Читать книгу Holiday Kisses - Gwynne Forster, Gwynne Forster - Страница 10

Kisha did not expect to hear from Craig after he left her that night. She brushed off her annoyance at him for heating her up with his desire-filled eyes and making her ache for a sample of what he promised almost every time he looked at her. So she took her time answering the telephone.

“This is Doctor Moran. How may I help you?”

“Hi. This is Craig. Is it too late to call you?”

She’d have to get used to his voice. It did strange things to her. She sat up in bed and turned on the light. “Hi, Craig. If I don’t go out, I try to get in bed by ten-thirty, because I get up early. I just crawled in, but I was not asleep. Are you safely at home?”

“Yes. I’m home. I called because I want to do something that I thought I’d better not try when we were together.” She held her breath and waited. “I want to kiss you good-night.”

“Oh,” she said, after gathering her wits.

His laughter rolled through the wire, exciting and arousing her. How she wished she could see his face when he laughed like that. “Are you saying you’re glad I didn’t kiss you or that you don’t want me to kiss you now? Which is it?” he asked her.

“Neither. And stop trying to push me into a corner. Kiss me and let me go to sleep.” She wanted to bite her tongue, but a lot of good that would do.

“Part your lips just a little,” he said in a low, whispered tone. “Just enough for me to slip in. Feast a little bit and let me know you enjoy it. Now, take me in fully, and let me love you. Good night, Kisha.”

“Hey, don’t you dare hang up!”

“Why not. That was the sweetest kiss imaginable, so I thought it was the perfect time for us to say good-night.”

“You practically hypnotized me, and I’ve never heard of anybody doing that over the phone.”

“Are you angry with me because I kissed you?”

“I…I don’t know.”

“Next time, I won’t kiss you over the phone. I’ll kiss you in person. Will that be all right?”

“That will be fine, and if I’m not happy with it, I’ll let you know.”

His laughter wrapped around her, warming and comforting her. “Sleep well, baby. I’ll phone you tomorrow.” He hung up.

And she fell asleep. What would have happened if he had kissed her for real?

He telephoned her the next morning at eight o’clock, minutes after she smelled the coffee beginning to perk. “Hi. If you didn’t sleep well, don’t tell me. I know you’re in a hurry, so I’ll only take a minute. I have an invitation to the Admiral’s Service on one of the harbor cruise ships. It’s really nice. Will you go with me Saturday evening?”

“What should I wear?”

“A dressy dress would be perfect. After the dinner, there’s dancing to a live band. What about it?”

The more he talked, the more eager she was to see him. “That sounds wonderful, Craig. What time?”

“I’ll be at your place at a quarter of six. Don’t forget.”

“I’ll look forward to it.”

“Great. But we’ll talk before Saturday. Have a very good day. Bye.”

“Till the next time, Craig.”

After what seemed like years, Saturday finally arrived. He rang her doorbell at exactly five forty-five. He had the impression that she’d waited for him, for she flung the door open at once with a beaming, expectant expression on her face. Craig knew his face betrayed his delight in her. Throwing aside caution, he wrapped her in his arms. “You make me feel great, Kisha, and not because you’re so pretty. It’s just…you make me feel good.”

Wondering if she was witnessing a change in him, she hugged him in return, stepped back and looked at him. “You make me feel good, too.” She’d never known a man who played it so close to the vest. If he had secrets, she didn’t want to think about them right then. She wanted to enjoy the evening.

“You look lovely. This is a beautiful dress.”

“Thank you. Dusty rose is my favorite color. I like the way you look, too, Craig. Very nice, indeed.”

He didn’t like compliments about his appearance, but wanting to please her, he’d dressed in one of his most flattering blue suits, a white shirt and a royal blue and dark pink-striped tie with a matching handkerchief in his pocket. He couldn’t help feeling special. A man wanted his woman to be proud of him.

Kisha pinched herself. Nothing like being sure that you were wide-awake. She had to stop imagining that she was in a fairy tale when she was with Craig or she’d find herself head over heels in love with him. He’d hugged her in the sweetest and most…well, protective and unthreatening way, and she had ached for a kiss. Fortunately, common sense had not deserted her and she had stepped back.

They boarded the harbor cruiser, and when he gave the maître d’ his reservation card, the man led them to the Admiral’s Service. She gazed around at the seductive decor with the twinkling chandeliers, upholstered chairs and table centerpieces of candles banked with red, yellow and white roses. Soft music played in the background. On an impulse that she suspected he’d call reckless, she leaned toward him.

“This place is elegant, wonderful. I’d give anything if I could dance with you.”

He focused his eyes on her, and she’d swear that they darkened and seemed to gather clouds as he sucked in his breath and breathed deeply. “And I’d give anything to have my arms around you this minute for any reason whatever. I’ve planned for us to dance after dinner, if you’d like.” He seemed to say the latter mostly as an afterthought.

“I’d like it very much.” She waited while the waiter took their orders before saying, “All of a sudden, we’re moving so fast, Craig, and I’m not sure it’s a good thing. I don’t really know that much about you. For instance, are you married?”

“I have never been married, Kisha, and I am not living with any woman, nor have I ever done that. What about you? I decided that you were single, but I want you to tell me.”

