Read Online Secret Vow by Susan R. Hughes - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Susan R. Hughes
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already added the baking soda? Damn it; if she added it twice, the cake would be ruined.
When the chime of the doorbell jarred her from her efforts, she gave up. Wiping her hands hastily on her apron, she hurried to the front vestibule to answer the door.
She found Ian standing on the porch, his shoulder against the doorframe and his arms crossed over his chest. At the sight of him her stomach made a sharp dip, though she wasn’t particularly surprised to see him there. She smiled weakly, waiting for him to speak.
He observed her with a stern expression, his gaze raking over the apron covering her blouse and jeans. “I see I’ve interrupted you.”
Brooke shrugged noncommittally. “It’s all right. Something tells me this cake isn’t going to be one of my finest efforts, anyhow.”
“Can we talk?” he asked.
Though trepidation gripped her chest, she supposed she couldn’t keep running away from him. She owed him another conversation, at least. Nodding her agreement, she slipped her feet into her sandals before stepping out onto the porch. Enveloped in the sun-warmed afternoon air, where only the shrieks of starlings in a nearby maple pierced the quiet, she nonetheless wrapped her arms about herself to quell a sudden chill.
“What did you want to talk about?” she asked.
Rather than reply, Ian raised a hand to gently touch her face, smoothing his fingertips along the ridge of her jaw. Brooke closed her eyes briefly, biting the corner of her lip as the brief caress elicited a swell of sweet sensation that sparkled through her limbs.
She opened her eyes when Ian lifted his hand, holding it up to show her the smudge of white powder on his fingertips.
“Thanks,” she muttered, swiftly patting her cheek to brush off whatever flour remained there.
Ian didn’t speak for a moment; he only stared at her, his jaw rigid, his green eyes hard like polished jade. Brooke was so accustomed to tenderness in his gaze that the inscrutable look in his eyes pained her.
“You left rather abruptly,” he said coolly at last, “after blurting something about falling in love with me.”
Oh, God; I am a colossal idiot. “Ian—”
He raised his palm to prevent her from interrupting him. “Then you tried to brush it off by saying I knew what you meant. But the thing is, I don’t know what you meant. I was hoping you might enlighten me.”
Twisting her hands in front of her, Brooke struggled to answer him. Her heart pummeled unrelentingly, buffeting the air from her lungs. “I care about you, Ian. I always have.” She managed to draw a breath before blurting the rest. “And … and I admit it, I’m so attracted to you I can hardly see straight when you’re around.”
His fists coiled against his hips as he continued to stare at her, his dark brows drawn low—though his expression changed, conveying a blend of bewilderment and frustration. “So what’s the problem?”
Releasing her breath, Brooke sank onto one of the Adirondack chair by the door, sagging against the arm rest. “I told you. I can’t stay in Eastport.”
His fists still pressed to his hips, Ian crossed the porch in three long paces, turning to her once he reached the edge. “And yet you can’t tell me where or when you’re going. I feel like you’re not being honest with me, Brooke. You’re hiding something. If it has to do with me, I wish you’d just tell me. Whatever it is, I can take it. I’m not made of glass.”
“Why does it have to be something to do with you?” Brooke flared, panic welling inside her. He couldn’t possibly guess the truth, but he was probing too far, getting too close to breaking her resolve. “There’s plenty about me you don’t know anything about.”
“I’d like to know everything about you, Brooke. Or anything you want to tell me.” He shook his head in exasperation. “But you don’t tell me much, do you? Half the time you look at me with pure longing in your eyes; but other times I feel like it
When the chime of the doorbell jarred her from her efforts, she gave up. Wiping her hands hastily on her apron, she hurried to the front vestibule to answer the door.
She found Ian standing on the porch, his shoulder against the doorframe and his arms crossed over his chest. At the sight of him her stomach made a sharp dip, though she wasn’t particularly surprised to see him there. She smiled weakly, waiting for him to speak.
He observed her with a stern expression, his gaze raking over the apron covering her blouse and jeans. “I see I’ve interrupted you.”
Brooke shrugged noncommittally. “It’s all right. Something tells me this cake isn’t going to be one of my finest efforts, anyhow.”
“Can we talk?” he asked.
Though trepidation gripped her chest, she supposed she couldn’t keep running away from him. She owed him another conversation, at least. Nodding her agreement, she slipped her feet into her sandals before stepping out onto the porch. Enveloped in the sun-warmed afternoon air, where only the shrieks of starlings in a nearby maple pierced the quiet, she nonetheless wrapped her arms about herself to quell a sudden chill.
“What did you want to talk about?” she asked.
Rather than reply, Ian raised a hand to gently touch her face, smoothing his fingertips along the ridge of her jaw. Brooke closed her eyes briefly, biting the corner of her lip as the brief caress elicited a swell of sweet sensation that sparkled through her limbs.
She opened her eyes when Ian lifted his hand, holding it up to show her the smudge of white powder on his fingertips.
“Thanks,” she muttered, swiftly patting her cheek to brush off whatever flour remained there.
Ian didn’t speak for a moment; he only stared at her, his jaw rigid, his green eyes hard like polished jade. Brooke was so accustomed to tenderness in his gaze that the inscrutable look in his eyes pained her.
“You left rather abruptly,” he said coolly at last, “after blurting something about falling in love with me.”
Oh, God; I am a colossal idiot. “Ian—”
He raised his palm to prevent her from interrupting him. “Then you tried to brush it off by saying I knew what you meant. But the thing is, I don’t know what you meant. I was hoping you might enlighten me.”
Twisting her hands in front of her, Brooke struggled to answer him. Her heart pummeled unrelentingly, buffeting the air from her lungs. “I care about you, Ian. I always have.” She managed to draw a breath before blurting the rest. “And … and I admit it, I’m so attracted to you I can hardly see straight when you’re around.”
His fists coiled against his hips as he continued to stare at her, his dark brows drawn low—though his expression changed, conveying a blend of bewilderment and frustration. “So what’s the problem?”
Releasing her breath, Brooke sank onto one of the Adirondack chair by the door, sagging against the arm rest. “I told you. I can’t stay in Eastport.”
His fists still pressed to his hips, Ian crossed the porch in three long paces, turning to her once he reached the edge. “And yet you can’t tell me where or when you’re going. I feel like you’re not being honest with me, Brooke. You’re hiding something. If it has to do with me, I wish you’d just tell me. Whatever it is, I can take it. I’m not made of glass.”
“Why does it have to be something to do with you?” Brooke flared, panic welling inside her. He couldn’t possibly guess the truth, but he was probing too far, getting too close to breaking her resolve. “There’s plenty about me you don’t know anything about.”
“I’d like to know everything about you, Brooke. Or anything you want to tell me.” He shook his head in exasperation. “But you don’t tell me much, do you? Half the time you look at me with pure longing in your eyes; but other times I feel like it
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