Читать книгу His Most Scandalous Secret - Susan Crosby, Susan Crosby - Страница 10

Four

Chase regretted not kissing her good night.

He might have left her wanting more, but he’d denied himself. too, which distracted him all the next day. Even as a teenager, he’d had more control of his thoughts, his passion. He usually faced a dilemma head-on, but this one had blind sided him, and he couldn’t seem to angle it down a straighter path. He was wishing for something he couldn’t have, setting himself up for the biggest fall of his life.

Because Sunday was the only day of the week he allowed himself a long stretch of personal time, he took his distracted self to the local bookstore to wander, his favorite pastime. His gaze kept landing on books he’d hardly noticed before. He thumbed through a few, but didn’t want to buy any because the clerk knew him, and this subject was far afield from his usual reading list.

Just how juvenile was that? he wondered, rubbing his forehead. Thirty-two years old and he was worried about someone thinking he might be interested in the opposite sex? Not that he hadn’t been interested before, but his attention level had risen sharply, as if his knowing everything there was about women and how to please them was more critical than curing cancer.

Giving in to the urge that kept drawing him back to the Health and Psychology section, he chose a book and slid it behind his copy of Beyond Ethnicity and Gender. He headed toward the cashier, then ran right into Tessa coming from the children’s section, her stack of books teetering for a second before she grabbed them tighter, preventing them from tumbling.

They said each other’s name at the same time, then a long silence ensued. Finally she smiled, which not only meant that her mouth curved upward, but her whole face took on a radiant glow. Tessa Rose was deep-down, through-every-cell beautiful. The long, flowered dress she wore only added to her femininity, even as the modest neckline hid any hint of cleavage.

Although cradling the books in her arms, she pressed a palm to his chest, as though she couldn’t stop herself. He covered that soft, warm hand with his, sliding it to rest against his heart, keeping it there. And then, because he seemed to have lost all ability to control his actions, he leaned over her pile of books and kissed her—more than a greeting, less than a seduction. He heard a tiny whimper rise in her throat and felt it vibrate against his lips. People brushed by them, no one saying anything. The wonder of San Francisco, he thought.

He lifted his head and looked at her as she opened her eyes slowly.

“Well,” she said, her cheeks taking on a pink hue. “Good afternoon to you, too.”

“That was good night. This is good afternoon.” He wrapped his free arm around her, pulled her as snugly to him as the barrier of books allowed, and really kissed her, not caring who watched. What mattered most was the way her fingers clutched his shirt as her tongue met his, shyly, then with a boldness he wanted to explore but knew he couldn’t. Not here, anyway. Not now.

“Mmm.” Her heels lowered to the floor again as he moved back. She blinked once, then again. “Um. You make up for lost opportunities very nicely.”

“I’ve been kicking myself since I left you last night.” The words poured out as if someone had turned on a spill-your-guts faucet. He didn’t like it, but he couldn’t seem to change it.

“Have you?” Her voice caught a little. “I’ve been kicking you, too. Metaphorically, that is.”

He ran his fingertips over her eyebrow, along her temple, down her cheek. His thumb brushed her lips, still moist from their kiss, parting them. “I hardly slept,” he said, letting his hand drift down her neck, then across her shoulder to skim along her arm, the downy hair rising in response.

“Me, neither.”

He got pulled in by those baby blue eyes that made him wish his life had been different, normal. Even seminormal. He glanced at her books, but his eyes focused on her nipples, which pressed against the summer-weight fabric molding her full, high breasts. Primitive images flooded his mind, urgent cravings he not only couldn’t control, but didn’t want to. He slid his books in front of him.

“This is going really fast, Tessa.”

“I’m as shocked as you are.” She looked in the direction of the coffee bar. “Would you like to get something to drink? Or maybe you have to get back to the Center?”

“I have time.” He realized they’d be at the cash register together paying for their books. Stalling, he looked at her stack again. “I see you’ve stocked up. What did you get?”

She tugged the books closer. Her cheeks turned a deeper pink. “Just some of my favorites.”

Bewildered at her apparent embarrassment, he angled his head to look at the titles, but she tipped the spines down.

“I’ll show you over coffee,” she said. “What did you get?”

“Grisham, and this one.” He let her see the top book.

“What else? You’ve got a third.”

He waited until she looked up at him, curiosity in her eyes.

“A psychology book.” He gestured toward the cashier. “After you.”

“Um. You go ahead,” she said. “I forgot something. I’ll meet you.” She hurried off.

Chase could see her reflection in the plate-glass window of the store. He decided to get rid of the copy he’d picked up of Unspoken Pleasures: What women wish every man knew, so that there was no chance she’d see it. He watched her glance furtively toward the front of the store, toward him. She angled down the Health and Psychology aisle, stopped for a second, then scurried along to the children’s section.