Can't Fight This Feeling. Christie RidgwayЧитать онлайн книгу.
then, paper chaos.”
He shrugged. “I had a part-timer working in my office at the end of the summer. But then high school started and she’s much too busy for me now.”
At her raised brow, he added a little more. “Kid’s a whiz with just about everything. She’s my sister Shay’s stepdaughter-to-be.”
“Your sister’s getting married?”
“Two out of the three of them. Both Shay and Poppy.”
She opened her mouth, but he pointed at it before she could get a word out. “Don’t ask me a damn thing about the weddings. I make it my job not to absorb a word they say about them.”
“You don’t approve?”
“The men they’re marrying, Ryan and Jace, are great. It’s the constant chatter about dresses, rehearsals and seating arrangements that make me want to bash my brains in with a shovel.”
“Something else we have in common. I’m not a big fan of weddings, either.”
Okay, now she surprised him.
“Don’t look so shocked. Not every woman dreams of that big day. Between them, my parents have been married seven times. For all but the first, of course, I’ve been standing by in something itchy or ugly, pretending I believe they’ll have a happy-ever-after.”
“Seven divorces then?”
“Six. My mother’s still married to her current, though I doubt they’ll last.” She gave a little shrug.
The small, indifferent gesture felt like a punch to the gut. For some reason he’d assumed she was like his little sister Poppy, who walked through life with stars in her eyes. She wore her open heart and her belief in happy endings right there on her sleeve.
But Angelica had a more jaded view and it wasn’t sitting well with him. Just as he’d felt compelled to chase away her chilled hands with hot chocolate, now he wanted to gather her up and soothe those old hurts he sensed.
It was a damn dangerous urge, because going soft for a woman was a sure way to get himself crushed.
Had that T-shirt.
Brett looked down at the table. Their cups were drained, meaning it was time to move on and move her out of his life. He hitched back his chair and she immediately took the hint and rose from her own. He stood, too, and they were close enough that if he had all the time in the world he could count each one of her luxurious lashes.
We’ll likely never see each other again.
With that in mind, maybe he could kiss her.
His hand drifted toward her. He snagged an errant lock of hair with his forefinger and brushed it away from her cheek. Her color heightened and he saw her fight a shiver—and lose.
Hell. He closed his eyes a moment, willing himself to keep still. But her visceral response to his touch only made him want more...more access to her hair, her skin, her body. More opportunities to watch her react to his hands on her, his mouth on hers...
Opening his eyes, he saw she was staring at his shirt buttons, hard. Her fingers were curled into fists and as he watched, she swallowed. “Time to go,” she said.
Neither of them moved. That weight was back, anchoring him to the floor, slowing his heartbeat to a funeral dirge. “Yeah.”
“Yeah.” She edged back, now far enough away that it would take effort to claim that kiss he shouldn’t be thinking of. Smart girl.
He cleared his throat. “That ghastly pile of paperwork is waiting for me.”
She glanced up. Their gazes caught. “You know, maybe I could...” Her voice trailed off.
The sentence didn’t need to be finished for him to understand the half-spoken offer. And why she’d stopped herself. Unless they went separate ways, their certain collision wouldn’t end pretty. Yes, a very smart girl.
“No,” he said. “You’re not suited for that kind of risk, either.”
Brett might as well have been saying those words about himself.
* * *
ANGELICA WALKED WITH Glory from the parking lot to the headquarters, and museum, of the Mountain Historical Society. It was a stucco bungalow seated among tall pines and partnered by the blacktop parking area made bumpy by roots that had caused deep ruts and sudden swells. “I’m afraid I’m not going to be very much fun this evening,” she warned her friend. “I should have stayed home.”
The darkness was barely alleviated by a lone dim light on a tall pole, but she didn’t need to see Glory’s face to know the other woman sympathized. “Another call from the lawyers?”
“Yes. Any day now, they say, the word will get out.” While she had nothing to do with her father’s perfidy, she still felt terrible about it. And, to be honest, felt terrible for herself. Terribly alone. She sighed.
Glory linked arms with her. “It’s good for you to do something besides mope. You need more work and making contacts is the right way to find it. You’ll get better acquainted with people and then who knows what might come up?”
Though the auction wrap-up meeting was open to the general membership, Angelica didn’t expect many besides the committee members would bother to attend. It looked as though she was right. When she gazed about the conference table, the only one there who hadn’t been directly involved was Vaughn Elliott—whose grandfather had donated his mountain home’s contents to the group.
They’d made over a million dollars from the silent sales.
Angelica stared as the committee chair, Ruth Nagel, made the announcement. The older woman could hardly contain her excitement. “I think Piney is our good luck charm!”
They all glanced through the open doorway to the lobby, where a seven-foot stuffed bear loomed over the welcome desk. It had been part of the Elliott estate, but they’d unanimously decided to keep it as the society’s mascot of sorts.
“Maybe we should be grateful to Angelica, too,” Glory put in. “It was she who curated the items, providing context and provenance whenever possible.”
Ruth beamed and toasted her with her foam cup of terrible coffee. “Thank you, Angelica.”
She waved the gratitude away, though she did appreciate it. Glory had cajoled her onto the committee early in their friendship and she’d enjoyed the work she’d put in. It had been interesting to catalog the historical items, everything from exquisite furniture to antique sets of golf clubs to a beautiful world globe inlaid with abalone shell.
“Maybe we should contact the buyers and get them to write up testimonials we can put in next year’s program,” Vaughn Elliott said. About thirty, he was tall and golden-haired and maybe with a trust fund or something because Angelica didn’t get the impression he worked for a living. “I’d be happy to take that on if you’d give me the list of names.”
“Can’t do it,” Ruth said. “That’s confidential info...something the lawyers insisted upon. Anyway, next year we won’t be having an auction—just a big black-tie event. This was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.”
Vaughn nodded, seeming satisfied. “I’m sure my grandfather, wherever he is, is thrilled by the value of his gift.”
There was little more to cover. Each of them made promises to write up their thoughts and ideas for improvements for the coming year’s committee. “Though we would love all of you to continue,” Ruth said. When several people murmured an assent, her gaze zeroed in on Angelica. “Please say you’ll be helping again.”
She hedged. “I’m not sure of my long-term plans.” But under the circumstances staying in the mountains would suit her best. She had familiarity, a friend or two, and it