Read Online The Next Always by Nora Roberts - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Nora Roberts
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second in command, shot her a smile.
“Hey, Clare. Where are my boyfriends?”
“With my mom. Is Avery here?”
“In the back. Is something wrong?”
God, how did she look? “No, nothing. Just . . . just want a minute with the boss.”
Striving for casual, Clare strolled around to the closed kitchen area where Avery cut fresh dough into tins for rising. Steve, the dishwasher, rattled around at the big double sink, and one of the waitstaff grabbed glassware from the wire shelves.
“I need to talk to you when you have a minute.”
“Talk. I’m not using my ears for anything right now.” Then Avery glanced over, saw Clare’s face. “Oh. Talk . Give me five. Go grab something cold out of the cooler for both of us. I need to get some supplies from downstairs anyway.”
“I’ll just go down and wait.”
She grabbed a couple of ginger ales and went out the door to the back stairwell. Outside again, and under the building—she could hear people talking and laughing on the porch above—and into the sprawling, low-ceilinged basement with its stacked cases of soft drinks, bottled beer, wine.
Cooler, she thought. Cooler here. And opened the ginger ale to drink long and deep.
Moonlight and honeysuckle, she thought in disgust. Just another fairy tale with her. She was a grown woman, a mother of three. She knew better.
But really, had she ever noticed, really noticed, how strong and wonderfully shaped Beckett’s mouth was? Gorgeous—she knew that, too. All the Montgomerys were, but had she ever noticed how deeply blue his eyes were in the moonlight?
“There wasn’t any moonlight, you idiot. It was an unfinished room crowded with paint cans and lumber and tarps. For God’s sake.”
She’d gotten caught up in the romance of it, that’s all. Buttery leather, blue ceilings, peacock feathers, and cashmere throws.
It was all so fanciful, so outside her own reality of practical, affordable, childproof. And it wasn’t as if she’d actually done anything. Wanting to for a minute wasn’t doing.
She paced, then whipped around when the door opened.
“What’s up?” Avery demanded. “You look like the town cops are hot on your trail.”
“I almost kissed Beckett.”
“They can’t arrest you for that.” Avery took the unopened can of ginger ale. “How, where, and why almost?”
“I went over to see a few more rooms, and we were in Marguerite and Percy—”
“Ooh-la-la.”
“Cut it out, Avery. I’m serious.”
“I can see that, sweetie, but almost kissing a very attractive, available man who’s got the hots for you doesn’t rate disaster status.”
“He doesn’t have the hots for me.”
Avery drank, shook her head. “I beg to differ, most strongly. But do go on.”
“It was just . . . There was all this stuff in there, and I bumped into something, tripped a little, and he reached out to steady me.”
“By which part?”
Clare tipped her head back, stared at the ceiling. “Why am I talking to you?”
“Who else? But really, which part? Did he take your hand, your arm, your ass?”
“My waist. He put an arm around my waist, and I . . . I don’t know, exactly, but then we were there, and his mouth was there, and that funny light, and honeysuckle.”
“Honeysuckle?” Avery’s face lit up. “You saw the ghost.”
“I did not, first because there are no ghosts.”
“You’re the one who smelled honeysuckle.”
“I only thought I did. I just got caught up. Romantic room—or it will be, the way he described it, the light, and I felt . . . I felt what I haven’t felt in a long, long time. I didn’t think, I just leaned in.”
“You said almost.”
“Because just before contact, he looked at me like I’d kicked him in the balls. Just stunned.” Even now, with Avery, mortification and that sneaky wave of lust flooded her. “And I stopped, and we both made excuses. After, he kept his distance, like I was radioactive. I embarrassed him, and myself.”
“I’ll tell you
“Hey, Clare. Where are my boyfriends?”
“With my mom. Is Avery here?”
“In the back. Is something wrong?”
God, how did she look? “No, nothing. Just . . . just want a minute with the boss.”
Striving for casual, Clare strolled around to the closed kitchen area where Avery cut fresh dough into tins for rising. Steve, the dishwasher, rattled around at the big double sink, and one of the waitstaff grabbed glassware from the wire shelves.
“I need to talk to you when you have a minute.”
“Talk. I’m not using my ears for anything right now.” Then Avery glanced over, saw Clare’s face. “Oh. Talk . Give me five. Go grab something cold out of the cooler for both of us. I need to get some supplies from downstairs anyway.”
“I’ll just go down and wait.”
She grabbed a couple of ginger ales and went out the door to the back stairwell. Outside again, and under the building—she could hear people talking and laughing on the porch above—and into the sprawling, low-ceilinged basement with its stacked cases of soft drinks, bottled beer, wine.
Cooler, she thought. Cooler here. And opened the ginger ale to drink long and deep.
Moonlight and honeysuckle, she thought in disgust. Just another fairy tale with her. She was a grown woman, a mother of three. She knew better.
But really, had she ever noticed, really noticed, how strong and wonderfully shaped Beckett’s mouth was? Gorgeous—she knew that, too. All the Montgomerys were, but had she ever noticed how deeply blue his eyes were in the moonlight?
“There wasn’t any moonlight, you idiot. It was an unfinished room crowded with paint cans and lumber and tarps. For God’s sake.”
She’d gotten caught up in the romance of it, that’s all. Buttery leather, blue ceilings, peacock feathers, and cashmere throws.
It was all so fanciful, so outside her own reality of practical, affordable, childproof. And it wasn’t as if she’d actually done anything. Wanting to for a minute wasn’t doing.
She paced, then whipped around when the door opened.
“What’s up?” Avery demanded. “You look like the town cops are hot on your trail.”
“I almost kissed Beckett.”
“They can’t arrest you for that.” Avery took the unopened can of ginger ale. “How, where, and why almost?”
“I went over to see a few more rooms, and we were in Marguerite and Percy—”
“Ooh-la-la.”
“Cut it out, Avery. I’m serious.”
“I can see that, sweetie, but almost kissing a very attractive, available man who’s got the hots for you doesn’t rate disaster status.”
“He doesn’t have the hots for me.”
Avery drank, shook her head. “I beg to differ, most strongly. But do go on.”
“It was just . . . There was all this stuff in there, and I bumped into something, tripped a little, and he reached out to steady me.”
“By which part?”
Clare tipped her head back, stared at the ceiling. “Why am I talking to you?”
“Who else? But really, which part? Did he take your hand, your arm, your ass?”
“My waist. He put an arm around my waist, and I . . . I don’t know, exactly, but then we were there, and his mouth was there, and that funny light, and honeysuckle.”
“Honeysuckle?” Avery’s face lit up. “You saw the ghost.”
“I did not, first because there are no ghosts.”
“You’re the one who smelled honeysuckle.”
“I only thought I did. I just got caught up. Romantic room—or it will be, the way he described it, the light, and I felt . . . I felt what I haven’t felt in a long, long time. I didn’t think, I just leaned in.”
“You said almost.”
“Because just before contact, he looked at me like I’d kicked him in the balls. Just stunned.” Even now, with Avery, mortification and that sneaky wave of lust flooded her. “And I stopped, and we both made excuses. After, he kept his distance, like I was radioactive. I embarrassed him, and myself.”
“I’ll tell you
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