Redemption's Kiss. Ann ChristopherЧитать онлайн книгу.
supposed, because she’d been the first lady of Virginia and was the sister of the sitting president. That, combined with Adam’s natural shyness, accounted for his delay in asking her out, not that Jillian was anxious, given her antidating stance.
But last week he’d finally gotten up the nerve to approach her, and they’d had coffee. Why not? She had to drink coffee, right? Why not drink it with him? Then they’d had dinner. Both had gone reasonably well. Now here he was again.
On paper he was everything a single mother like her should want: single, straight, with a nice job, a sense of humor and no lurking baby mamas. Plus, he was easy on the eyes. Dark skinned with a mustache and skull trim, he had warm brown eyes and the kind of dimpled boyish grin that probably weakened knees wherever he went.
It wasn’t his fault that Jillian’s knees were impervious.
So, yeah, she wasn’t dating, wasn’t smitten and wouldn’t be falling into this guy’s bed—or anyone else’s, come to think of it—anytime soon. And that was just fine with her because she had a drawer full of BOBs (Battery Operated Boyfriends) upstairs.
But…he was a decent guy and she had to pass the time somehow. Why not do it with him on occasion?
Allegra tottered over on her plastic heels and stared up at Adam.
“I like your flowers.”
Adam looked down at the girl. “Thank you.” Allegra’s curls quivered with her bouncing excitement. “Are they for me?”
Adam, bless his heart, didn’t miss a beat. Smiling, he pulled one perfect red bud out of the huge arrangement and held it out to Allegra.
“For you, your majesty.”
Allegra beamed up at him. “Thank you. You may kiss my hand.”
They all laughed. Adam took her tiny hand with its chipped pink nail polish and kissed it with the appropriate solemnity. Allegra tittered.
And Adam went up another notch or two in Jillian’s estimation.
“Okay, princess.” Barbara Jean took Allegra’s hand and steered her toward the hall. “Time for swimming.”
“Nooo-ooo.” Allegra’s wails echoed down the hall as they disappeared from sight.
Blanche presented Adam with coffee and a pumpkin muffin the size of a small melon. “I’ll just leave you two to chat.” She patted Adam’s arm. “Enjoy your muffin.”
“Thanks, Blanche.” Adam watched her go and then gave the roses to Jillian. “For you.”
“Thank you.” It had been so long since a man had made a romantic gesture that she couldn’t repress her grin. “They’re beautiful.”
“They’re a bribe. I’m hoping you’ll go out to dinner with me again.”
Jillian faltered and stalled by placing the flowers on the counter. “Adam—”
“You already told me,” he said good-naturedly. “You don’t date.”
“Oh, good. You were listening.”
“Think about another dinner, though. That’s all I’m asking.”
She hesitated.
Thinking about it probably wouldn’t kill her. Besides. His face was so pleasant and hopeful that she just couldn’t say no. She was in the prime of her life, for goodness’ sake. Life wasn’t over just yet. As long as she was honest about not wanting a relationship, dinner with him was no big deal, right?
“Okay,” she said.
“Good.” Adam grinned and then apparently decided to press his luck. “Can I kiss you? I’ve been kicking myself for not asking the other night.”
Kiss? What?
But Adam, for once in his life, seemed to be in an impulsive mood and didn’t wait. Leaning in and catching her before her alarm could really take hold, he brushed his mouth across hers.
Nothing happened at first, but then there was a spark of something in her belly, a long-forgotten feeling of something she couldn’t quite identify.
Excitement? Longing? Need?
Pulling back, Adam smiled as though he’d been granted eternal life. A similar reaction eluded her and she had to force herself to smile back. Man. This kissing thing threw her for a serious loop. She hadn’t kissed anyone romantically in three years, and hadn’t kissed a man other than her ex-husband in fifteen. How was she supposed to feel? She didn’t have a clue.
“I’ve got to get back to work.” Sounding a little husky now, Adam grabbed his muffin and gulped some coffee. “I just wanted to bring the flowers and get my kiss.”
“I’ll walk you out,” she said, trying to get her mind right.
This was all too weird. She’d been asexual for so long, and now this.
It came as a huge shock that she could still affect a man, still inspire him to think about her, leave work for her and bring her flowers. She hadn’t realized that such tiny miracles were possible after all this time.
They walked outside, down the cobbled path to Adam’s car. The May day was beautiful, bright and clear but not yet humid, not that she could enjoy it with him staring at her with those unnerving, puppy-dog eyes.
Feeling fidgety and awkward, she glanced over at the Foster place. There were definite signs of activity now; a moving van occupied most of the long drive and in front of it sat a dark Range Rover. Uniformed movers swarmed in and out of the front door and up and down the driveway—
Without warning, Adam cupped her cheek and kissed her again, his mouth firmer and more confident this time. After one stiff second, Jillian responded with her lips but the rest of her body remained aloof, well out of Adam’s reach. And then she had enough.
She pulled away, flustered. “What was that?”
“That was, ‘I hope I’ll see you soon.’ I’ll call you, okay?”
“Okay.”
Watching him drive off, she touched her tingling lips and then caught herself. Don’t be silly, Jill. It was time to get cracking. Those rolls still weren’t in the oven and lunchtime would be here soon—
A low bark from her left startled her.
Turning, she saw the new neighbor’s dog trot out from behind a forsythia bush at the edge of her property, his pink tongue lolling in a friendly doggy smile.
“Hello, cutie.” She held her hand out for inspection. “Hellooo.”
The dog ambled over. He was big and black with short curly hair, pointy ears, long legs and huge paws. Probably less than a year old, he wriggled with excitement and had a red collar with a numbered tag.
He snuffled her hand, apparently decided she was okay, and then nudged her. She accepted this obvious invitation to scratch his ears, and the dog all but passed out with pleasure.
Oh, man. Her heart turned over, hard.
This wasn’t a standard poodle. This guy was a Bouvier des Flandres, the type of dog she’d had as a child. His long hair had been shaved, probably because it was so hot here in Georgia during the summer, but he looked exactly like Ishmael, and the sudden sweet nostalgia from her childhood was almost unbearable.
Just like that, she remembered the joys of pet ownership, especially during that terrible year when Mama died, leaving her and her older brother, John, alone with their grieving and distant father.
It all came back to her: the nightly warmth of Ishmael’s heavy body stretched out across her feet at the end of her bed; Ishmael sprawled between her and John on the floor in front of the TV; a soap-covered Ishmael resisting his bath in the plastic pool next to their estate’s enormous inground pool.
Good