Daddy By Decision. Lindsay Longford
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in a while I’m—perceptive,” he said with not an ounce of inflection in his melted caramel drawl.
Her mind ran through every possibility she could think of. He knew. He remembered. He didn’t remember anything and was simply on the prowl.
Except that Jonas never prowled. He’d never needed to. She believed he must have learned in his cradle that all things came to him who waited, because everything did come to Jonas, sooner or later. He’d never had to exert himself for attention. He’d been the man with the golden touch, the man everyone crowded around while he backed away from the attention.
And the more elusive he became, the more sought after he was.
“Cat got your tongue, Miz McDonald?” Moving from the machine, he settled himself comfortably against the wall and popped the top of the can, holding her gaze the entire time as he tipped the can back and drank from it. Beneath the mischief in his eyes, she saw the veiled curiosity, the interest that sharpened with each second she didn’t answer. “You surprise me.” Again there was a note of another meaning rippling beneath his comment.
Sun and age lines radiated from the corners of his eyes. Caught in the power of that gaze, breathless and dizzy, Jessie couldn’t look away. She felt as though he were willing her to answer him, to tell him everything he wanted to know, to wring her soul dry.
The artificial light of the lounge highlighted deep mahogany gleams in his thick hair, glimmered in the red-gold bristles that darkened his narrow, hard-angled face. Lowering the can, he hooked his thumb in the waistband of his jeans. As he shifted, the washed-thin fabric pulled across his flat belly andtightened against his thighs.
Jonas Riley had been born to wear tight, worn jeans.
Jessie’s dollar drifted to the floor, brushed her leg and broke the spell he’d spun. Her face burning, she stooped to pick up the bill, took a toe-deep breath and stood up. Turning away from him with a quick movement, she pressed her fist into her skirt.
He didn’t remember her.
But he was on the hunt.
Feeding the dollar into the coffee machine with shaking fingers, she tapped the coffee selections without even seeing what she was choosing.
“Don’t you want to know how I know your name, Miz McDonald?” He hadn’t moved, but his question shivered the hairs on the back of her neck. “I’d think you’d be—interested. Me being a stranger and all?”
In the metal and plastic of the machine, she saw his rangy reflection. He was studying her, frowning, definitely on the hunt. “Don’t you want to know, Miz McDonald? Aren’t you a little curious?”
Goaded, she whirled, her skirt whipping around her. “I don’t have to ask. I know. You were right behind me. You heard Frankie.” Coffee slopped onto the floor.
“So I did.” He closed the distance between them with one step and dropped a stack of napkins over the coffee stain at her feet. Squatting to swipe up the liquid, he glanced up at her, the light spilling over his face and throwing into sharp relief lines of strain and exhaustion she hadn’t noticed earlier. “Well, Miz McDonald, you might want to remind your friend Frankie that it’s not a good idea, even in a small town like Tarpon City, to identify his customers, especially his—” he glanced at her naked left hand “—single female ones.” Soft and deceptively gentle, his voice drifted through the air, moved over her skin like a teasing feather stroke.
The Jonas she remembered was toying with her, seeking the weak spot. She knew it, and she still struck back, the old Jessie rising to the bait.
“Thanks for the helpful hint, cowboy. I’ll make sure I mention your advice to Frankie.”
Not fooling her one bit with his nonchalance, he pitched the wet brown wad of paper in the trash, took a final pull of his cola and asked, “By the way, does Miz McDonald have a first name?”
“And wouldn’t she be a fool for telling you?” Jessie smiled sweetly. “Even with this being such a small town. And you the picture of respectability? It’s a wonder I don’t just hand you my safe-deposit number and key. Gosh, can’t imagine why I don’t.” Quirking one eyebrow, she sipped deliberately from her plastic-coated cup, relaxed, all easy confidence, her voice as mellow as his as she continued. “And since you’ve been so helpful, may I return the favor, cowboy?”
“Of course, ma’am.” He dropped the cola can into the recycling bin. “I’m always grateful for good advice.” Butter-smooth, his polite tone matched the respectful tip of his head. But his eyes narrowed suddenly, as if she’d somehow made a mistake. Suddenly intent, he looked as if she’d handed him the end of the thread leading through the puzzle maze. “What was it you wanted to say?” He stepped back, waving her through as she approached the door.
Turning her head to look at him over her shoulder, she smiled. “Not much. Except that even cowboys go in for a shave and a change of clothes once in a while. Maybe you’re working too hard at creating an image?”
She heard the quick intake of his breath. “Ah. I see. Clothes. The image. Yes, Miz McDonald, I sure do appreciate your input.” Rich satisfaction rippled through his voice, over his face, as he smiled. “You’ve been right helpful, ma’am.”
Jessie fled. She couldn’t imagine what she’d revealed, but in giving in to her desire to score one tiny point off him, she’d obviously messed up somehow.
Fast-walking down the corridor to the parking lot, Jessie muttered under her breath. “Coffee. That was the problem. It wouldn’t have killed me to skip my mocha latte for once.” She should never have stopped in for coffee before leaving for home. But she always did. “Why would I expect to see Jonas Riley stretched out over the cola machine like some martyred saint?” Swearing at herself under her breath, she stomped down the hall.
For her, the road to hell was clearly paved with coffee beans.
Two nurses stared at her as she stormed by them, and then their eyes drifted past her, their steps slowed, and one of the nurses lifted a hand to fluff out shiny black hair.
Jessie fought the impulse to break into a flat-out run. She didn’t have to look. Like the sun at high noon in summer, heat and determination came from the man keeping easy pace a step behind her.
“You took off in such a hurry, Miz McDonald, that you left your purse on the table near the door.” Lean brown fingers dangled her wallet-on-a-string in front of her. “You’re a busy lady, I reckon, rushing around the way you do, forgetting your wallet today, your checkbook last night?”
“I manage to fill my days,” she muttered, reaching for the wallet.
“I’m sure you do.” With a flick of his hand, he looped the burgundy leather strap over her neck. “Glad to help, ma’am,” he added, his voice cordial, his manner solicitous, his cowboy act perfect down to the slightest tone and gesture.
But she’d observed Jonas Buckminster Riley in action, had seen the man who’d been a shark in court, urbane, cultivated, as he cut through bloody waters, and she didn’t trust this blueeyed, tough-featured cowboy metamorphosis any farther than she could pitch an elephant. “Yes, well, for the umpteenth time, thank you.” She jerked as he touched her shoulder.
“Anything else I can do for you?” He straightened the strap, his knuckle sliding against her bare arm.
Prickles of alarm and awareness ran down her arm. She caught her breath. It was nothing more than a touch, nothing to be upset about, but her skin went hot and she wanted to shut her eyes and let him run that callused knuckle down her neck, across her shoulder—
Too many nights alone had made her forget the power of a simple touch.
Worse, she’d forgotten her susceptibility to the touch of Jonas Riley.
Clamping her arm close to her side, Jessie kept her gaze on the corridor floor, on the square, dusty toes of his boots. He’d had long, narrow, beautiful feet.
“Better?”