At First Touch. Cindy MilesЧитать онлайн книгу.
then headed to the front of the store. He guided Reagan to a relatively empty checkout line. After loading all of the items, including a monster candy bar for Jep, Eric slid his card through to pay.
“Eric,” Reagan said, and when he looked, she held a fifty-dollar bill. “Please.”
“Well, I would,” he countered, lowering her hand with his. “But I aim to eat some of this fine Italiano fare you’re preparing, so it’s only right that I pay for it.”
The frown on her face proved she was not very happy.
“Besides, I already slid my card.” He looked at the cashier, Sarah, and inclined his head. “Tell her, Sarah. I already slid the card. What’s done is done.”
Sarah was a middle-aged woman with black hair tucked behind her ears and several shots of silver showing at her temples. Her eyebrows rose and she shrugged, but a smile tipped her lipstick-pink lips. She’d worked at the market for years now. “It’s true, honey. The card hath sliddeth, the deal done.”
Eric winked at Sarah and grinned.
Reagan shook her head. “You didn’t have to.” Then she lifted her chin. “Thanks,” she said quietly. “But if you pull something like that again, I’ll hurt you.”
Eric cast a quick glance at Sarah and shrugged.
“Gotcha. You’ll hurt me,” he offered. “Let’s get outta here, eh?”
The moment the automatic doors opened, heat poured in, replacing the frigid temp of the grocery store. The parking lot was filling up, and they made their way to Jep’s truck. “Sorry, no air,” he apologized. Jep’s truck was like a damned oven. “Weird, but I kinda like it like that.”
“I’m used to it,” Reagan claimed, and, holding on to the lip of the truck bed, made her way to the passenger’s side.
Eric quickly loaded the grocery bags, parked the cart in the drop spot and hurried back to the truck. He leaped in. “Anywhere else?” he asked, turning over the engine.
“We have meat and dairy in the back, Eric,” Reagan reminded.
Eric glanced at his occupant. “So. We’ll drop the stuff off and go grab a bite to eat? Maybe?” He pulled out of the parking lot.
“Thanks, but no,” she said. “I need to get back home.”
“But Reagan, we can—”
She turned to him then, blue eyes crazy mad and glassy. “Why are you being so nice to me?”
Eric turned another quick glance at Reagan. “Other than you’re gorgeous? Hmm. Gimme a sec. Let me think...”
She turned to the open window, facing away from him.
For once, he didn’t push. He left her to her thoughts as they crossed the two-lane bridge that carried them over the marsh and back to the island. Every few moments, he’d glance her way. Her body was rigid again, uncomfortable, like she was ready to bolt. Did he make her that uneasy? And wasn’t he doing it on purpose to lighten her up? Eric made it all the way to her drive, then, surprisingly, to her house, without uttering another word. The moment the truck stopped, she opened the door.
“Reagan,” he started, and climbed out and met her at the tailgate.
She slipped her glasses back on. “Look, Eric. I appreciate your eagerness to help me. But...I just can’t.”
“Can’t what?” he asked.
“All this...smelling of things, and seeing with my other senses. I’m just not ready for this new life that’s been thrown at me.” She inhaled, lifted her chin. “And I’m not ready for you.”
“Me? Aw, come on, of course you’re ready for me. There’s nothing to me. Really. I swear.”
She sighed and shook her head. “Can you just leave my bags on the porch by the door?”
Eric stared at her, and she was reeking with frustration, anger. She was independent, and she’d been robbed of it. Being a soldier? Yeah, she took it twice as hard. He could tell. “What? And risk Jep, either of my brothers or, hell, your sister socking me in the nose for just throwing your stuff on the porch?” He laughed softly and grabbed the bags, slipping them all onto both of his forearms. “Hell and no. Soldier, I’m afraid you’re just going to have to tap your little stick up those steps there and open the door for me. I’m already loaded down with your groceries.”
Reagan swore under her breath. He couldn’t quite make out the word, exactly, but thought it sounded familiar. Then she started moving toward the porch, her stick slapping at the ground in angry swipes until she felt the hard-wood planks. Once up the steps, she stomped to the door and unlocked it.
“You can set them on the counter in the kitchen,” she spat.
Eric trotted up the steps and brushed past her. Sitting all of the bags on the granite countertop, he turned to find Reagan still standing by the door. It was still open. A silent invitation for him to leave.
With a hefty sigh, Eric walked to her, and just before he stepped outside, he stopped. Regarded her face, the angry lines around her mouth. He knew she wasn’t specifically angry at him. He was her outlet, probably.
And he was going to work that anger right out of her.
“Thanks for taking me,” she announced again. “I...appreciate it.”
“What time should I be back?” he asked, smiling.
She shook her head and stared off toward the kitchen, aggravated. “Just...come whenever your brother comes.”
Eric’s grin widened. “Do you know how foxy you are when you’re pissed off?”
Reagan’s mouth pulled tight...right over the smile she was trying so hard to keep off her face. “Shut up and leave, will ya?”
Eric’s lips twitched and he leaned closer. God, she was so damn cute. “Please don’t screw up the ingredients.”
“Out!” Reagan barked.
Scooting past her, he stepped outside, and with a final glance over his shoulder, stared at his new neighbor. His old childhood pal.
The hot girl he was determined to make laugh.
Eric stopped at Jep’s truck and glanced over his shoulder, staring at the Quinns’ river house. A slow smile tipped his lips upward. “See ya tonight, Reagan Rose!”
When she didn’t answer, he merely chuckled, put the old truck into Reverse and headed home.
* * *
APPARENTLY, REAGAN DIDN’T know the force she was up against. Yeah, flirting was his character, and all along he’d been telling himself he was just helping out an old childhood pal.
But was he really?
REAGAN LISTENED TO the gravel crunch as Eric drove slowly up the drive.
Since when had he made it his personal mission to drive her crazy?
Standing in the kitchen, the house’s muteness all but consumed her. She strained her ears, trying to listen. To distinguish other sounds. Anything to break the silence.
Light filtered in through the many windows of the river house, causing more shapes of objects to appear in shadowy forms. Reagan strained her eyes as she scanned the counter, and began feeling inside each grocery bag to determine what needed to go into the refrigerator. Milk. Fruit. A package—square, cold, with plastic covering—came to her palm. She squeezed it a few times, trying to figure it out. She sniffed it. Nothing. Perhaps Eric had bought something and had forgotten to take it out of her bag? She sat it in the fridge, then turned to the lower cabinets, opening the