Читать книгу A Bride Worth Waiting For - Cara Colter - Страница 11

Chapter Three

“Adam, why are we doing this?” Tory asked him, closing the latches on the apparatuses now attached to her feet. “I never even liked ice-skating. Neither did you!”

“I know. The only boy in Calgary who never played hockey. Probably in all of Canada. An albatross I have carried around my neck for two decades.”

“Answer the question then. Why?” She wiggled her feet. Even though they moved on command, they seemed strangely detached from her body.

“I’m tired of carrying the albatross?”

She shot him a look. He had never given a damn what the rest of the world was doing, and he didn’t care now. It was written in the supreme confidence with which he carried himself, written in the light that lit those devilishly dark eyes. This expedition was not about whether he had played hockey as a boy.

He rose to his feet, and when his feet scooted out from under him, he grabbed the back of the bench where they had sat to put their skates on, and tried to look casual and in control.

For once he didn’t succeed, and it really was quite funny.

“Don’t stand up,” he advised her. “We’ll just sit on this bench and look like we’re having a rest.”

Damn him. She could feel that little smile twitching again.

“He’ll know,” she whispered wagging her eyebrows toward the kid who had rented them the skates—the same boy who had nearly mowed them over on his bicycle.

Adam had given him hell for clearing them off the path, and the boy had grinned at him with a certain impish charm and said, “Sure, Gramps, I’ll watch that next time.”

“I’m not your Gramps,” Adam said in a low, lethal tone that had set the hair on the back of Tory’s neck on end.

“Yes, sir,” the boy had said, not the least perturbed. “By the way, my generation calls them in-line skates, not Rollerblades.”

“I think I defended his brother on a murder rap,” Adam said to Tory, looking over at the little booth where the boy was now happily engrossed in a comic book. “I’m sorry I tried so hard.”

She couldn’t help herself. She laughed. “Well, unless you want to be Gramps forever, you had better let go of the bench.”

“Ladies first,” he insisted smoothly.

Tentatively she tried standing on her feet. “It’s like standing on a plate balanced on top of ball bearings,” she said when her feet seemed to be going every which way from underneath of her. Bent over from the waist, she grabbed the seat of the bench.

“At least I’m maintaining my dignity, Gran,” he taunted her.

She blew a curl out of her way and looked up at him. She let go of the seat, straightened and lunged toward him. She caught him around the waist and held tight.

He stared at her, something darkening in eyes that were already darker than pitch.

Her own heart was quickening within the walls of her chest. It would be a very good idea to let go of him.

But if she did that she’d probably land flat on her fanny in front of him. There was no denying how good it felt to hold him, his muscles strong and sinewy beneath the denim of his shirt, his body throwing off soft heat, like early summer sunshine.

“The little creep is watching us,” he said under his breath.

“Then let go of the bench.”

He did. His arms wrapped tightly around her.

She was not sure if it was an improvement. Her heart seemed happy. Her head was muttering something about pure insanity.

“Turn right,” he ordered tersely.

They inched their way around, and then took a few wobbly steps forward.

“The little creep is laughing.”

“Adam. I’m afraid we’re hilarious.”

A man jogged by, grinned and shook his head.

“Okay,” Adam said, “that’s it for Rollerblading. In-line skating. That looked like a great restaurant we came by. Let’s—”

“Forget it. This was your idea. We’ve got to take at least one turn around the park.”

“Is this park any smaller than it used to be?”

“No.”

“Why are you torturing me?”

“Because I tried to talk you out of this and you wouldn’t listen. You promised me fun. Laughter.”

“Well, they’re all laughing.” He scowled darkly at a herd of cyclists who went by.

“Adam, you can’t lean on me so hard. You’re pushing me over.”

“I’ll take off my skates,” he said, brightening, a lawyer who had just found his way out of an impossible dilemma “No!”

He ignored her. “And you’ll leave yours on. I’ll guide you.”

“No!”

“You can close your eyes. Pretend you’re blind. I’ll be your Seeing Eye dog. A laugh a minute. I guarantee it.”

“No. Absolutely not, no.”

“I hate it when you say that ‘Absolutely not, no.’”

“You haven’t heard me say it for a long time.”

“It doesn’t seem that long.”

“It doesn’t? When did I ever use that expression on you? I never said no to you.”

“Yes you did. The night that I asked you to marry me.”

She actually felt the blood drain from her face. Of course. The only time she had ever said no to Adam.

“Sorry,” he muttered. “I really hate this. Much more than I expected to hate it.”

“Are you referring to Rollerblading or something else?” she asked suspiciously.

He sighed, but the melancholy of it was lost when his foot shot off to the right and left him leaning on her drunkenly, threatening to pull them both down. He scrambled to regain his balance.

Adam’s dignity had always been innate in him.

He was like a duck out of water with these foolish inventions on his feet, and she could not imagine what had led him to this moment.

He swore under his breath, a word that was pure Adam.

She started to laugh.

He glared at her.

She started to laugh harder.

“Stop it. You’re making my skates wobble.”

It was the first time she had ever seen Adam so out of his element and so out of control. It was delightful.

She pushed off tentatively.

“Not so bloody fast!”

She pushed with her other foot. “I think I’m getting it.”

“Tory, you are going way too fast!”