Read Online Lancelot of the Pines (Louisiana Knights Book 1) by Jennifer Blake - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Jennifer Blake
Ads: Link
use.
A task to occupy her was infinitely preferable to standing around trying to think of something to say. She took down foam plates and plastic utensils and napkins, and set them out. The sheets and pillow she’d used during the night were stacked on the bench opposite the table. She picked them up and took them toward the bedroom, skimming past Lance to reach it.
Leaving the bedding on the foot of the bed, she eased past him again. As she threaded that tight space, her breasts under the thin T-shirt she wore brushed across his back. She felt him flinch, heard his sudden, indrawn breath.
“Sorry,” she said, moving on a couple of steps and sitting down at the table.
“Don’t be.” His voice was rough as he answered.
In fact, she wasn’t. The contact might not have been deliberate, but it had been instructive. Being near her affected him. She’d thought so the day before; now she knew.
Of course, she had not expected her nipples to contract into hard points, raking his corded back muscles like nail heads. She hadn’t figured on the hitch in her own breathing, either. Leaning forward so the T-shirt material fell away from her chest, she willed her pulse to slow and composure to return before she had to face him again.
“Milk or orange juice?”
He spoke as he moved toward her there at the table, his voice even, neutral. The deep timbre of it seemed to vibrate in her chest cavity. She whipped her head up so fast she nearly gave herself whiplash, but then forced a smile.
“Orange juice, please.”
He set a plastic cup in front of her, and then filled one for himself. Putting the juice box on the table, he slid a platter of bacon and scrambled eggs onto the table corner where he could reach it from the extra bench seat.
Mandy had scooted over on her bench at the table, but was glad she wouldn’t have to share the crowded space. Having him too near was more than she wanted or needed at the moment.
“Dig in before it gets cold,” he told her.
Turning away, he stepped into the small bath. No sound came from it for long seconds, then Mandy heard the water running in the little vanity sink, as if he might be washing his hands. When he appeared again, he didn’t look her way, but only took his place and picked up his fork.
They ate without speaking, though Mandy was no longer hungry. The eggs were fine, perfectly cooked, and the bacon crisp without being too hard. There was even toast. She cleared her plate mechanically, washing it all down with the orange juice.
Lance finished his food with a few swift bites, wiped his mouth, and then tossed the crumpled paper napkin into his plate. He sat back then, his long legs stretched out across the narrow walkway so she was effectively trapped behind the table.
She glanced at him, then away again. She could feel the heat rising in her face under his steady regard.
“I believe,” he said, crossing his arms over his chest, “that it’s time you leveled with me.”
It was impossible to meet the dark brown of his eyes. She drank the last of her juice before she answered. “I’m not sure I know what you mean.”
“Let me be clear, then. You’re no society girl who snagged a husband rich enough to keep you in designer clothes and diamonds. You’ve been in and out of trouble since you ran away from the last of several foster families when you were fourteen. You hung with a street gang, were arrested twice, and spent four years in the juvenile justice system the second time around. Bruce Caret picked you up out of the gutter and—”
“Now wait a minute,” she exclaimed, shoving her plate back so hard it almost flew over the table edge. “I made a few mistakes when I was young and on my own. That was years ago, and the record is supposed to be sealed.”
He watched her without expression. “You don’t deny it?”
“No, but still—”
“Your record may not be public, but it’s open to proper legal inquiry.”
“That can’t be right. Bruce fixed
A task to occupy her was infinitely preferable to standing around trying to think of something to say. She took down foam plates and plastic utensils and napkins, and set them out. The sheets and pillow she’d used during the night were stacked on the bench opposite the table. She picked them up and took them toward the bedroom, skimming past Lance to reach it.
Leaving the bedding on the foot of the bed, she eased past him again. As she threaded that tight space, her breasts under the thin T-shirt she wore brushed across his back. She felt him flinch, heard his sudden, indrawn breath.
“Sorry,” she said, moving on a couple of steps and sitting down at the table.
“Don’t be.” His voice was rough as he answered.
In fact, she wasn’t. The contact might not have been deliberate, but it had been instructive. Being near her affected him. She’d thought so the day before; now she knew.
Of course, she had not expected her nipples to contract into hard points, raking his corded back muscles like nail heads. She hadn’t figured on the hitch in her own breathing, either. Leaning forward so the T-shirt material fell away from her chest, she willed her pulse to slow and composure to return before she had to face him again.
“Milk or orange juice?”
He spoke as he moved toward her there at the table, his voice even, neutral. The deep timbre of it seemed to vibrate in her chest cavity. She whipped her head up so fast she nearly gave herself whiplash, but then forced a smile.
“Orange juice, please.”
He set a plastic cup in front of her, and then filled one for himself. Putting the juice box on the table, he slid a platter of bacon and scrambled eggs onto the table corner where he could reach it from the extra bench seat.
Mandy had scooted over on her bench at the table, but was glad she wouldn’t have to share the crowded space. Having him too near was more than she wanted or needed at the moment.
“Dig in before it gets cold,” he told her.
Turning away, he stepped into the small bath. No sound came from it for long seconds, then Mandy heard the water running in the little vanity sink, as if he might be washing his hands. When he appeared again, he didn’t look her way, but only took his place and picked up his fork.
They ate without speaking, though Mandy was no longer hungry. The eggs were fine, perfectly cooked, and the bacon crisp without being too hard. There was even toast. She cleared her plate mechanically, washing it all down with the orange juice.
Lance finished his food with a few swift bites, wiped his mouth, and then tossed the crumpled paper napkin into his plate. He sat back then, his long legs stretched out across the narrow walkway so she was effectively trapped behind the table.
She glanced at him, then away again. She could feel the heat rising in her face under his steady regard.
“I believe,” he said, crossing his arms over his chest, “that it’s time you leveled with me.”
It was impossible to meet the dark brown of his eyes. She drank the last of her juice before she answered. “I’m not sure I know what you mean.”
“Let me be clear, then. You’re no society girl who snagged a husband rich enough to keep you in designer clothes and diamonds. You’ve been in and out of trouble since you ran away from the last of several foster families when you were fourteen. You hung with a street gang, were arrested twice, and spent four years in the juvenile justice system the second time around. Bruce Caret picked you up out of the gutter and—”
“Now wait a minute,” she exclaimed, shoving her plate back so hard it almost flew over the table edge. “I made a few mistakes when I was young and on my own. That was years ago, and the record is supposed to be sealed.”
He watched her without expression. “You don’t deny it?”
“No, but still—”
“Your record may not be public, but it’s open to proper legal inquiry.”
“That can’t be right. Bruce fixed
Similar Books
