Dreams Don't Wait (Contemporary romance) (8 page)

He whispered her name against her lips, and his warm, brandy-scented breath warmed her face. He brushed his lips over hers. Softly. Gently. Like a touch of windblown silk. A kiss but not a kiss. Wizardry.

"I don't think this is such a good idea," she whispered, her voice alien, low and husky.

"You don't?" Linc's question came with another soft brush of his lips. Evan's chest heaved as she tried to calm the unruly thumping in her breast. She closed her eyes tight before opening them again to see him staring down at her. She was trapped between him and the mantel. His arms were braced on it as he studied her. She swallowed.

"No, I don't. I mean, really, I—"

Again he brushed her mouth with his, and a fierce thrill shot through her. She gasped for breath. This was crazy. Maybe the craziest thing—

"Kiss me," he whispered.

—she'd ever do. Their eyes met and he smiled. The smile invited, seduced, promised...

She gave a shuddery breath, and his mouth descended to hers. His fingers twisted into her hair as lips fitted to lips. Perfectly. In that moment, Evan was the focus of all of Linc's powers of seduction. Lips that a second ago teased, now demanded, and his tongue went deep, tasting her. When he groaned, her knees weakened, her head spun, and her body trembled.

She clutched at his sides, and he became her stanchion, her only support when her responses threatened to take her to her knees. She clung to him, reveled when his body hardened against her thigh. His mouth a miracle on hers. She was thirty years old and she had never,
absolutely never
, been kissed like this. Nipping gently on her lower lip, Linc drew back, his heart pumping hard against the hand she held, palm flat, against his chest.

"Linc, that was..." She had no idea what it was.

"Only the beginning," he finished, his words a husky, uneven rumble against her cheek. He kissed, then nibbled, her earlobe. A delicious warmth penetrated her, and she pressed into him, exposing more throat for his questing mouth.

Then his words registered.
Beginning?

No!

There would be no beginning. My God! What was she thinking?
Linc Stewart
wasn't for her. She must be crazy. Panic erased passion, and her body quivered with a frightening nervousness.

"Stop," she said in a shaky, uncertain voice; then stepped quickly out of his reach. "I want you to stop."

Chapter 4

"Is that what you really want, Evan? Me to stop?"

"Yes." She reached for her brandy snifter and cupped it in both hands, staring at the topaz liquid. When she glanced up at him, her face was a study in embarrassment and misery. He fought the urge to again take her in his arms.

"I see," he said, and stepped away from her. The lady had said no. Loud and clear.

He hadn't heard that word since his marriage, and it still stung, sharply and deeply. Since his time with Moira, he'd made it a practice to avoid women with a penchant for the negative. When he needed a woman, he preferred an agreeable one, one given to good, safe, uninvolved sex. He had no intention of ever again engaging his emotions.

With a quick movement, he drained his snifter of brandy and moved to his computer. "I think I'll have another go at this thing. Will you excuse me?"

He turned away from her, but not before he caught her confused look. She stood behind him as he switched the computer back on. When he turned back to her, she was staring at him, her expression thoughtful now. He knew the look. It preceded questions. He sighed and ran an impatient hand through his hair.

"Look, I get it," he said. "Chalk it up as another tasteless pass and forget it. Okay? Believe me, your precious virtue is safe from me. I don't go where I'm not wanted."

"That's not—" Her lips moved and compressed, as if words were to be said, but difficult to find. Her eyelashes fluttered down, then up, and she looked at him squarely. "Your kiss was wanted and–exciting." Again her lashes fluttered down. "I haven't been kissed in a long time. And I'm so... sorry. Another time, another place... maybe..." She stopped abruptly, and placed her snifter on the large, square coffee table. "Thanks for the brandy. I'd better head for bed. I have to work tomorrow." When she looked at him again, her gaze was uncertain.

"Are we okay?" she asked.

Linc hesitated, sucked in some air, and spoke what he hoped was the truth. "Yes, we're okay. Go to bed."

He watched her walk away from him, heard the door close behind her. He stood looking at the door a long time, slowly massaging the back of his neck. No questions. Not a one. He was vaguely disappointed. It seemed he was the one with all the questions. For the first time in years, he was curious about a woman.

"You're as much of a fool as ever, Stewart," he muttered to himself as he turned back to the computer. It sat there: impersonal, ready, and uninvolved. He switched it on.

* * *

Less than seven hours later, he met Evan in the kitchen. She was leaning on the counter, reading a book and drinking coffee. If last night had left any residue of embarrassment, it didn't show.

He was asking himself why that irritated him, when she asked, "I made coffee. Would you like some?"

"Thanks, I'll get it." He got a mug from the second shelf and poured himself a strong, hot brew. He took a swallow and leaned against the counter opposite her. Her attention had returned to her book. His irritation grew. Why the hell was he as edgy as broken glass, while she stood there calmly reading—he bent his head to catch the title
—England from the Eighteenth Century?

"History?" he asked, sipping coffee and watching her over the rim of the mug.

She looked up, nodded, and closed the book, and, without added comment, glanced at her watch. "I'd better get going," she said, stuffing the book into a large tote bag. "In this rain, the traffic will be deadly."

"I'll drive you." He put down his mug.

Why it pleased him when she blushed at his offer, he didn't know. But it did. Maybe Miss Poised and Polished North wasn't as immune to him as he thought.

"I don't need you to drive me. Really."

"I know. See you at the door."

He had nearly escaped the kitchen when she called him.

