Читать книгу A Match Made in Heaven? - Sun Chara - Страница 16

Johnny stomped through the front door, arms laden with blankets and a canvas bag. He paused and sniffed. An illusion? His taste buds went on alert, and he followed the smell of tomato soup.

Ah, the simple life. A cabin, a wife, a kid, a dog. Joy of simple pleasures danced in his head with love, warming on a cold winter night. He laughed. He married a rich society girl, accustomed to all the comforts and baubles dollars could by. Major mismatch for sure. It was time he accepted that fact. And with the ‘legally not married’ summons, she had an out. And so did he.

As much as he hated the thought of losing her, he wouldn’t play second fiddle to the dollar bill. Would she fly the coop come morning for city lights and delights? An iron shackle squeezed his heart at the possibility.

A moment later, he stepped into the kitchen and nearly dropped the load in his arms. Sam stood at a slight angle by the stove to accommodate her condition and stirred the mixture in the blackened pot with a stick.

“Soup or me?” She fluttered her lashes.

“Can I have both?” He focused on her mouth and a wistful smile brushed his lips. Water streamed from his raingear and puddled at his feet.

She remained silent.

“Apparently not.”

“Your friend cleaned us out.”

“Bang on that.”

He’d have a score to settle with Willie and his buddy … er … his accomplice. Johnny shook his head, more annoyed with himself than with Willie. He’d been so involved with appeasing Sam that he’d neglected his business by putting full trust in Willie. The man must’ve gambled away the funds he’d sent him to renovate the place.

And that explained the hired hand’s quick exit. Without Willie around to take the brunt of Johnny’s disapproval, and with the possibility of embezzlement charges, he must’ve gotten spooked.

In a position to be lenient, Johnny wouldn’t go that route, especially knowing the hardships Willie had gone through recently. Nevertheless, he expected an explanation and full payback from his former college buddy and now ex-employee.

He tossed the bag and blankets in the corner and shrugged off his slicker. A quick glance showed him no place to hang it, and he draped it over the door, thoughts still jabbing his brain.

It had been his intention to surprise Sam with their good fortune and bring her to this new home to live in the style she’d been accustomed. But she’d wanted to live in the city, and he decided to go along for a time. When her mother kept meddling by throwing Michael in his face and deriding him for not adequately providing for her ‘baby girl’, he’d kept mum about his finances. At least until he knew for sure which way the wind blew.

And then Sam had gotten pregnant, and it changed everything. With the baby so near, he wanted to pamper her and give her all the comforts money could buy. He thought bringing her here would give them time alone to talk, get to the truth of their marriage … work things out.

A sigh shot from deep in his chest, and he chanced a glance at her preparing their pauper’s supper. He swallowed disappointment. In her estimation, he must’ve moved down a notch or two to the bottom … er … under the barrel. He swatted rain from his lashes. But from here, there was only one way to go, and that was up. He chuckled at the notion, but it came out a dry sound. Surely things couldn’t get any worse between them?

“Don’t know how he could have forgotten the canned soup,” she said, her cool words pulling him from his thoughts.

“Peace offering, perhaps.” He glanced around. Sure enough, except for the small round table she ’d cleaned, it was empty. Warmth from the stove and the smell of tomato filled the kitchen, and he could almost believe —he slammed the brakes on his foolishness.

“Doubt it.” She glanced up and met his gaze. “You wanna eat, Belen?”

“Yeah.” He allowed his hungry gaze to travel the length of her, from the top of her head to the tips of her toes, then back up, until his eyes settled on her breasts, now much fuller since her pregnancy. His gaze encompassed her belly, full with child.

His child.

Emotion rose up inside him, choking. He gulped it down. He wanted to padlock her to him and never let go. “Starved.”

“Grab a crate and dig out a couple of mugs from your duffel bag.” Sam waved the stir stick at him, spritzing the air with tomato soup. “I assume you came prepared?”

“Sure.” He dropped to his haunches and yanking the sack open, rifled through the contents.

The wind had tousled his hair, and he smelled of fresh air, mud…and man. Sam wanted to reach out and smooth the damp hair off his brow, touch her lips to the spot. She sucked in a breath and allowed it to feather out between her lips. Her mother had called him a ne’er-do-well. Had he no roots? No desire to provide better for his family—wife and child? The ‘not legally married’ summons gave them both an out. Would he take it? She ignored the pounding of her heart. She deplored living on subsistence level and going from place to place like a nomad.

She tightened her grip on the stirring stick, the bark grazing her fingers. How well did she know this man she married— well, thought she’d married? “You can relocate at a drop of a hat, can’t you, Belen?”

“I adapt.” He was focused searching through the bag and didn’t even spare her a glance. “Guess it’s the gypsy in my blood. Irish nomad.”

“More like your military training.”

“That too. Survival. At any cost.”

His words were laced with double meaning, and she shook off the feeling of dread. She stirred the soup like her life depended on it. It did. Her future and her child’s future. “Well, I’m not of nomadic inclination, nor gypsy mode.”

