With This Ring. Lee MckenzieЧитать онлайн книгу.
have any guy she set her sights on? She was from a wealthy, prominent family. He’d been raised by his mother in subsidized housing. A quick sideways glance assured him nothing had changed. She wore a necklace and earrings that had more diamonds than he’d ever seen outside a jewelry store. He stole a second look. Her engagement ring must have cost as much as he earned in two years. Maybe more.
He pulled the truck into his driveway, shut off the engine and turned to face her. “Here we are.”
She sat motionless, as though she might be having second thoughts. He could hardly blame her.
“Sit tight. I’ll come around and get the door for you.” If anything, the rain was coming down even harder than when he’d picked her up by the church. He jogged around the front of the truck and by the time he got to her door, his T-shirt was soaking wet. He opened the door and offered her a hand while being careful to keep his distance.
She placed her small, slender hand into his. For once she seemed willing to accept a little help without putting up a fight.
“You’re freezing,” he said. “Come on. Let’s get you inside.”
She was still clutching her shoes in her free hand but she managed to gather up the skirt of the wedding gown and step out of the truck. He should probably offer to take the shoes from her, but he sensed she’d only let him do so much before she let him have it.
“Ow!” She stumbled slightly when her bare feet touched the gravel.
Without giving her a chance to protest, he swung her off the ground and headed for the shelter of the veranda. With one arm supporting her shoulders and the other hooked behind her knees, he fumbled with the keys and finally found the lock.
“Brent?”
He looked down into her wide brown eyes and his hand froze on the knob. “What?”
“Put me down,” she whispered. “Please.” Her voice caught on the last word and came out in a little sob.
He set her down immediately. “Sorry. I was just trying to help.”
It sounded too lame to be the truth, even though it was. The wariness in Leslie’s eyes didn’t fade and he knew what she was thinking.
Smooth move, Borden. Since when did carrying another man’s bride across your threshold qualify as helpful?
LESLIE hadn’t given any thought to where Brent lived but she never would have predicted an old cottage that had been so carefully restored. She stopped inside the front door and looked around.
He came up behind her and she felt his hand on her back. “Something wrong?”
She shook her head. “What a charming little house.”
“You sound surprised.” He sounded offended.
“I just meant that it’s charming and it’s been beautifully restored and—” Hmm. Given that he worked for her brother’s construction company, he’d probably done the work himself. Still, the house seemed out of character for the Brent Borden she used to know, which suggested he probably hadn’t done this alone. “Did someone help you with it?”
He guided her into the entryway and closed the door. “You think I can’t fix up a house without a woman’s help?”
This was not going well. “I’m sorry.” How many times had she said that since he’d picked her up? “I’m not thinking too clearly. All I wanted to say is that you’ve done a great job. So, you live here alone?”
“No.”
Her brother had mentioned recently that Brent wasn’t married, but it made sense that someone as offhandedly charming and, let’s face it, downright sexy as Brent would have a woman in his life. Maybe even the one she’d seen him with at Donaldson’s Deli, not long after she’d moved back to Connecticut. Her stomach gave an odd little lurch.
“She won’t mind you bringing me here?” Stupid question. How many women would be happy to have their partner bring home a fugitive bride?
He eased around her, which brought him even closer. “I guess I could have called and left a message, but I’m pretty much used to doing whatever I want.”
More than anything, Leslie wanted to slap the smirk off his face, but the way he handled his relationship was none of her business. “Some things never change.”
He did a mini eye roll. “You got that right. But you’re here now so you might as well come in and meet Max.”
Max? Unusual name for a woman.
Brent kicked off his boots and walked across the living room and through the kitchen.
Leslie waited by the front door, not sure if she should venture farther until she knew what Max’s reaction would be. Besides, her dress was making a puddle on the floor and she didn’t want to make an even bigger mess of the gleaming hardwood.
A door opened and closed and that was followed by the sound of skittering on linoleum and by Brent’s voice. “Hey, boy, glad to see me? Come on. Yeah, good boy. Come on. Somebody wants to meet you.”
Max was a dog. And a boy dog at that. Brent had rescued her from an impossible situation and brought her here until she could figure out what to do next, and she’d insulted him and made herself look even more foolish. What was it about this man that brought out the worst in her?
No, that wasn’t fair. That made it sound as though this was his fault, and it wasn’t. A better question was, why did she still overreact to everything he said?
Before she could figure out the answer, a huge gray and white sheepdog bounded across the living room, heading straight for her.
“Max! Down!”
Max planted his front paws on the floor and skidded to stop in front of her, his entire back end wagging. He gazed at her through a shaggy curtain of fur.
“Max, sit.”
The dog’s ears perked up and he glanced back at his master as if checking to see if he really meant what he said.
“Sit.”
Max slowly lowered his wagging haunches to the floor.
Leslie patted his head. “Good boy.”
Humor sparkled in Brent’s eyes. “He doesn’t always behave but what he lacks in manners, he makes up for with enthusiasm.”
That makes two of you, she thought, but resisted the urge to say it out loud. After the way Brent had rescued her this morning, that would be unfair.
And at least Max hadn’t turned out to be the woman she’d seen him with at the deli. She’d seemed a little young for Brent, anyway. They had been sitting at a table that Saturday morning, his arm draped across the back of her chair. They were leaning close and gazing into each other’s eyes, and then she’d dipped her finger into the foam of her cappuccino and offered it to him. From the way he looked at her and took her finger into his mouth, it was obvious the two of them had spent the night together.
Brent hadn’t seen Leslie, so she’d quickly moved to the counter, her back toward him. After she’d made her purchase and chatted briefly with old Mr. Donaldson, she turned away from the counter and caught Brent watching her. His smile had been a combination of surprise and his old good-natured, happy-to-see-you charm. She’d given him a brief nod in return and hurried out of the shop. In high school she’d had to spend a certain amount of time with him because he was her brother’s best friend. This was no longer high school, and she was glad to see that he’d found someone to be with.
Half an hour later she’d finished shopping and was loading her purchases into the trunk of her car when she saw Brent helping Cappuccino Girl into his old blue and white truck. His hand had curled over her butt and lingered just a little too long.
Leslie withdrew her hand from the coarse, wiry fur on Max’s head and pulled the denim