Read Online A Fairytale Christmas by Susan Wiggs - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Susan Wiggs
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It’s fun.”
“I—I can’t.”
“Can’t have fun?”
“Can’t do this.” She felt dizzy with confusion. Her heart was broken—wasn’t it? Then how could she want
this
man? Was she turning into a slut in her old age? First the one-night stand, and now
Jack Riley?
Oh, that would make a cute picture for the society pages: Publishing Heiress Goes to Press with City Room Stud.
“What do you mean, you can’t?” He kept doing this maddening thing with his finger, tracing her throat, her collarbones, through her sweater.
“I’m just not into casual affairs.” She braced her hands on the sofa behind her and sat up. “I—they don’t work for me.”
“Whoever said anything about casual?” he asked. “Or affair, for that matter?”
“What else can it be?”
He chuckled and leaned forward. “It can be—” He whispered another suggestion in her ear.
She jumped up and stumbled back. “You are too much, Jack Riley. I need— Where’s the bathroom?”
“Did I make you sick?”
“Just nervous.”
With a lazy smile that caused an odd twist in her stomach, he pointed. She fled down a hall, closing the door behind her and leaning against it, her body shaking and her eyes squeezed shut.
Oh, God. What was she doing? Here she was, almost making it with Jack Riley, of all people. Was she crazy?
The worst of it was, she
wanted
him, in all his crudeness, his messiness, his insolence. There was something in him that she needed. It was purely ridiculous, she told herself, not to mention wanton and immoral, to crave intimacy with a man she barely knew. A man she was supposed to dislike.
A man diametrically opposed to her mystery date Friday night.
Her sanity was hanging by a thread. She had expected her first Christmas without her father to be rough, but she was going off the deep end. Jack Riley, of all people.
She turned on the water and let it run over her hands for a while, then washed her face. Jack Riley’s bathroom was as cheerfully and unapologetically cluttered as the rest of the apartment. Turning to grab a clean towel from the rack behind her, she knocked over a plastic tumbler and bent to retrieve it from where it had fallen, right next to the cowboy boot.
Slowly drying her hands and face, Madeleine stared down at the boot. She shouldn’t be surprised to see it, since she had just discovered Jack came from Texas, but she was amazed.
She bent and picked up the boot. Black leather. European goat. Made by Lucchese of San Antonio. Size twelve.
Her mind tried to grasp the significance of this, but for a few moments, she was numb, empty. She was like a trauma victim taking refuge in shock.
“Hey, Madeleine,” Jack called. “You okay in there?”
“Uh, yes.” Her voice sounded thin. Very carefully, she set down the boot.
You okay?
Sure, Jack, she thought. She forced herself to think things through. She wanted so desperately to be wrong.
“What can I expect from a woman who turns to mush over a guy in a tux and cowboy boots?”
She heard his taunting words echoing in her mind. The thing was, the photo had only showed the happy couple from the waist up. Jack couldn’t have known about the boots.
Unless he’d been the one wearing them.
A sob built in Madeleine’s throat, but she swallowed it. She wouldn’t cry over this man. At least, not while he was watching. Crying meant she cared, and she refused to do that.
She stepped out of the bathroom, closing the door quietly behind her. Jack stood in the living room, regarding her quizzically.
She saw it all, then, the resemblance she should have noticed right from the first. The strong jaw, the beautiful hands. The drown-in-chocolate eyes. The long, lean-hipped body.
Her eyes had been as blind as her heart.
“I have to go,” she said, enunciating each word. “I can’t stay here.”
“Madeleine, are you ill? Talk to me. What’s wrong?”
Besides the hideous joke you played on me?
her mind screamed.
Why, everything’s just
“I—I can’t.”
“Can’t have fun?”
“Can’t do this.” She felt dizzy with confusion. Her heart was broken—wasn’t it? Then how could she want
this
man? Was she turning into a slut in her old age? First the one-night stand, and now
Jack Riley?
Oh, that would make a cute picture for the society pages: Publishing Heiress Goes to Press with City Room Stud.
“What do you mean, you can’t?” He kept doing this maddening thing with his finger, tracing her throat, her collarbones, through her sweater.
“I’m just not into casual affairs.” She braced her hands on the sofa behind her and sat up. “I—they don’t work for me.”
“Whoever said anything about casual?” he asked. “Or affair, for that matter?”
“What else can it be?”
He chuckled and leaned forward. “It can be—” He whispered another suggestion in her ear.
She jumped up and stumbled back. “You are too much, Jack Riley. I need— Where’s the bathroom?”
“Did I make you sick?”
“Just nervous.”
With a lazy smile that caused an odd twist in her stomach, he pointed. She fled down a hall, closing the door behind her and leaning against it, her body shaking and her eyes squeezed shut.
Oh, God. What was she doing? Here she was, almost making it with Jack Riley, of all people. Was she crazy?
The worst of it was, she
wanted
him, in all his crudeness, his messiness, his insolence. There was something in him that she needed. It was purely ridiculous, she told herself, not to mention wanton and immoral, to crave intimacy with a man she barely knew. A man she was supposed to dislike.
A man diametrically opposed to her mystery date Friday night.
Her sanity was hanging by a thread. She had expected her first Christmas without her father to be rough, but she was going off the deep end. Jack Riley, of all people.
She turned on the water and let it run over her hands for a while, then washed her face. Jack Riley’s bathroom was as cheerfully and unapologetically cluttered as the rest of the apartment. Turning to grab a clean towel from the rack behind her, she knocked over a plastic tumbler and bent to retrieve it from where it had fallen, right next to the cowboy boot.
Slowly drying her hands and face, Madeleine stared down at the boot. She shouldn’t be surprised to see it, since she had just discovered Jack came from Texas, but she was amazed.
She bent and picked up the boot. Black leather. European goat. Made by Lucchese of San Antonio. Size twelve.
Her mind tried to grasp the significance of this, but for a few moments, she was numb, empty. She was like a trauma victim taking refuge in shock.
“Hey, Madeleine,” Jack called. “You okay in there?”
“Uh, yes.” Her voice sounded thin. Very carefully, she set down the boot.
You okay?
Sure, Jack, she thought. She forced herself to think things through. She wanted so desperately to be wrong.
“What can I expect from a woman who turns to mush over a guy in a tux and cowboy boots?”
She heard his taunting words echoing in her mind. The thing was, the photo had only showed the happy couple from the waist up. Jack couldn’t have known about the boots.
Unless he’d been the one wearing them.
A sob built in Madeleine’s throat, but she swallowed it. She wouldn’t cry over this man. At least, not while he was watching. Crying meant she cared, and she refused to do that.
She stepped out of the bathroom, closing the door quietly behind her. Jack stood in the living room, regarding her quizzically.
She saw it all, then, the resemblance she should have noticed right from the first. The strong jaw, the beautiful hands. The drown-in-chocolate eyes. The long, lean-hipped body.
Her eyes had been as blind as her heart.
“I have to go,” she said, enunciating each word. “I can’t stay here.”
“Madeleine, are you ill? Talk to me. What’s wrong?”
Besides the hideous joke you played on me?
her mind screamed.
Why, everything’s just
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