UP In Flames. Lori Foster
Читать онлайн книгу.
little shaky. “Oh, hell, go ahead then. Suit yourself. I can see you’re going to be stubborn about this.”
The first thing she pulled out of his bag was his business envelope, thickly padded and sealed. It held the contract of buying terms, a check, insurance papers. Everything he’d needed for his future. Now all wasted.
“What’s this?”
He stared at the blazing sun and silently cursed the ocean, the weather and drunk captains. “Pretty much useless garbage at this point.”
His tone was mean enough to put off more questions.
Of course, that didn’t stop Mel. The rich lived by their own rules and seldom let anything stand in their way.
Still rummaging, she said, “It looks important.”
“Was important. But I missed the deadline by now.”
“Deadline for what? Oh, look. These will do nicely as a bandage.”
Appalled, Adam growled, “I’m damn well not wearing my underwear on my head!”
“Oh, for goodness sake, I’ll rip them up. They’re white cotton and will work perfectly.”
He shook his head. “Hell, no.”
“Adam...”
“If you’re so set on underwear, let’s use yours.”
Her eyes widened, and she sputtered. “I’m wearing mine!”
“So take them off.”
She looked ready to smack him. “Mine won’t do.”
“Why not? You said underwear was perfect and I’d damn sure rather it be—”
“Mine aren’t white and they aren’t cotton,” she blurted, then he watched, fascinated, as her face turned bright red.
He was still cad enough to love seeing a woman’s blush, especially Mel’s. “Do tell.”
She wouldn’t look at him. “Stop trying to distract me.”
“I was distracting myself.” Not that it would take much with her standing there still damp, her skin dewy, her skirt and halter clinging to her body. She was as thin as she’d been in high school, her ribs visible below the halter top, but she looked so soft, too, so damn female.
He cleared his throat. “All right. We’ll skip undies altogether. Find something else. This’ll do.” He lifted out a black T-shirt he’d brought for the trip home, to wear with his jeans. Once the business meeting ended, he’d planned to get comfortable again. He positively hated suits.
Mel shook her head. “Black isn’t good because it’ll be harder to see if you’re still bleeding.”
“It’s either this or your panties. Take your pick.”
She took the T-shirt. “You always were a rotten bully, Adam Stone.”
“So you ought to be used to it, right?” He was done trying to convince her he’d changed. What difference did it make, anyway? When all was said and done, they were still separated by a background that would never alter.
Adam drew his key ring from his bag. It had a small but lethally sharp pocketknife attached. He attacked the shirt with a vengeance.
Staring at the knife, Mel asked, “Why in the world are you carrying that?”
“Old instincts are hard to shake. I got the knife when I was sixteen, when we still lived by the river.” He glanced at her, saw her appalled expression and shook his head. “I’ve never gutted anyone, honey. I’ve just kept it for protection. And because now I’m used to carrying it.”
“Good grief, do you still have your leather jacket, too?”
He grinned. “As a matter of fact, yeah, I do. But it’s too small for me to wear anymore. My mother bought me that jacket by taking in sewing. It means a hell of a lot to me. Of course, if she’d known what a redneck I felt like wearing it, she probably would have taken it back.”
She laughed. “You did have your moments of mischief.”
Adam tipped his head and studied her. “What about you?”
“What about me?”
He tweaked a dark, glossy curl by her ear. “You still got those Minnie Mouse combs you used to wear in your hair, one on each side?”
She looked surprised that he remembered; he could have told her there was little he’d ever forgotten, at least about her. He remembered the cute little dresses she used to wear, how serious she always looked, how alone.
His heart twisted in a familiar pang, and he cleared his throat. He didn’t have the material things she’d had, but he’d had a close group of friends and always knew his family was there to give him as much moral support as he needed. “Do you still have them?”
She dipped her head to hide her face. “I do. I bought them myself when I turned fourteen. My mother thought they were frivolous, but I always loved them.”
“Worth a lot, huh?”
“Worth a lot to me, but not to too many other people.”
Adam felt like they were suddenly on dangerous ground. He knew Melanie had never had the best relationship with her parents. They’d loved her, there was never any doubt of that. But their expectations had always been pretty high. She wasn’t allowed to be a regular kid, with regular faults. She was supposed to be better than that. Maybe those silly little combs had been her first attempt at independence.
Adam abruptly changed the subject. He didn’t like seeing her so melancholy. He’d take her temper any day. “So what are we doing here? Do you want to use this damn shirt or not? Or are you just waiting for me to bleed to death.”
“You said you weren’t bleeding that much anymore!”
He shrugged, which only annoyed her more. He handed her the sliced-up T-shirt, then suffered through her efforts.
Actually suffer was a very apt word. Despite her new pique, she didn’t hurt him. But she was so gentle when she cleaned away the rest of the sand and smoothed his hair, when she held the wadded bandage in place then wrapped a strip of the shirt around his forehead like a headband. Her scent enveloped him again, and twice he felt her breasts brush his shoulder.
Oh, hell. He was wearing no more than snug boxers, and his interest would be blatantly obvious if he didn’t distract himself and quick.
“So what were you doing on this trip, all alone? Very few people vacation without a companion.”
She carefully knotted the wrap. With a shrug in her tone, she said, “I’m used to being alone. And it makes it easier for me to think.”
“To think about what?”
She finished with his bandage and sat back on her heels. The skirt pulled tight over her long thighs and smooth knees. That held his attention for several heartbeats, and when he finally looked at her face, he decided she looked uncertain. Adam thought she’d refuse to answer, but she lifted one shoulder and said, “About what to do with myself for the rest of my life.”
“You couldn’t figure that out back in Brockton?” Adam closed his bag and stood.
She stood also and dusted the sand off herself. “There were...distractions at home.”
He took her hand with his free one and started them down the beach again. Mel didn’t object, and he enjoyed touching her. Her fingers were so slender, her hand so tiny in his large one. “What kind of distractions?”
“Oh, family, friends...an ex-fiancé.”
That last distraction caused his stomach to tighten. Trying to sound only mildly interested, he asked, “Family?”
“Surely