Christmas Baby: A Baby Under the Tree / A Baby For Christmas / Her Christmas Hero. Judy DuarteЧитать онлайн книгу.
wondered what Jillian would say if she knew how many of his family members worked in one law enforcement field or another. Or if he told her that he’d wanted to be a cop ever since he could remember and that he’d once believed he’d been born to wear a badge.
Stuff like that hadn’t mattered to Marcia. She’d hated everything about his line of work, which was why she’d eventually been the one to cheat, something he’d learned after the fact.
“You’re not very forthcoming,” Jillian said.
He hadn’t meant to clam up completely. “I’m sorry. It’s just that my ex-wife didn’t like my family or my job. So when you start asking me about either one of them, I get a little defensive and cryptic. It’s an old habit, I guess.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
To hear what? That he had old baggage and habits?
He didn’t want her to think that he was still dealing with the aftereffects of his divorce. “For what it’s worth, I did everything I could think of to make my marriage work. I went so far as to buy a house in a small town about an hour or so from Houston, even though that meant I’d have a big commute each day.”
“It didn’t help?”
“No, it was more than my family dynamics creating problems. My ex used to push me to change careers, to find a job that paid more money, a position that would allow me to spend more time at home. But that was one compromise I wasn’t willing to make.”
“So now you’re a tumbleweed. You can come and go as you please.”
“Yeah, I guess you can say that.”
She grew silent, and while he was tempted to get the conversation back on track, he wasn’t sure what to say that wouldn’t lead him back to the things he didn’t want to discuss. Like the losses he’d suffered—his wife through divorce, his son through death and his career by choice.
“I have a question I’ve been meaning to ask you,” he said.
“What’s that?” She picked up her napkin and blotted her lips.
He couldn’t see any reason to tiptoe around it, so he came right out and laid it on the table. “Do you ever think about the night we met?”
Her gaze lifted from her plate, and as it locked on his, his heartbeat rumbled in his chest. In the silence, a thousand words passed between them.
“Sometimes,” she admitted.
Her expression was far more revealing, and he suspected that her musings were more in tune to his own—and that she thought about what they’d shared in Houston more than she wanted him to know.
“So what do you want to do about it?” he asked.
She paused as though giving it some real thought, then bit down on her bottom lip before saying, “I don’t know, Shane.”
He could have pressed her at that moment, but to be honest, he wasn’t sure if it would be in his best interest if he did. After all, they had very little in common and lived nearly two hours apart.
Instead, he picked up his fork and tried to convince himself that he had an appetite for pasta, cheese and marinara sauce, when he hungered for a lot more than food.
When they finished their meal, Shane paid the bill and they walked back to his pickup, the soles of their shoes crunching along the blacktop-covered parking lot.
So now what? he wondered. Where did they go from here?
He didn’t ask, though. Not when he still questioned the wisdom of getting involved in a relationship that had a snowball’s chance in hell. So he decided to bide his time and see how things played out.
Ten minutes later, they were standing at her door, with a lovers’ moon overhead.
“I’m sorry for prodding you earlier,” she said. “I didn’t mean to pry or make you relive painful memories.”
“I can’t blame you for being curious. You don’t know me very well.”
“I know you better than I did before.” She smiled up at him, revealing a shy side of herself, then reached into her purse for the keys. “I’m glad you looked me up.”
Was she? Even though he hadn’t been as “forthcoming” as she would have liked?
Truth was, neither of them had shared very much about themselves. Was that for the best?
Or was it an excuse to get together again?
“I’m glad I found you, too,” he said.
“Thanks again for dinner.”
So that was it? She was just going to let herself into the apartment and close the door?
He tried to tell himself that it was for the best, but he couldn’t quite buy that with an amazing array of stars blinking overhead, with his blood pumping to beat the band, with her scent taunting him…?.
Unable to help himself, he skimmed his knuckles along her cheek, felt the warmth of her flush, heard the catch of her breath.
As her lips parted, his control faded into the pheromone-charged air, and he lowered his mouth to hers.
Just a whiff of Shane’s manly cologne, with its hint of leather and musk, stirred up an exhilarating sense of adventure. And as their lips met, Jillian’s heart soared with anticipation.
She’d convinced herself to take things slow and easy until she knew him better, but at the moment, she couldn’t care less about that. Not when everything they’d shared before was about to happen all over again—the passion, the heat, the pleasure.
Oh, how that man could kiss!
He slipped his arms around her, and she leaned into him as if they’d never been apart. Their bodies melded together, and the kiss deepened until desire exploded into a blast of colors, reminding her why she’d thrown caution to the wind that incredible evening in Houston.
And something told her she wasn’t going to be any stronger at fighting temptation now than she’d been back then.
She’d wanted to spend more time with him so she could learn just what kind of man he really was. But at this rate, she was only going to find out what kind of lover he was. And she already knew that Shane Hollister was the best ever.
As their tongues mated, as breaths mingled and mouths grew desperate, he pulled her hips against his growing arousal, and she pressed into him as if it was the most natural thing in the world to do.
Right there, on her porch, where all her neighbors could see, she kissed him as though there would be no consequences or tomorrows.
But there would be plenty of both if she let her hormones run away with her. Making love to him this evening would only complicate things further—if that was even possible. And she couldn’t afford to do that again. Not until she had a chance to actually date the man.
So she placed her hands on his chest and slowly pushed back, ending the kiss.
“You have no idea how tempted I am to ask you inside,” she said, her breath a bit raspy from the arousing assault on her senses. “But I’m on the rebound, and you might be, too. So for that reason—and a few others—I think it would be best if we took things a little slower.”
“Maybe,” he said, although something in his eyes suggested he wasn’t convinced.
Yet in spite of his apparent acceptance of her words, neither of them made a move to end their evening together.
She closed her eyes, caught up in a heady cloud of swirling pheromones, musky cologne and the