath. “Whatever. But I still think it’s best if I just leave through the back.” He started to move past her.
“Wait.” She reached out. He froze, his eyes daring her. She continued the movement, lifting her reaching hand to smooth her hair. The gesture didn’t fool either of them. She had almost touched him, had stopped herself just in time.
She dropped her hand. “This way.”
“Hey. Relax.”
“You’ll go out the front.”
He seemed amused. “Is that an order?”
“Just a statement of fact.”
“Okay, no problem. I can find the door myself.”
“No. I will see you out.”
He looked her up and down, his gaze sparking heat everywhere it touched. “So damn well brought up, aren’t you, Jane?”
Was that supposed to be an insult? “Yes, I am.”
She turned for the open doorway, but instead of going straight, into the family room, she went left, entering the central hall. He came along behind. It seemed to take a very long time to reach the front door.
But at last, they were there. She grabbed the door handle and pulled the door wide, unlatching the screen, pushing it open. He went through, out onto her porch, down the steps, into the sun that found the gold in his silky hair and reflected off his white T-shirt, so that she blinked against the sudden blinding brightness of just looking at him.
At the bottom of the steps, he paused and turned to her. “Thanks. For the iced tea.”
He hadn’t taken so much as a sip. “You’re welcome.”
“I’ll