"Linc?"

He turned.

"Are you planning to, uh, start something?"

He deliberated. "Yes. My car."

* * *

When she arrived home that night, Linc was gone. Last night had caught up with her; she was exhausted. With effort, she turned her attention to Maud.

"He'll be in Seattle until Wednesday," Maud said. "And to be honest, I'm not the least sorry. I don't know what's gotten into him. He's not generally so moody and—Oh, Jenny, dear, please sit properly at the table. And you should eat more of your dinner."

"I don't want to," Jenny whined, half sitting, then half slipping from her chair. Her face was set in a stubborn mask. "I hate carrots. They're stupid."

"Jenny, please..." Maud stopped and rubbed her temples. Evan looked hard at her for the first time since coming home. From the tired lines around Maud's eyes and the weary slump to her shoulders, it was obvious that the headache she'd complained about earlier was worsening.

"Maud, why don't you make a pot of tea? I'll take care of Jenny. You should go to bed."

"What about Cal?" Maud asked. "He'll be home soon, and he'll need to eat," she protested.

"Maud, don't worry about Cal. That's my job. What are you trying to do, make me look bad?" Evan teased.

Maud smiled weakly. "He's such a fine boy."

"I agree, but will you please go to bed? You don't look well. Jen and I will look after Cal." She glanced at the girl. "Right, Jenny?" Jenny nodded, momentarily distracted from the hated carrots.

The look Maud gave her was grateful. "Maybe I will go to bed. I don't know what's wrong with me. I've had this headache all day. Thank you, dear." She got up tiredly, but before leaving the kitchen, she kissed Jenny and then Evan on the forehead. The warm gesture somehow linked them in a shared childhood, and Evan was strangely moved by it. She had no memory of maternal kisses. None.

After Maud was gone, Evan started to clear the table. For the first time, she and Jenny were alone together. Jenny eyed Evan warily.

"I don't want these." She pointed to the carrots.

"Are you sure?"

Jenny shook her head with a vengeance. She was sure.

Without a word, Evan picked up her plate. She wasn't about to reveal it, but Jenny wasn't the only one who hated carrots. "Would you help me clear the table, sweetheart? Then we'll fix a plate for Cal."

Jenny watched her soberly, making no move to get off her chair.

Evan busied herself putting dishes in the dishwasher, chatting amiably as she did so. "Do you want me to read to you tonight? If you do, maybe you should go and pick out a book."

"No. I want to watch TV."

"Sorry. There aren't any good programs on for little girls right now. Reading is a lot more fun anyway." If the truth be known, there was nothing Evan would like better than to curl up in front of the television and lose herself in some mindless sitcom, but not with an impressionable four-year-old.

"I hate books. I want to watch TV." Jenny's tone was belligerent.

Evan sighed inwardly. She'd learned long ago that there was a law that said kids always acted their worst when an adult's energy was at its lowest ebb. She garnered her lackluster resolve for the confrontation she knew was coming. Looking Jenny in the eye, she spoke clearly but softly. "I said no, Jen, and I meant it."

Her lips set in a determined line, Jenny glared at her, then at the small kitchen TV. Evan had no doubt she planned to turn it on.

Sucking in a give-me-strength-Lord breath, she said, "If you turn on that television, make no mistake, sweetheart, I'll put you in your room, and you'll have to stay there for half an hour." Evan pointed to the kitchen clock. "Until the big hand on the clock points straight up. Do you understand me?"

Jenny didn't answer, nor did she take her eyes from Evan's face. Instead, she slowly slid from her chair and walked to the TV in the adjoining family room. She switched it on.

Evan hesitated.
Damn it!
This was not her problem. Why not let Jenny watch TV? She was too tired to deal with a defiant child. Linc had told her to back off. All she had to do was what he'd asked her to do. Let Jenny have her way. She'd raised her son, disciplined him, loved him; she didn't need this frustration. But when a gloating smile creased Jenny's pretty face, Evan stepped briskly forward. Jenny's smile vanished as quickly as it had come. She looked frightened now.

Evan's tense, tired expression softened as she switched off the television. "I'm not going to hurt you, Jen. I will never hurt you. I'm going to do what I said I'd do. Put you in your room. In half an hour"—Evan nodded again at the kitchen clock—"you can come downstairs again and wait for Cal."

When Jenny refused to take her hand, Evan picked the child up and carried her.

* * *

Maud's headache was a harbinger of a miserable cold, and Evan insisted she spend the next few days in bed. Evan spent the weekend looking after Jenny. When Evan went to work on Monday, Cal covered for her. Fortunately it was his scheduled day off from his job at the local supermarket. It had been a hectic time, and they were both grateful to see Maud feeling better and slowly getting back on her feet—even though Evan insisted she leave tonight's dishes with her and again go early to bed.

With the last dish in the dishwasher and the counters clear, Evan snuggled into the big chair near the window, planning some quiet time with her book.

She stretched and rolled her head to loosen her shoulders. So far so good; she'd managed, with Cal's help, to do her job here and at work. The bank account was getting fatter by the month. Everything was working out fine. Almost everything. There was still Linc, due home tomorrow, and... there was still Jenny.

Jenny and Evan had settled into an uneasy truce. In the past few days, Jenny had tested her a dozen times and lost. Evan had remained firm and consistent. And while she believed the child was beginning to respect her, she wasn't certain she liked her much. That saddened her, because she was developing a genuine affection for the feisty four-year-old. She smiled to herself.