"Feehan, Christine - Lover Beware 03 - Brand, Fiona - After Midnight" - читать интересную книгу автора (Feehan Christine)
After Midnight 215
house. The faint wash of the light from the kitchen windows flowed over a familiar male form.
Switching the torch on, she hurried forward, knelt on the wet grass, and began dragging the tangle of cans and rope off Rider, her hands feverish. The bucket must have caught him on the head, knocking him out.
In the dim light his eyes flickered, and his gaze locked on hers, narrowed and glittering. "Since coming back I've been arrested, cuffed, and fingerprinted, tortured by spending four hours solid with Tucker and Zane Parker." He lifted a hand to his head and winced. "Now, I've been attacked by a bucket. Whoever said Tayler's Creek is Sleepy Hollow lied. It's a war zone."
The bite to his words barely registered beyond the fact that his irritation told her that he was obviously okay. She swatted his hand aside. "Let me see."
The lump was situated in the centre of his forehead. Unexpected amusement quivered through her. When she was a kid the bucket trap had never netted much success. Obviously her targets had all been too short. Rider, at -around six-feet-two, was the perfect height. The bucket had caught him clean-right between the eyes.
He pushed himself into a sitting position and fingered the lump. "Oh yeah, you got me good. I saw stars." His gaze swept her, still glittering, and not a little irritable. "You're getting wet."
Understatement of the universe. Already her shirt was clinging to her skin, and her hair was sopping. Retrieving the torch, she got to her feet. "In case you hadn't noticed, Rider, there's a storm; everything's wet."
His teeth flashed white in the dim light as he eased to his feet, stumbling slightly as he straightened, as if he was having trouble orienting himself. "Some things look better wet than others."
Her amusement was replaced by a spurt of anger, and she was glad she'd resisted the urge to grab his arm and steady him. Rider had obviously come to check on her because the power and telephone were out, which was nice. Very neighbourly. She was sorry he'd gotten hurt, but obviously the bucket hadn't hit hard enough to anaesthetize his libido. "I
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saw Marg Tayler in town yesterday," she said pointedly. "She said you were involved with someone."
"Did she, now?"
Fury flickered at the expressionless mask of his face, the stony male reserve that was one of Rider's defining qualities- and did she detect a hint of male smugness in that low, gravelly voice?
Her jaw clamped, and in that moment everything changed. For years she'd been on the defensive-running-and she hated that. One thing she had never been was a coward.
She shouldn't feel one iota of emotion for Rider, but unfortunately she felt considerably more than that. Against her better judgment, against her will she'd been tied to Rider for the past seven years as if she'd been married to him instead of Patrick. To say she was ticked was putting it mildly.
Rider's head came up, as if he'd somehow latched on to her thoughts. Light glistened off the sharp cut of his cheekbones, the strong shape of his jaw. "What did you expect?" he said coldly. "That I'd live years on about two minutes of lip contact?"
Her chest contracted on a sharp pang that she refused to label as hurt. "It wasn't just lips."
And it may have been two minutes, but it had felt like an hour of teeth and tongue, hot, steamy breath, and full, pulse-pounding body contact. To say he'd kissed her didn't cover it. His intentions and arousal had been explicit, and so had hers. Fully clothed as they'd both been, within the two minutes they'd been "lip-locked," they'd practically had sex on her front porch. The only thing that had prevented actual penetration had been the sound of the answer phone engaging and a crippling surge of guilt.
She had climaxed.
Heat washed through her at the memory of just how far they'd gone, fully clothed, and despite the fury that burned like a hot coal in her chest, her breasts rose, tight and aroused against the wet drag of her shirt.
Rider's gaze slitted. "So, who have the local gossips put me in bed with this time? Macie Hume? Or are they having another stab at firing up a scandal with the Irwin twins?"
After Midnight 217
ulets down her spine and between her breasts. Rider in bed with twins?
Her jaw clamped. She was getting crazier by the minute. She had no idea there were so many single women in Tayler's Creek-let alone twins-and no idea what she was doing outside in the dead of night, in the middle of a cyclone, having this conversation with Rider. "If you don't mind," she said stiffly, "I'm going inside. Thanks for coming over, but as you can see, I'm fine. I don't need your help."
His hand curled around her arm, jerking her to a halt. "I thought you understood how I felt."
His voice was rough, his palm hot, burning through the wet cotton of her shirt.
She resisted the urge to pull free. Damned if she'd fight with him. "What do you mean?"
His gaze burned into hers. "I don't cheat."
Her cheeks warmed at the memory of her own guilt. He had kissed her, but she had been the one who had climaxed- and she'd wanted to do a lot more. She didn't know what their little interlude could be classified as; but whether it was labeled an affair or not, it had felt like one. "You could have fooled me."
"You're angry." There was a wealth of satisfaction in his voice. "Well, hallelujah for that. It beats the hell out of indifference."
He released her. "I don't cheat, and I'm here. Figure it out."
She blinked, feeling abruptly unsteady, as if the ground beneath her feet had just shifted. She'd felt like this once before, and she didn't trust the feeling. The last time, Rider had kissed her and almost wrecked her life.
"You're finally getting it," he muttered, turning away, "but don't expect me to go down on my knees begging-"
"Wait!" She touched his back, then snatched her fingers back as he spun, his gaze as cold as obsidian. "Look, I'm sorry-" She drew in a breath and let it out slowly. "Um- don't go."
His expression was wary. "What do you mean, 'Don't go'?"
Her stomach clenched at the risk she had to take. She would rather walk over hot coals than admit to Rider that she'd been
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obsessed with him for years. "If you don't cheat, and you're here," she said carefully, "that must mean ..."
"Christ," he snapped, "I can't stand it. Just come here."
Jane's heart slammed in her chest. The invitation, couched as an order-as if she was one of the soldiers under his command-the way his gaze zeroed in on her mouth, was about as subtle as a hammer blow. "Anyone ever tell you you've got a problem with anger?"
He stepped toward Jane, crowding her space. "I've been pissed for seven years. Most people know I've got a problem with anger. Some of them were even interested enough to find out why."
It was Jane's turn to be wary, although the wariness was almost instantly overridden by a heady dose of excitement as his hands fastened on her arms. In the nerve-racking, swampy sea of her relationship with Rider, she finally knew what came next, because they'd played this part before.
His hands slid up her arms, making her shiver, glided over her shoulders, slipped under her hair, and cupped her face, and she had to resist the urge to give in without any fight at all and melt into his arms.
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