One Husband Needed. Jeanne Allan
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They can’t.”
“Being single-minded is nothing to brag about. I’ve never met a man so determined to—”
He cut her off. “Kisses in the dark are worth remembering.”
Her mouth closed, and she swallowed hard.
He smiled slowly. “Unbuttoned green pajamas.” He had looked away immediately, honorable behavior he had a feeling he’d forever regret. The glimpse had shown him a nicely-shaped, womanly mound. The perfect size to fill a man’s hand, its tip hard against his palm.
More red splashed her cheeks, and she swallowed again. “Never mind. I’m not interested in your memory.”
Worth lifted an eyebrow. “Then let’s talk about yours.”
“I have no memory,” she snapped. “I’d forgotten all about yesterday morning in the kitchen and Jamie unbuttoning, that is, I hardly remember kissing you because it didn’t mean a thing to me, and—What are you doing?” she shrieked as he slid across the seat. “It’s broad daylight, and we’re sitting in the middle of a parking lot. You can’t kiss me here.”
He captured her head, his fingers busy with the tight knot of hair at the back of her neck. “I hadn’t thought about kissing you right now, but if you want me to…My mother taught me it’s rude to say no to a lady.”
“I don’t want you to kiss me,” she said breathlessly.
Her eyes were enormous in her pale face, and Worth could read the lie as easily as if she’d written it on a giant green chalkboard. He read other truths there, too. Her awareness of him as a man. Her curiosity. Distrust. And fear.
He wanted to prove she’d lied. Deepen her awareness. Satisfy her curiosity. His gut clenched. Satisfy his. Answer the question as to whether a green-eyed redhead who sparked with anger at the slightest provocation brought that same electricity to bed.
“Your husband was a very lucky man,” he said.
She stared at him, and then slowly shook her head. “No,” she whispered. “He wasn’t.” A single tear ran down her cheek.
CHAPTER THREE
WORTH could have kicked himself for being an insensitive clod. He’d seen the pain on her face earlier when he’d mentioned her husband. The man had died in a car accident. Where was the luck in that? A woman shouldn’t have to endure that kind of suffering.
He wished she’d slugged him or burst into tears. He could have handled those. The single, silent tear unmanned him. Awkwardly he reached over and wiped it away. “He died young, but blessed with a wife and son he loved, he must have died a happy man.”
Elizabeth jerked back from his hand. A funny look flashed across her face. “He probably did die happy,” she said slowly. The thought had apparently never before occurred to her. It didn’t seem to ease her sorrow.
Worth didn’t know how to ease that kind of sorrow. The best he could do was divert her thoughts and give her an alternative outlet for her battered emotions. “With luck, he didn’t know about your lousy memory.”
Her eyes shot to his. He answered the question in them. “You’ve forgotten I hate your hair skinned back in a bun.” This time he didn’t hand her the hairpins he removed, but stepped out of the car and tossed them in a nearby garbage can.
“You can’t do that.” Elizabeth had already fastened her seat belt, and by the time she extricated herself, he was back in the car.
“I just did.”
“Stop at a store so I can buy more pins.”
“Nope.”
“I cannot walk around looking like this.”
Worth critically scrutinized her. “You’re right; it’s scrunched together at the back. It needs to hang loose, like this.” He combed her hair with his fingers, inhaling the scent of baby shampoo. She must use the same shampoo she used for Jamie. He’d never thought of baby shampoo as a perfume designed to drive men wild. Most perfumes made his nose itch.
She didn’t move, a statue carved from ivory. Not ivory. Not with pale freckles sprinkled across her nose and upper cheeks. Not too many freckles. Just enough to draw a man’s eye. And tempt his lips.
He trailed a knuckle from one pale dot to another. And watched as faint pink color washed over her cheekbones. His gaze dropped to her mouth. Lips the color of wild roses, they parted slightly, allowing him a peek at a row of perfect pearls. Slowly he slid the back of his hand across the fullness of her lower lip, his muscles taut as he remembered the heat, the moistness of her mouth.
Outside the car, traffic moved and people talked. Car doors slammed, radios blared and a dog barked. Jamie babbled in the backseat.
In the front seat Elizabeth made ragged breathing sounds.
Worth wrapped his hands around her face, feeling the soft, pliable warmth of her cheeks with his calloused fingers. He couldn’t look away from her luminous eyes. Emotions swirled across green seas, then slowed, coalescing into pools of sensual awareness.
He wanted to kiss her.
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