Read Online That McCloud Woman by Peggy Moreland - Free Book Online
Authors: Peggy Moreland
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the texture of his lips moving on
hers. To taste him. Touch him. To have him fill her with…
Groaning,
she stumbled to a stop before the kitchen door, and pressed the heel of her
hand to her forehead, forcing back the memories, the sensations that had
flooded her mind, her body, at his touch. Oh, God, how was she ever going to
face him again after what she'd experienced? After she'd made such a fool of
herself?
She
jerked her hand to her side, curling her fingers into a tight fist, and willed
back the unwelcome fears.
Knowing
that she had no choice but to face him and to apologize to him, she stepped
into the kitchen. She set the skillet on the stove, turned on the burner
beneath it, then went to the refrigerator. Eggs. Milk. Butter. She gathered
ingredients, refusing to let her thoughts stray from the task at hand. She'd
make him a nice breakfast, she told herself. And while they ate, she'd explain
why she'd reacted the way she had the night before. She'd tell him why she'd
pulled away from him, when what she'd really wanted to do was to make wild,
passionate love with him. She'd tell him—
"Alayna?"
The
milk carton hit the floor first, followed quickly by the eggs and stick of
butter. Alayna stared at the mess spreading at her feet, the cracked eggshells
a vivid reminder of her own imperfections. Slowly she lifted her head. Jack
stood in the doorway, his cap squeezed between his hands. Without either of
them mentioning it, the memory of the night before stretched between them,
larger and more humiliating in the light of day. She saw it in his face, in the
tightness of his lips, in the regret that shadowed his eyes … in the reluctance
that kept him at the door and from drawing any closer to her.
Faced
with her inadequacies and the ramifications when she chose to ignore them, she
dropped her gaze. "You startled me," she murmured, then sank to her
knees, and began to scrape at the milk and eggs with her bare hands.
"Sorry about the mess. I'll cook your breakfast as soon as I get it
cleaned up."
Tears
blinded her and she swiped her wrist beneath her eyes to clear them away, then
frantically started scraping again at the spilled milk and broken eggs.
A
hand closed around her wrist.
"I'm
the one who should be apologizing, Alayna. Not you."
She
dipped her chin to her chest and closed her eyes, willing him to disappear, to
spare her any more humiliation, any further embarrassment. But when she opened
her eyes, his knee was still inches from her own, his fingers still wrapped
tightly around her wrist. "It's not your fault," she said and
sniffed. "I'm just clumsy, is all."
"Not
about the milk," he said, his voice sharp with frustration. "I'm
sorry about last night. I—"
Alayna
sucked in a breath, knowing if she didn't say it now and quickly, she never
would. She eased free of his grasp, drawing away from him, both physically and
emotionally. "It's not your fault," she said and had to fight to keep
the quiver from her voice. "I shouldn't have let things go so far."
She pushed to her feet and crossed to the sink and tore a length of paper towel
from the dispenser. Grabbing a bowl, she returned and dropped down beside him
again. She blotted up the pools of milk and, at the same time, managed to keep
her face hidden from him.
"Why?"
At
the one-word question, her fingers stilled, then she started frantically
mopping up the milk again, her movements as jerky as the nerves that jumped
beneath her skin. "Because I'm not any good at sex. I know that,
but—" She fisted the paper into a wad within her hand, then set her jaw
and started scrubbing furiously at the floor. "I just got carried away for
a minute. That's all. It won't happen again."
Dumbfounded,
Jack stared at the back of her head. She'd lost him right after the part where
she'd said she wasn't any good at sex. "You're not any good at sex."
He
said it as a statement, not a question, but Alayna felt obligated to respond.
"No, I'm not."
"And
what makes you think
hers. To taste him. Touch him. To have him fill her with…
Groaning,
she stumbled to a stop before the kitchen door, and pressed the heel of her
hand to her forehead, forcing back the memories, the sensations that had
flooded her mind, her body, at his touch. Oh, God, how was she ever going to
face him again after what she'd experienced? After she'd made such a fool of
herself?
She
jerked her hand to her side, curling her fingers into a tight fist, and willed
back the unwelcome fears.
Knowing
that she had no choice but to face him and to apologize to him, she stepped
into the kitchen. She set the skillet on the stove, turned on the burner
beneath it, then went to the refrigerator. Eggs. Milk. Butter. She gathered
ingredients, refusing to let her thoughts stray from the task at hand. She'd
make him a nice breakfast, she told herself. And while they ate, she'd explain
why she'd reacted the way she had the night before. She'd tell him why she'd
pulled away from him, when what she'd really wanted to do was to make wild,
passionate love with him. She'd tell him—
"Alayna?"
The
milk carton hit the floor first, followed quickly by the eggs and stick of
butter. Alayna stared at the mess spreading at her feet, the cracked eggshells
a vivid reminder of her own imperfections. Slowly she lifted her head. Jack
stood in the doorway, his cap squeezed between his hands. Without either of
them mentioning it, the memory of the night before stretched between them,
larger and more humiliating in the light of day. She saw it in his face, in the
tightness of his lips, in the regret that shadowed his eyes … in the reluctance
that kept him at the door and from drawing any closer to her.
Faced
with her inadequacies and the ramifications when she chose to ignore them, she
dropped her gaze. "You startled me," she murmured, then sank to her
knees, and began to scrape at the milk and eggs with her bare hands.
"Sorry about the mess. I'll cook your breakfast as soon as I get it
cleaned up."
Tears
blinded her and she swiped her wrist beneath her eyes to clear them away, then
frantically started scraping again at the spilled milk and broken eggs.
A
hand closed around her wrist.
"I'm
the one who should be apologizing, Alayna. Not you."
She
dipped her chin to her chest and closed her eyes, willing him to disappear, to
spare her any more humiliation, any further embarrassment. But when she opened
her eyes, his knee was still inches from her own, his fingers still wrapped
tightly around her wrist. "It's not your fault," she said and
sniffed. "I'm just clumsy, is all."
"Not
about the milk," he said, his voice sharp with frustration. "I'm
sorry about last night. I—"
Alayna
sucked in a breath, knowing if she didn't say it now and quickly, she never
would. She eased free of his grasp, drawing away from him, both physically and
emotionally. "It's not your fault," she said and had to fight to keep
the quiver from her voice. "I shouldn't have let things go so far."
She pushed to her feet and crossed to the sink and tore a length of paper towel
from the dispenser. Grabbing a bowl, she returned and dropped down beside him
again. She blotted up the pools of milk and, at the same time, managed to keep
her face hidden from him.
"Why?"
At
the one-word question, her fingers stilled, then she started frantically
mopping up the milk again, her movements as jerky as the nerves that jumped
beneath her skin. "Because I'm not any good at sex. I know that,
but—" She fisted the paper into a wad within her hand, then set her jaw
and started scrubbing furiously at the floor. "I just got carried away for
a minute. That's all. It won't happen again."
Dumbfounded,
Jack stared at the back of her head. She'd lost him right after the part where
she'd said she wasn't any good at sex. "You're not any good at sex."
He
said it as a statement, not a question, but Alayna felt obligated to respond.
"No, I'm not."
"And
what makes you think
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