“You’re right. I am single, and I’ve never been married or lived with anyone. Not that I think that last part is important here, but since you laid it all out, so did I.”

“And I told you, because I wanted you to know that I don’t have any ties.” Their food arrived, he tasted the crown roast of pork that they both ordered and a smile flashed across his face. “As far as I’m concerned, we hit the jackpot. This is good stuff.”

“Delicious,” she said a minute later. He ordered a pinot grigio wine, and they ate in silence for a while. The waiter poured their wine, and Craig raised his glass to her. “You’re a most refreshing companion.”

“Thank you. And you’re delightful company,” she said, sipped her drink and put the glass back on the table. Surreptitiously, she watched him as he ate and drank, always swallowing his food before speaking, using his utensils flawlessly as if it were second nature to him. The summer after graduating from high school, she’d gone to Miss Mabel’s School for Girls to learn manners and dress, thanks to a small scholarship, but she suspected he’d learned etiquette and manners at home.

“What do your parents do, Craig? Mine were public school teachers descended from blue-collar workers.” Surely that was not a slight frown on his face.

“My dad’s a lawyer, and my mother is a pediatrician. They live in Seattle, Washington. What would you like for dessert?”

In other words, he’d finished with the discussion of his parents. She conceded that he had the right not to talk about his parents, though she couldn’t imagine why, since she doubted there was anything to hide. Well, if he wanted them to talk, she decided, he would carry the burden of conversation.

“I’d like to have the floating island. I want to know if they make it the way I do with a floating meringue and crème anglaise. It’s a delicious dessert.”

“I’ll have the same,” he said and ordered the dessert. “I don’t remember another dinner date whose choice of food was identical to mine. It’s almost as if we’re dining at home or as if the meal was prepared especially for us.”

She wanted to ask him where he lived, but instinct told her that it was not the time for any more personal questions. “Yes,” she said. “This is very intimate, or maybe it’s the ambience.”

The waiter served their floating island from a scalloped silver bowl and pitcher. Their dessert dishes were nestled in bowls of cracked ice. “If I didn’t know better,” she said, “I’d think I was in the White House. I’ve never considered serving this over ice. I serve it as cold as possible, but…well, this is great.”

He sampled the confection and crème, put his spoon down and looked hard at her. “Are you telling me you can make this?”

She ate another spoonful and wondered about the propriety of asking for seconds. “Sure I can and have on a number of occasions.”

“May I invite myself to your house? You don’t have to cook dinner, just make this dessert. Plenty of this and coffee will do the trick. It’s one of my favorites.”

“I’ll let you know. Probably when I have time to make it. It takes two days, because you have to freeze the island.”

“I will definitely encourage you to find the time. Would you like coffee or espresso?”

“Espresso.”

“A woman after my own heart.” He ordered two large cups of espresso. They finished the meal, and he suggested that they sit in the lounge. “The band begins at nine, and we can dance, if you like.”

She got the impression that he took nothing for granted, because he always asked her what she would like and, when it was relevant, he asked how she would like it.

I could get used to this man in a big way, she said to herself. “Craig, would you excuse me for a few minutes?”

He stood, held out his hand and helped her to her feet. “Of course. This sofa is pretty low. It must have been designed for children or elves.”

She smiled and, without thinking, blew him a kiss as she hurried off to the ladies’ room to make certain that none of that pork remained between her teeth. She freshened her lipstick and perfume, checked her dress and was about to leave when a woman rushed into the room.

“Uh, miss, is that Craig Jackson you’re with?”

Momentarily speechless, Kisha smiled at the woman as she collected her wits. Before the woman could ask again, Kisha left the room.

Craig met her as she entered the lounge. “The band has started playing. Shall we go?” She nodded, and he slid an arm around her waist. She liked the feel of his large hand on her body and could hardly wait for their first dance.

An usher led them to a table, but he only sat for a minute before standing and opening his arms. She walked into them, unaware that their movements gave an intense feeling of intimacy. At that moment, she wished for a long swirling skirt to fit her romantic mood.

Four or five steps took them to the dance floor, and he held her close to him as the strains of “Midnight Sun” floated from an alto saxophone. The band played it like slow jazz, and every note of it primed her for the man who held her and who danced as if he did nothing else and had always danced with her. Her head told her to sit down or she’d be lost, but her body said stay. As they danced, a new and wanton feeling took hold of her, and she rested her head against his shoulder and moved to his beat.

She could almost feel his reticence slipping away from him as his hold on her became a caress. She welcomed it, swung her body closer to his, and their relationship changed irrevocably.

“Don’t think for a minute that this thing is temporary,” he whispered. “You are in my blood, and I intend to know what you can mean to me.”

She missed a step and then another. “I’m not going to respond to that,” she said, but she knew he had his answer when she snuggled closer to him, not to make a statement, but to satisfy her hunger.

They danced piece after piece without leaving the floor and, to her, it was another world, one that included only the two of them. Finally, the orchestra played a seductive slow piece that Craig sang softly. “It’s an old Fats Waller song,” he explained, “‘Two Sleepy People.’ It’s a favorite of my mother’s.”