“Guess you’re not.” He pulled the two mugs from the bag more forcefully than necessary. “Ta, da!” He slammed them onto the table next to the flashlight, and it wobbled under the impact.

“Pretty quick, aren’t you?”

“I can be.”

“I remember.”

“Yeah,” Johnny grunted.

Rush courtship … marriage … fight … flight.

Unless he came up with a foolproof plan soon, rush split-up would get tagged on the list. To change the mood, he dragged a couple of wooden crates across the floor to the table and mocked a bow. “For m’lady.”

“Thank you, kind sir.”

She played along, but how long could he count on that? He straightened up and smoothed back his hair. Was it always going to be a struggle with this woman? A reluctant smile tugged the corner of his mouth. Never a dull moment with her, though.

“What’s funny?”

He shrugged, motioning with his head. “This. You and me.”

“I find nothing amusing in the circumstances.” She turned her back, kicked a small wooden box against the wall and stepped on it.

“Sam!” In two strides, he stood behind her, protecting, yet not touching.

She stretched up on tiptoe, opened the crazy yellow cupboard and rifled across the top shelf. “Looking for crackers.” She cast him a cool glance over her shoulder. “Not asking too much, am I?”

“You shouldn’t be doing that.”

“What?” She lifted a shapely brow, her gaze turning dubious. “Asking for crackers?”

He refrained from responding to her caustic remark and stood firm until she stepped down. “I have some in the duffel bag. I’ll get ’em.”

She skirted around him, not touching.

He tightened his jaw and turned away.

“Didn’t you say exercise was good for pregnant women?”

“Sure thing, Sam. Safe, gentle exercise, like walking, certain moves …” He shuttered his eyes. Images of her in his arms flashed through his mind … in bed. Kissing every spot and every inch of her belly and feeling their baby kick life. Hot breath pressured his chest, blood pumped through his veins, arousing. He shifted in discomfort and zeroed in on her tush as she waddled to the table. He wanted to touch, smell, feel her. He always wanted more of her …

After the wedding, Johnny had taken her for a week-long honeymoon to Hawaii. She thought he’d spent his life’s savings on the trip, but it was pocket change compared to his overflowing bank account. He’d wanted to give her the time of her life.

Hot, balmy nights … a full moon, a million stars and counting. It set the mood. If he could pluck them, he would have offered her a bouquet of radiant lights.

Instead, they’d stood on the balcony and watched them sparkle. When she turned in his arms, offering him a chocolate dipped strawberry, he’d nipped it from her fingers, and juice trickled from the corner of his mouth. She’d moved to swipe at it with her hand, but he beat her to it. Flame red liquid stained his fingertip and, in slow motion, he outlined her lips and then captured them with his own. He’d tasted strawberry … and her sweetness.

“Mercy, Sam, you feel, taste like heaven,” he’d groaned.

“Mmm, good,” she’d moaned, her fingers weaving circles in his hair.

Ocean breeze had ruffled the lace curtains behind them, fanning their fervor to combustible levels. He’d scooped her up in his arms and nuzzled her neck, stroding to their bedroom. God help him. She was breathtaking …

Samantha laughed, and the sound penetrated his erotic fantasy, snapping gossamer threads linking him to the not-so-distant past.

“I’m fine.”

He took a moment to control his breathing and his gaze brushed over her, settling on her abdomen. “Glad to hear it.”

“We’re both fine.”

Nodding, he tossed several cracker packs on the table and squashed the rest in his fist. He straddled the crate and, glad his loose overalls hid his physical reaction to her, shifted for a more comfortable sitting.

“You’re pretty quick yourself, Sam.” He grinned. “Swept the floor, cleaned the counter and table, and got supper cooking. All in the time it took me to check the dogs and collect supplies from the truck.”

“Yep.”

“I’m impressed.”

“Don’t be. I don’t intend to make a habit of it.”

“I read you loud and clear.”

In the two years they’d lived in the flat in North Hollywood, she’d become more domestic than when he had married her. She’d had no choice, he supposed. No maids, no gardeners, no cook, no housekeeper, no chauffeur.

Just him. She had him.

Was he enough for her without dollar signs written all over him? He had to know. A deep breath fizzled between his teeth. He skimmed a hand across his eyes, wondering if he’d been too hard on her, on them both.

She grabbed a mug and dipped it in the pot, casting him a closed look. “This is a self-service diner.”

“Fine.” He hauled himself up and watched while she settled on the apple crate.

Tomato soup dribbled from the side of the mug, and she slid a finger upward to the brim, catching it. She flicked her tongue and licked the warm liquid from her fingertip. His stomach muscles contracted, and he nearly groaned aloud. He’d tasted her sweetness, her soft— Gulping, he glanced around for a distraction. Papers, cartons and empty cans were piled high in the corner by the back door. “I’ll take that trash out after we eat.”

“Suit yourself.” Samantha reached for a package of crackers and crumbled them in her hand. Why did she feel her marriage was like that? Crumbling. “Makes no difference to me.” She sprinkled the broken fragments over the soup.

“Why’s that?”

“Won’t be staying.”

“Goin’ somewhere?”