Come Fly With Me.... Fiona BrandЧитать онлайн книгу.
relaxed, she seemed happy and she liked it. Even Abraham seemed to be more chilled out. Two feeds, lots of wind and no crying fits. Finally things were starting to settle.
‘We need to let the cakes cool before we ice them. So let’s give them a minute.’ She pulled out some plates from the cupboard, then shook her head and went back to look for more.
‘What’s wrong with my plates’?
‘Nothing.’ Her voice was muffled as she crouched in one of his kitchen cupboards. ‘But cake-eating is an art form. You have to have better plates than those. Aha.’ She pulled herself back out of the cupboard with something in her hand. ‘These are much better.’
She stood up and put the fine bone china plates on the countertop. White with tiny red flowers painted on them. Another remnant of his grandmother. She’d used them for eating cake, too—probably why they were now hidden in the depths of his cupboards.
The lights flickered around them.
‘Uh-oh,’ murmured Carrie. ‘That’s the third time that’s happened now.’
Dan walked over next to her. ‘This could be a problem.’
She turned to face him. ‘Why?’
‘Because I don’t have any candles.’
She looked at him in mock horror and held up her hands. ‘You don’t? What kind of emergency guy are you? Aren’t you cops supposed to be prepared for anything?’
He didn’t move, just kept his eyes fixed on her face. ‘Not everything.’ His voice was quiet, barely a whisper. There was no mistaking the alternative meaning.
She looked up at him. He was only inches from her face, inches from her lips. The lights flickered again, so he moved a little closer, his hand resting on her hip.
She didn’t move. Not an inch. Her tongue came out slowly and ran along her lips, as if, without even realising it, she was preparing them for kissing.
She could feel the pull. She could feel the same draw that he felt. He wasn’t wrong about this—he could tell.
It had been there all day and they had been dancing around the edges of it. But now it wasn’t hiding any more. It was right there in front of them.
His fingers pressed into her hip, pulling her pelvis a little closer to his, giving her every opportunity to object—to resist.
But she didn’t.
He leaned forward. ‘Carrie McKenzie, I’m going to kiss you now.’ His voice was low, trying to entice her to edge forward to hear it.
But she didn’t do that.
She did something totally unexpected. She lifted her hands and wrapped them around his neck. ‘It’s about time,’ she whispered as she rose up on her toes to meet his lips.
Honey. She tasted of honey. Was there honey in the chocolate cake she’d just baked? At least that was what it felt like. The kiss started out shy—tentative. He didn’t want her to feel forced. He didn’t want her to feel as if she couldn’t say no. He just prayed she wouldn’t.
Her fingers wound up across his shorn hairline as the kiss deepened. As her tongue teased with his. Then she let out a little sigh that almost undid him completely.
He should pull back. He should let her out of his arms to give her time to think about this. There was still so much about Carrie McKenzie he didn’t know.
But right now he didn’t want to. Letting her go was the last thing he wanted to do right now. Not when she seemed to be matching him move for move.
And in an instant everything was black.
* * *
They jumped apart, then instantly moved back together again, bashing noses.
‘Oops.’ Carrie started to giggle as she rubbed her nose. ‘I guess that will be the power cut, then.’
‘I guess it is. Do you have any candles?’
‘Yeah, I have some upstairs in my apartment. Not the emergency kind. More the bathroom kind.’
‘What’s a bathroom kind of candle?’
‘The scented kind. The kind you light around your bath.’
He shook his head. ‘I guess I’ll take your word for it. We’ll need something.’
‘I’ll go up and get them.’
He slipped his hand into hers. ‘Let me come with you.’
‘What about the baby?’ She glanced over in the direction of the silent crib.
‘Leave the door open. We’ll only be a few minutes. He’s sleeping. Nothing’s going to happen.’
He liked holding her hand. It felt right inside his. It fitted.
They stumbled towards the door, leaving it wide open, and stepped out into the hallway. There was no light in the hall at all. No street lights shining in. No gentle glow underneath the opposite door. It was weird. He couldn’t remember the last time there had been a power cut—probably why he didn’t have any candles. He reached out for the banister and started up the stairs, giving her a gentle tug behind him.
They reached her door and she glanced in the direction of Mrs Van Dyke’s apartment. ‘Do you think we should check on her?’
‘Maybe. Do you have any extra candles she could have?’
She let out a little laugh. ‘Oh, I have a whole year’s supply in here.’ She pushed open the door to her apartment and walked over to the bathroom, bending down and pulling things from one of the cupboards.
Dan looked around as best he could. It took a few seconds for his eyes to adjust to the dark. The only available light was the moonlight outside, streaming in through one of the windows.
Neat. Tidy. Everything in its place.
There was nothing strange about that. Lots of women he knew were tidy. But there was something else. Something he couldn’t quite put his finger on.
He moved across the room, putting his hand on the back of the leather sofa.
This wasn’t Carrie’s place, so she wouldn’t have chosen any of the furnishings. But she’d been here for a few months now.
The darkness wasn’t helping. Nor was the sight of Carrie’s behind in her jeans as she bent over the cupboards and pulled out an array of candles.
She walked back over, fumbled through a drawer for a box of matches and lit the candle she was holding in a glass jar. The warm light spread up around her face, illuminating her like some TV movie star.
Candlelight suited her. Her pale skin glowed, her brown curly hair shiny and her eyes bright. She smiled as she held it out towards him and the aroma from the melting wax started to emerge.
He wrinkled his nose. ‘What is that? Washing powder?’
She waved her hand in the air to waft the smell a little further. ‘Close. Cotton fresh. I’ve also got lavender, orange, cinnamon, raspberry, spring dew and rain shower.’
‘Sheesh. Who names these candles?’
She lit another one and moved over next to him again. ‘I think it would be a great job. Right up there with naming paint shades.’
‘You’d have a field day doing that.’
‘You can bet on it. Imagine the fun. Shades of yellow—sunshine rays or daffodil petals. Shades of purple—sugared violet, lavender dreams or amethyst infusion.’ Even in this dim light he could see the twinkle in her eyes and the enthusiasm in her voice were completely natural.
‘Wow. You weren’t joking, were you?’ He took a little step closer.
She shook her head slowly. ‘I don’t