Frisco's Kid. Suzanne BrockmannЧитать онлайн книгу.
than just a mere reflection of his desire in her eyes, and she knew without a doubt that she’d given too much away. This fire that burned between them was not his alone.
The sun was beating down on them and her mouth felt parched. She tried to swallow, tried to moisten her dry lips, tried to walk away. But she couldn’t move.
He reached out slowly. She could see it coming—he was going to touch her, pull her close against the hard muscles of his chest and cover her mouth with his own in a heated, heart-stopping, nuclear meltdown of a kiss.
But he touched her only lightly, tracing the path of a bead of sweat that had trailed down past her ear, down her neck and across her collarbone before it disappeared beneath the collar of her T-shirt. He touched her gently, only with one finger, but in many ways it was far more sensual, far more intimate than even a kiss.
The world seemed to spin and Mia almost reached for him. But sanity kicked in, thank God, and instead she backed away.
“When I change my mind,” she said, her voice barely louder than a whisper, “it’ll be a cold day in July.”
She turned on legs that were actually trembling—trembling—and headed toward her car. He made no move to follow, but as she got inside and drove away, she could see him in the rearview mirror, still watching her.
Had she convinced him? She doubted it. She wasn’t sure she’d even managed to convince herself.
“Okay, Tash,” Frisco called down from the second-floor landing where he’d finally finished lashing the framework to the railing. “Ready for a test run?”
She nodded, and he let out the crank and lowered the rope down to her.
The realization had come to him while they were grocery shopping. He wasn’t going to be able to carry the bags of food he bought up the stairs to his second-floor condominium. And Tasha, as helpful as she tried to be when she wasn’t wandering off, couldn’t possibly haul all the food they needed up a steep flight of stairs. She could maybe handle one or two lightweight bags, but certainly no more than that.
But Frisco had been an expert in unconventional warfare for the past ten years. He could come up with alternative, creative solutions to damn near any situation—including this one. Of course, this wasn’t war, which made it that much easier. Whatever he came up with, he wasn’t going to have to pull it off while underneath a rain of enemy bullets.
It hadn’t taken him long to come up with a solution. He and Tasha had stopped at the local home building supply store and bought themselves the fixings for a rope-and-pulley system. Frisco could’ve easily handled just a rope to pull things up to the second-floor landing, but with a crank and some pulleys, Natasha would be able to use it, too.
The plastic bags filled with the groceries they’d bought were on the ground, directly underneath the rope to which he’d attached a hook.
“Hook the rope to one of the bags,” Frisco commanded his niece, leaning over the railing. “Right through the handles—that’s right.”
Mia Summerton was watching him.
He’d been hyperaware of her from the moment he and Tash had climbed out of the taxi with all of their groceries. She’d been back in her garden again, doing God knows what and watching him out of the corner of her eye.
She’d watched as he’d transferred the frozen food and perishables into a backpack he’d bought and carried them inside. She’d watched as he’d done the same with the building supplies and set them out on the second-floor landing. She’d watched as he awkwardly lowered himself down to sit on the stairs with his tool kit and began to work.
She’d watched, but she’d been careful never to let him catch her watching.
Just the same, he felt her eyes following him. And he could damn near smell her awareness.
Man, whatever it was that they’d experienced back on the beach…He shook his head in disbelief. Whatever it was, he wanted some more. A whole lot of more. She’d looked at him, and he’d been caught in an amazing vortex of animal magnetism. He hadn’t been able to resist touching her, hadn’t been able to stop thinking about exactly where that droplet of perspiration had gone after it had disappeared from view beneath her shirt. It hadn’t taken much imagination to picture it traveling slowly between her breasts, all the way down to her softly indented belly button.
He’d wanted to dive in after it.
It had been damn near enough to make him wonder if he’d seriously underrated smiley-face-endowed notes.
But he’d seen the shock in Mia’s eyes. She hadn’t expected the attraction that had surged between them. She didn’t want it, didn’t want him. Certainly not for a single, mind-blowing sexual encounter, and definitely not for anything longer term. That was no big surprise.
“I can’t get it,” Natasha called up to him, her face scrunched with worry.
Mia had kept to herself ever since they’d arrived home. Her offers to help had been noticeably absent. But now she stood up, apparently unable to ignore the note of anxiety in Tasha’s voice.
“May I help you with that, Natasha?” She spoke directly to the little girl. She didn’t even bother to look up at Frisco.
Frisco wiped the sweat from his face as he watched Tasha step back and Mia attach the hook to the plastic handles of the grocery bags. It had to be close to ninety degrees in the shade, but when Mia finally did glance up at him there was a definite wintry chill in the air.
She was trying her damnedest to act as if she had not even the slightest interest in him. Yet she’d spent the past hour and a half watching him. Why?
Maybe whatever this was that constantly drew his eyes in her direction, whatever this was that had made him hit his thumb with his hammer more times than he could count, whatever this was that made every muscle in his body tighten in anticipation when he so much as thought about her, whatever this uncontrollable sensation was—maybe she felt it, too.
It was lust and desire, amplified a thousandfold, mutated into something far more powerful.
He didn’t want her. He didn’t want the trouble, didn’t want the hassle, didn’t want the grief. And yet, at the same time, he wanted her desperately. He wanted her more than he’d ever wanted any woman before.
If he’d been the type to get frightened, he would’ve been terrified.
“We better stand back,” Mia warned Tasha as Frisco began turning the crank.
It went up easily enough, the bag bulging and straining underneath the weight. But then, as if in slow motion, the bottom of the plastic bag gave out, and its contents went plummeting to the ground.
Frisco swore loudly as a six-pack shattered into pieces of brown glass, the beer mixing unappetizingly with cranberry juice from a broken half-gallon container, four flattened tomatoes and an avocado that never again would see the light of day. The loaf of Italian bread that had also been in the bag had, thankfully, bounced free and clear of the disaster.
Mia looked down at the wreckage, and then up at Alan Francisco. He’d cut short his litany of curses and stood silently, his mouth tight and his eyes filled with far more despair than the situation warranted.
But she knew he was seeing more than a mess on the courtyard sidewalk as he looked over the railing. She knew he was seeing his life, shattered as absolutely as those beer bottles.
Still he took a deep breath, and forced himself to smile down into Natasha’s wide eyes.
“We’re on the right track here,” he said, lowering the rope again. “We’re definitely very close to outrageous success.” Using his cane, he started down the stairs. “How about we try double bagging? Or a paper bag inside of the plastic one?”