Read Online In Too Deep by Cherry Adair - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Cherry Adair
Tags: Fiction, General, Erótica, Romance, Islands, Contemporary, Fathers and daughters, Revenge, romantic suspense, Romantic Suspense Fiction, Missing Persons, Young Women, Marquesas Islands (French Polynesia)
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eyes. Oh, she was glad to be away from Michael's force field. She felt hot and prickly all over just thinking about last night. God. What had she been thinking to crawl into his bed like that?
She grinned. Technicolor, huh ? A gallant lie, of course. But sweet of him to say it, anyway. Men didn't normally drop at her feet like autumn leaves in the fall. She was usually the one men confided their love lives to. The little sister, the friend, the office Dear Abby. The one whose advice they asked before they went out with someone else.
But Michael Wright… Tally groaned. He must think she was a moron. God only knew, she was probably going through adolescence at twenty-seven. He literally made her hot. Tingly. And because he was so… male, he made her hyper-aware of herself .
Tally sighed again. What did it matter? He was only here for a couple of days. They'd go their separate ways and never see each other again. Besides, he was the last man she should get attached to.
Not that she hadn't had her share of dates over the years. She'd even had two fairly long-term relationships. Rory Foster had lasted almost a year. Until he'd taken that job in South America building the dam two months after he'd returned from Central Africa building a bridge. Then there'd been Ben Collins. She'd adored Ben. But so had many other women in airports all around the world on his international flights.
In the last couple of years she'd made a pleasant home for herself. Built a comfortable environment. She was ready to share her life with a man who was equally stable and responsible.
Michael Wright? She snorted. Not even close.
Obviously she was a sucker for traveling men. Not a good thing when a woman wanted hearth and home, two point nine children, and pot roast on Sunday nights.
Of course there'd been her brief walk on the wild side with Arnaud that time in London when she'd been a nineteen-year-old virgin. Tally groaned. The unmentionable-never-to-be-thought-about aberration when she'd spent several sweaty hours in Arnaud Bouchard's bed. Ugh!
It seemed that the men she attracted, when she attracted men, were the wrong men. She really needed to get a handle on that when she got back to Chicago.
Tally trudged up the hill to the small village on the rise overlooking the marina and the picture-perfect bay.
Hotel, boardinghouse—either was a rather grandiose name for a bar with a couple of bedrooms above it. Still, it was comfortable for a short stay, and the bathroom was large, with plenty of hot water. If her father wanted her up at the house he'd correct Arnaud's mistake when he arrived. Arnaud had indicated that Trevor might prefer that Tally stay with Auntie.
Not being welcome in her father's home had hurt. Her father had invited her, not Auntie, a woman she didn't even know. The fact had nothing to do with comfort and everything to do with what was right and hospitable.
It was impossible not to feel an ache when, once again, her father had given with one hand while he had taken away with the other. She'd fantasized about living with him since she was a small child. God. This was only a visit , yet he still kept her at arm's length.
They'd had an uneasy relationship her whole life. He was a mystery to Tally, and she was clearly a disappointment to him. It no longer hurt as it had when she was a child. Just because they had a biological connection didn't mean they had to have feelings for each other. But it was past time for her to at least attempt to forge some sort of link with the stranger who was her biological father.
Her relationship, or lack thereof, with Trevor Church had colored her life in countless ways. One of which, Tally was sure, was her relationship with men. Her mother's example of loving Trevor unconditionally, almost obsessively, through the years had saddened and confused Tally.
How could her mother so adore a man who was never there? Because that, and a million other questions, had confounded and puzzled her
She grinned. Technicolor, huh ? A gallant lie, of course. But sweet of him to say it, anyway. Men didn't normally drop at her feet like autumn leaves in the fall. She was usually the one men confided their love lives to. The little sister, the friend, the office Dear Abby. The one whose advice they asked before they went out with someone else.
But Michael Wright… Tally groaned. He must think she was a moron. God only knew, she was probably going through adolescence at twenty-seven. He literally made her hot. Tingly. And because he was so… male, he made her hyper-aware of herself .
Tally sighed again. What did it matter? He was only here for a couple of days. They'd go their separate ways and never see each other again. Besides, he was the last man she should get attached to.
Not that she hadn't had her share of dates over the years. She'd even had two fairly long-term relationships. Rory Foster had lasted almost a year. Until he'd taken that job in South America building the dam two months after he'd returned from Central Africa building a bridge. Then there'd been Ben Collins. She'd adored Ben. But so had many other women in airports all around the world on his international flights.
In the last couple of years she'd made a pleasant home for herself. Built a comfortable environment. She was ready to share her life with a man who was equally stable and responsible.
Michael Wright? She snorted. Not even close.
Obviously she was a sucker for traveling men. Not a good thing when a woman wanted hearth and home, two point nine children, and pot roast on Sunday nights.
Of course there'd been her brief walk on the wild side with Arnaud that time in London when she'd been a nineteen-year-old virgin. Tally groaned. The unmentionable-never-to-be-thought-about aberration when she'd spent several sweaty hours in Arnaud Bouchard's bed. Ugh!
It seemed that the men she attracted, when she attracted men, were the wrong men. She really needed to get a handle on that when she got back to Chicago.
Tally trudged up the hill to the small village on the rise overlooking the marina and the picture-perfect bay.
Hotel, boardinghouse—either was a rather grandiose name for a bar with a couple of bedrooms above it. Still, it was comfortable for a short stay, and the bathroom was large, with plenty of hot water. If her father wanted her up at the house he'd correct Arnaud's mistake when he arrived. Arnaud had indicated that Trevor might prefer that Tally stay with Auntie.
Not being welcome in her father's home had hurt. Her father had invited her, not Auntie, a woman she didn't even know. The fact had nothing to do with comfort and everything to do with what was right and hospitable.
It was impossible not to feel an ache when, once again, her father had given with one hand while he had taken away with the other. She'd fantasized about living with him since she was a small child. God. This was only a visit , yet he still kept her at arm's length.
They'd had an uneasy relationship her whole life. He was a mystery to Tally, and she was clearly a disappointment to him. It no longer hurt as it had when she was a child. Just because they had a biological connection didn't mean they had to have feelings for each other. But it was past time for her to at least attempt to forge some sort of link with the stranger who was her biological father.
Her relationship, or lack thereof, with Trevor Church had colored her life in countless ways. One of which, Tally was sure, was her relationship with men. Her mother's example of loving Trevor unconditionally, almost obsessively, through the years had saddened and confused Tally.
How could her mother so adore a man who was never there? Because that, and a million other questions, had confounded and puzzled her
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