Read Online Dance of the Crystal by Cris Anson - Free Book Online Page A

One would make all the overtures and she’d just melt into his arms, the way they did in romance novels.
    Reality was different. Reality made her wonder if the crystal was wrong after all. It had been quiescent all evening.
    On the other hand, maybe the way to a man’s bed was through his stomach. She’d put up her apple pie against any other dessert east of the Mississippi. So maybe the crystal only pointed the way and she had to do all the work.
    So be it. She wasn’t afraid of work.
    “I have regular Colombian, decaf, vanilla and—”
    “Regular is fine.” Soren had followed her through the dining area and into the kitchen, whose white oak counters made an ell around two sides of the room. He pulled out one of her French country chairs from under the round oak table near the windows and sat in it, watching her work. “Nice place.”

    “Thanks.” She gave him a quick smile as she measured the grounds and flicked the switch to start the coffee perking. Then she turned to get cups. And smacked her hip into the opened cutlery drawer. She snuck a glance at Soren, hoping he hadn’t noticed her clumsiness. It seemed to her that she went through life a half-inch off. Paper cuts, bruises, hairpins falling. More than once she’d gotten her fingers caught in a closing screen door or an elbow banged on a piece of furniture.
    Resisting the urge to rub the bruised area—dang it, wouldn’t you know it was on the exposed part of her hip—she arranged china, silverware, sugar, creamer, and linen napkins on a black lacquered tray.
    She lifted the tray and carried it to the table.
    And almost dropped it when she saw the intent look on his face.
    He popped up off his chair like a jack-in-the-box. “Uh, you want me to take that?”
    “I’ve got it.” She bent down to set the tray on the table. When she straightened, she saw he continued to stare at her. Specifically, at her boobs. “Something wrong?”
    “No. I was just thinking.”
    She cocked her head to one side. “About what?”
    His Adam’s apple bobbed up and down as he swallowed, and his gaze finally swept upward to her face.
    “We aren’t at your grandmother’s house.”
    A smile blossomed on her face. “Why, no, we aren’t. Is that significant?”
    “Crystal.” He looked as though he was waging an inner war. “Dammit, come here.”
    Instead of waiting for her to comply, he stepped forward and grabbed her shoulders, pulling her flush against him. He buried his face in her hair and mumbled, “Christ, you’re more seductive than that apple pie on the counter.”
    He took her head in both hands and kissed her like a man who’d been away from civilization for years.
    His tongue thrust into her mouth, and she opened for him like a blossom unfolding its petals.
    Her arms wrapped around his waist. She tugged at his blue polo shirt, pulling it from his jeans. Skin. She needed to feel his skin. There it was, hot and smooth under her palms. She thrilled to the intimacy of her hands roaming up and down the bumps of his spine. Shivers ran across her skin as he did the same to her waist, the exposed expanse of her hips.
    His fingers dipped into the crevice of her buttocks. Yes , she wanted to shout. She moved artlessly against him, rubbing against his man’s bulge, wanting to feel it with her hands, bare on bare, but didn’t know how to ask, how to show him by deed what she wanted.
    With a growl, he shoved her away. “Damn.” He plowed the fingers of both hands into his blond hair, mussing it enough to make him look less formidable. “Look, I’m sorry. I’ll just go and—”
    He stopped. Just as if he had fallen off a cliff in the middle of a sentence.
    “Hell. I don’t even know where I am. If you call a cab, I’ll—”

    “Oh no, you don’t.” She took a step forward. He backed up. Just enough for him to fall back into the chair when she gave him a nudge. “I spent a good deal of time making this pie, and you’re not leaving until you have your