Read Online Dawson's Fall (Welcome to Covendale #5) by Morgan Blaze - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Morgan Blaze
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living in. “Nice place,” she said. “I don’t remember it being here before I left town.”
“We built it,” Mark said curtly.
“Oh.” The statement filled her with unexpected warmth. Despite his abrupt tone, she could hear the pride behind the words. It was even more meaningful knowing where the Dawsons had lived before—in a battered trailer on a dusty lot, literally on the wrong side of the tracks. “Well, it’s wonderful,” she said. “I really like it.”
“I thought you were done trying to bribe me.”
“It’s not a bribe. I’m serious.”
The corner of his mouth twitched. “Sit down,” he said, gesturing at the couch as he walked past it. “We might as well have a drink.”
She sat. He left the room, and returned a moment later with two cut glass tumblers and the opened bottle of Scotch. He took a seat as far from her as he could get, then poured out two drinks and handed her one.
She would’ve proposed a toast to lighten the mood, but the smoldering look in his eyes suggested that wouldn’t work out.
Instead, she watched as he closed his eyes and took a slow sip. The way he savored it implied that he not only appreciated a fine Scotch, but he didn’t get the chance to enjoy good things too often. She remembered Jonah telling him not to work tonight—which meant he was probably a workaholic, totally dedicated to his business. And it made her stepping all over his job site even worse.
She finally realized he was staring at her. “Not thirsty again?” he said.
“No, I am,” she said. “Thank you.” She raised the tumbler briefly—and tossed the entire shot back at once.
“Huh. Guess you are,” he said. “Waste of a good Highland, if you ask me.”
“Yeah, well I’m nervous,” she said.
He frowned. “I won’t bite.”
“Are you sure about that? Because I’ve been getting the opposite impression.”
“Touché.” He smirked and picked up the bottle. “Refill?”
“Please.”
This time she took it slower. It really was good, and she didn’t have Scotch often. Wine was her family’s typical poison. That might be why she was already a touch dizzy.
Or maybe it was being this close to Mark, and fighting to deny how badly she wanted him.
“Your minutes are running out.”
The sarcastic edge derailed her train of thought. “Are you seriously timing this?”
“Four minutes and counting.”
Okay, so he was trying to make her mad. She just wouldn’t rise to the bait. Not sure where to start, she decided to try and get him talking. Maybe she could figure out what bothered him the most and start there. “Why are we like this?” she said. “At each other’s throats all the time.”
He blinked at her. “You’re kidding.”
“I mean, I know the whole family history thing is a problem—”
“You think?”
“But I don’t blame you,” she said. “Not like my father and Jason.”
“Really. So how do you blame me, then?”
“I don’t at all. It’s not your fault.”
His expression turned fierce, and he knocked back the rest of his drink. “Well, that’s terrific,” he said. “I guess I’m absolved. Except that you and your brother hate me, and your father wants to kill me.”
She drew a calming breath. At least they were getting somewhere now. “I don’t hate you,” she said. “Jason does, and I’m sorry for that. For my father, too. It’s no excuse, but they’re blinded by grief.” She tried to look reassuring. “I know he says awful things, but my father would never hurt anyone.”
Mark’s eyes burned. “Sweetheart, you don’t know your father very well.”
“Stop calling me that!” Damn. She didn’t mean to shout. She closed her eyes and tried to pull herself together. “Honestly, he wouldn’t,” she said. “I know that much about him.”
“Really. Because he had me pretty convinced he would, the night of that damned party.”
It was her turn to stare. “What are you talking about?”
“Your father came after
“We built it,” Mark said curtly.
“Oh.” The statement filled her with unexpected warmth. Despite his abrupt tone, she could hear the pride behind the words. It was even more meaningful knowing where the Dawsons had lived before—in a battered trailer on a dusty lot, literally on the wrong side of the tracks. “Well, it’s wonderful,” she said. “I really like it.”
“I thought you were done trying to bribe me.”
“It’s not a bribe. I’m serious.”
The corner of his mouth twitched. “Sit down,” he said, gesturing at the couch as he walked past it. “We might as well have a drink.”
She sat. He left the room, and returned a moment later with two cut glass tumblers and the opened bottle of Scotch. He took a seat as far from her as he could get, then poured out two drinks and handed her one.
She would’ve proposed a toast to lighten the mood, but the smoldering look in his eyes suggested that wouldn’t work out.
Instead, she watched as he closed his eyes and took a slow sip. The way he savored it implied that he not only appreciated a fine Scotch, but he didn’t get the chance to enjoy good things too often. She remembered Jonah telling him not to work tonight—which meant he was probably a workaholic, totally dedicated to his business. And it made her stepping all over his job site even worse.
She finally realized he was staring at her. “Not thirsty again?” he said.
“No, I am,” she said. “Thank you.” She raised the tumbler briefly—and tossed the entire shot back at once.
“Huh. Guess you are,” he said. “Waste of a good Highland, if you ask me.”
“Yeah, well I’m nervous,” she said.
He frowned. “I won’t bite.”
“Are you sure about that? Because I’ve been getting the opposite impression.”
“Touché.” He smirked and picked up the bottle. “Refill?”
“Please.”
This time she took it slower. It really was good, and she didn’t have Scotch often. Wine was her family’s typical poison. That might be why she was already a touch dizzy.
Or maybe it was being this close to Mark, and fighting to deny how badly she wanted him.
“Your minutes are running out.”
The sarcastic edge derailed her train of thought. “Are you seriously timing this?”
“Four minutes and counting.”
Okay, so he was trying to make her mad. She just wouldn’t rise to the bait. Not sure where to start, she decided to try and get him talking. Maybe she could figure out what bothered him the most and start there. “Why are we like this?” she said. “At each other’s throats all the time.”
He blinked at her. “You’re kidding.”
“I mean, I know the whole family history thing is a problem—”
“You think?”
“But I don’t blame you,” she said. “Not like my father and Jason.”
“Really. So how do you blame me, then?”
“I don’t at all. It’s not your fault.”
His expression turned fierce, and he knocked back the rest of his drink. “Well, that’s terrific,” he said. “I guess I’m absolved. Except that you and your brother hate me, and your father wants to kill me.”
She drew a calming breath. At least they were getting somewhere now. “I don’t hate you,” she said. “Jason does, and I’m sorry for that. For my father, too. It’s no excuse, but they’re blinded by grief.” She tried to look reassuring. “I know he says awful things, but my father would never hurt anyone.”
Mark’s eyes burned. “Sweetheart, you don’t know your father very well.”
“Stop calling me that!” Damn. She didn’t mean to shout. She closed her eyes and tried to pull herself together. “Honestly, he wouldn’t,” she said. “I know that much about him.”
“Really. Because he had me pretty convinced he would, the night of that damned party.”
It was her turn to stare. “What are you talking about?”
“Your father came after
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