Read Online Stranger in Paradise (Home Front - Book #2) by Barbara Bretton - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Barbara Bretton
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films to know exactly what he was leading up to. “I should go in,” she said, playing along. “My father will have my head on a platter if I’m not upstairs before ten.”
She lifted her chin. He ducked his head. The vast difference in their heights made things a trifle inconvenient, but American men turned out to be as ingenious as rumored. She smelled the faint spicy aroma of his shaving soap, the warm scent of desire, the dark essence of ale as he came closer. The faint scar on his cheek begged for the touch of her mouth. Desire rose inside her. She could almost taste him, feel the texture of his lips and tongue, hear the slow rush as their breaths mingled.
Like the heroine in Sleeping Beauty she came alive at the touch of his mouth on hers. His kiss was hungry, possessive. The kiss of a man claiming what already belonged to him in thought and word and intent. It left her breathless and aching for more.
“I think it’s time for our second date,” she whispered as they moved apart once again.
It was his turn to look at his watch. “You’re right.” He kissed her quick and hard, then reached for his battered trench coat. “And in an hour it will be time for our third.”
She nodded. Somehow it all seemed perfectly logical in a dotty kind of way. It was a day of magic and splendor, a day when anything at all could happen and probably would. They stepped out of the pub and instantly found themselves swept up in a throng of revelers on their way to Buckingham Palace to see the queen. Confetti dotted Whitehall Street, and red and blue streamers drifted lazily along the rainswept sidewalks.
London had never looked more beautiful to her than it did as she darted up a side street, her hand tucked securely in Mac’s strong one, and showed him a shortcut to the palace. Suddenly Mac came to a stop.
“Why are we going to the palace?” he asked.
“Because—” She stopped. “I don’t exactly know.”
“The speech will be on the radio, won’t it?”
She nodded. “She certainly won’t make the broadcast from the balcony.”
“I don’t think she’d miss us, do you?”
“Not one bit.”
“We could grab some supper then catch the fireworks over the Thames.”
“I’d love that.”
“Then we can talk about the future.”
She met his eyes. “I’d love that even more.”
He pulled her close. She wondered how she’d lived all these years without the feel of his strong arms around her.
But, more importantly, she wondered how she would live the years yet to come without him.
* * *
The hamburgers were cooked to perfection. The potato salad was a success. The four children at the table didn’t fight, throw up, or make rude noises and bounce potato chips off the dog’s nose. The adults made adult conversation. Any other night Nancy would have been thrilled to have hosted such a wonderful dinner party.
Tonight she couldn’t wait to see it end.
When the Danzas said good-night and climbed into their Oldsmobile 88 to head back into the city, Nancy breathed a sigh of relief and hurried back into the den to watch the film of the coronation. The girls were already in bed, and Gerry, exhausted after a long day at work, was sleeping behind his copy of the Lang Island Press . Even their dog, Bingo, snored peacefully in his basket near the fireplace.
She was alone with the television, a nickel bottle of Coca-Cola and Queen Elizabeth II. Curled up on the sofa in her favorite blue chenille bathrobe, she could mingle with aristocrats and dance with princes and never leave home. How had she ever lived before television? Thanks to her nine-inch window on the world, she could invite Clark Gable and Cary Grant into her den and hobnob with royalty half a world away. It was a miracle, that’s what it was. An absolute miracle. Why her parents were dragging their heels about the new invention was beyond Nancy. Who needed the drone of the radio when you could watch history unfold right there in your own
She lifted her chin. He ducked his head. The vast difference in their heights made things a trifle inconvenient, but American men turned out to be as ingenious as rumored. She smelled the faint spicy aroma of his shaving soap, the warm scent of desire, the dark essence of ale as he came closer. The faint scar on his cheek begged for the touch of her mouth. Desire rose inside her. She could almost taste him, feel the texture of his lips and tongue, hear the slow rush as their breaths mingled.
Like the heroine in Sleeping Beauty she came alive at the touch of his mouth on hers. His kiss was hungry, possessive. The kiss of a man claiming what already belonged to him in thought and word and intent. It left her breathless and aching for more.
“I think it’s time for our second date,” she whispered as they moved apart once again.
It was his turn to look at his watch. “You’re right.” He kissed her quick and hard, then reached for his battered trench coat. “And in an hour it will be time for our third.”
She nodded. Somehow it all seemed perfectly logical in a dotty kind of way. It was a day of magic and splendor, a day when anything at all could happen and probably would. They stepped out of the pub and instantly found themselves swept up in a throng of revelers on their way to Buckingham Palace to see the queen. Confetti dotted Whitehall Street, and red and blue streamers drifted lazily along the rainswept sidewalks.
London had never looked more beautiful to her than it did as she darted up a side street, her hand tucked securely in Mac’s strong one, and showed him a shortcut to the palace. Suddenly Mac came to a stop.
“Why are we going to the palace?” he asked.
“Because—” She stopped. “I don’t exactly know.”
“The speech will be on the radio, won’t it?”
She nodded. “She certainly won’t make the broadcast from the balcony.”
“I don’t think she’d miss us, do you?”
“Not one bit.”
“We could grab some supper then catch the fireworks over the Thames.”
“I’d love that.”
“Then we can talk about the future.”
She met his eyes. “I’d love that even more.”
He pulled her close. She wondered how she’d lived all these years without the feel of his strong arms around her.
But, more importantly, she wondered how she would live the years yet to come without him.
* * *
The hamburgers were cooked to perfection. The potato salad was a success. The four children at the table didn’t fight, throw up, or make rude noises and bounce potato chips off the dog’s nose. The adults made adult conversation. Any other night Nancy would have been thrilled to have hosted such a wonderful dinner party.
Tonight she couldn’t wait to see it end.
When the Danzas said good-night and climbed into their Oldsmobile 88 to head back into the city, Nancy breathed a sigh of relief and hurried back into the den to watch the film of the coronation. The girls were already in bed, and Gerry, exhausted after a long day at work, was sleeping behind his copy of the Lang Island Press . Even their dog, Bingo, snored peacefully in his basket near the fireplace.
She was alone with the television, a nickel bottle of Coca-Cola and Queen Elizabeth II. Curled up on the sofa in her favorite blue chenille bathrobe, she could mingle with aristocrats and dance with princes and never leave home. How had she ever lived before television? Thanks to her nine-inch window on the world, she could invite Clark Gable and Cary Grant into her den and hobnob with royalty half a world away. It was a miracle, that’s what it was. An absolute miracle. Why her parents were dragging their heels about the new invention was beyond Nancy. Who needed the drone of the radio when you could watch history unfold right there in your own
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