Sparks of Temptation. Brenda JacksonЧитать онлайн книгу.
about moving here. Maybe he should be questioning his own sanity for not convincing her to move on and return to where she came from. No matter her best intentions, she wasn’t cut out to be a rancher, not with her soft hands and manicured nails.
He believed there had to be some inner conflict driving her to try to run the ranch. He decided then and there that he would do whatever he could to help her succeed. And as she set the tea tray down on the table he knew at that moment she was someone he wanted to get to know better in the process.
“It’s herbal tea. Do you want me to add any type of sweetener?” she asked.
“No,” he said flatly, although he wasn’t sure if he did or not. He wasn’t a hot tea drinker, but did enjoy a glass of cold sweet tea from time to time. However, for some reason he felt he would probably enjoy his hot tea like he did his coffee—without anything added to it.
“I prefer mine sweet,” she said softly, turning and smiling over at him. His guts tightened and he tried like hell to ignore the ache deep within and the attraction for this woman. He’d never felt anything like this before.
He was still standing and when she crossed the room toward him carrying his cup of tea, he had to forcibly propel air through his lungs with every step she took. Her beauty was brutal to the eyes but soothing to the soul, and he was enjoying the view in deep male appreciation. How old was she and what was she doing out here in the middle of nowhere trying to run a ranch?
“Here you are, Jason.”
He liked the sound of his name from her lips and when he took the glass from her hands they touched in the process. Immediately, he felt his stomach muscles begin to clench.
“Thanks,” he said, thinking he needed to step away from her and not let Bella Bostwick crowd his space. But he also very much wanted to keep her right there. Topping the list was her scent. He wasn’t sure what perfume she was wearing but it was definitely an attention grabber, although her beauty alone would do the trick.
“You’re welcome. Now I suggest we sit down or I’m going to get a crick in my neck staring up at you.”
He heard the smile in her voice and then saw it on her lips. It stirred to life something inside of him and for a moment he wondered if her smile was genuine or practiced and quickly came to the conclusion it was genuine. During his thirty-four years he had met women who’d been as phony as a four-dollar bill but he had a feeling Bella Bostwick wasn’t one of them. In fact, she might be a little too real for her own good.
“I don’t want that to happen,” he said, easing down on her sofa and stretching his long legs out in front of him. He watched as she then eased down in the comfortable-looking recliner he had bought Herman five years ago for his seventy-fifth birthday.
Jason figured this was probably one of the craziest things he’d ever done, sit with a woman in her living room in the middle of the day and converse with her while sipping tea. But he was doing it and at that moment, he couldn’t imagine any other place he’d rather be.
* * *
Bella took a sip of her tea and studied Jason over the rim of her cup. Who was he? Why was she so attracted to him? And why was he attracted to her? And she knew the latter was true. She’d felt it that night at the ball and she could feel it now. He was able to bring out desires in her that she’d never felt before but for some reason she didn’t feel threatened by those feelings. Instead, although she really didn’t know him, she felt he was a powerhouse of strength, tenderness and protectiveness all rolled into one. She knew he would never hurt her.
“So, tell me about yourself, Jason,” she heard herself say, wanting so much to hear about the man who seemed to be taking up so much space in her living room as well as in her mind.
A smile touched his lips when he said, “I’m a Westmoreland.”
His words raised her curiosity up a notch. Was being a Westmoreland supposed to mean something? She hadn’t heard any type of arrogance or egotism in his words, just a sense of pride, self-respect and honor.
“And what does being a Westmoreland mean?” she asked as she tucked her legs beneath her to get more comfortable in the chair.
She watched him take a sip of his tea. “There’s a bunch of us, fifteen in fact,” Jason said.
She nodded, taking in his response. “Fifteen?”
“Yes. And that’s not counting the three Westmoreland wives and a cousin-in-law from Australia. In our family tree we’ve now become known as the Denver Westmorelands.”
“Denver Westmorelands? Does that mean there are more Westmorelands in other parts of the country?”
“Yes, there are some who sprung from the Atlanta area. We have fifteen cousins there, as well. Most of them were at the Westmoreland charity ball.”
An amused smile touched her lips. She recalled seeing them and remembered thinking how much they’d resembled in looks or height. Jason had been the only one she’d gotten a real good close-up view of, and the only one she’d held a conversation with before her uncle had practically dragged her away from the party that night.
She then decided to bring up something she’d detected at the ball. “You and my uncle Kenneth don’t get along.”
If her statement surprised him the astonishment was not reflected in his face. “No, we’ve never gotten along,” he said as if the thought didn’t bother him, in fact he preferred it that way.
She paused and waited on him to elaborate but he didn’t. He just took another sip of tea.
“And why is that?”
He shrugged massive shoulders and the gesture made her body even more responsive to his. “I can’t rightly say why we’ve never seen eye-to-eye on a number of things.”
“What about my grandfather? Did you get along with him?”
He chuckled. “Actually I did. Herman and I had a good relationship that started back when I was kid. He taught me a lot about ranching and I enjoyed our chats.”
She took a sip of her tea. “Did he ever mention anything about having a granddaughter?”
“No, but then I didn’t know he had a son, either. The only family I knew about was Kenneth and their relationship was rather strained.”
She nodded. She’d heard the story of how her father had left for college at the age of seventeen, never to return. Her uncle Kenneth claimed he wasn’t sure what the disagreement had been between the two men since he himself had been a young kid at the time. David Bostwick had made his riches on the East Coast, first as a land developer and then as an investor in all sorts of moneymaking ventures. That was how he’d met her mother, a Savannah socialite, daughter of a shipping magnate and ten years her senior. The marriage had been based more on increasing their wealth instead of love. She was well aware of both of her parents’ supposedly discreet affairs.
And as far as Kenneth Bostwick was concerned, she knew that Herman’s widowed father at the age of seventy married a thirty-something-year-old woman and Kenneth had been their only child. Bella gathered from bits and pieces she’d overheard from Kenneth’s daughter, Elyse, that Kenneth and Herman had never gotten along because Herman thought Kenneth’s mother, Belinda, hadn’t been anything but a gold digger who married a man old enough to be her grandfather.
“Finding out Herman had a granddaughter came as a surprise to everyone around these parts.”
Bella chuckled softly. “Yes, and it came as quite a surprise to me to discover I had a grandfather.”
She saw the surprise that touched his face. “You didn’t know about Herman?”
“No. I thought both my father’s parents were dead. My father was close to forty when he married my mother and when I was in my teens he was in his fifties already so I assumed his parents were deceased since he never mentioned them. I didn’t know about Herman until I got a summons