Read Online When Somebody Loves You by Cindy Gerard - Free Book Online
Authors: Cindy Gerard
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shirt.”
She looked down, felt herself redden, then brushed self-consciously at the dark marks imprinted over each breast.
When she raised her eyes, Michael was sitting back on his heels, studying her as if trying to gauge her mood. “I don’t suppose,” he began as he gently tugged a leaf from her hair, “that it would do any good to tell you it really is an accident that George and I stumbled onto you today.”
Something in his expression made her want to believe him. A long-nurtured resistance to trust, however, wouldn’t let her. “It does seem a little strange that I’ve never seen you here before.”
He shifted his weight until he was sitting beside her. Linking his wrists over upraised knees, he looked speculatively at her. “You mean you run here often?”
Seeing his genuine surprise, she realized he was telling the truth. “Not as often as I should,” she admitted, feeling an unsolicited sting of disappointment that their meeting was coincidental. Afraid he’d read her thoughts through her eyes, she diverted her gaze to the creek. “I rarely stray off the main path. But it’s so pretty up here, I couldn’t resist today.”
“It is pretty,” he agreed. “This is George’s favorite spot in the park. I think he pretends he’s a frontier dog making the wilderness safe for new settlers.”
His silly banter eased the tension that had been building and drew a laugh from her. It bubbled out, quick and unguarded, as she watched the huge, lumbering dog crash about in his quest for the elusive and bloodthirsty squirrel.
Michael became very quiet. With a soft smile still lingering on her mouth, she met his eyes. The heat she saw shimmering there made her breath catch.
“Definitely worth the wait,” he murmured.
Her questioning frown brought a quick, heart-melting explanation.
“Since the first time I saw you, I’ve been wanting to make you smile.” He touched a finger gently, lightly, to the corner of her mouth. “It was nice,” he said in a hoarse whisper. “Very, very nice.”
The wanting revealed in his eyes was eloquent in its intensity and frightening in its implication. Afraid to acknowledge that mixed with that hunger was a kindness, a caring, and an unexpected vulnerability that touched her bone-deep, she quickly looked away.
She could feel his gaze still touching her, and tried not to think about the fact that she wore absolutely no makeup, that in all likelihood her hair rivaled Helen’s in the wild mop department, and that she had a huge, grubby paw print stamped over each breast.
Michael shared her quiet for a long moment before he rose slowly to his feet.
“Well, George and I have intruded long enough.” He gestured vaguely toward her shirt. “Sorry about that. If he did any permanent damage, uh, to the shirt, I mean, let me know, and I’ll replace it.”
If she didn’t know better, she’d think he was flustered. And somehow, a flustered Michael Hayward was much less threatening . . . and achingly more appealing.
“It’s no problem, really.” She shrugged dismissively and felt her heart kick her a couple of good ones in the chest. He was leaving. Without her request, he was going to leave her alone.
Helen’s words came back to haunt her: You are blowing a very good thing here, sweetie . She swallowed hard, knowing that if she didn’t say or do something, he’d be gone. And she didn’t want him to go.
Maybe it was the phase of the moon. Maybe it was just a temporary lapse in sanity. Or maybe she was simply tired of fighting the feelings. Whatever it was, it had taken over, because she heard herself say his name. “Michael . . .”
His look was expectant, yet cautious, when he turned back to her, a panting George in tow.
She rose slowly, brushing off her bottom as she straightened. “I—I know it was a long time ago that you offered,” she said haltingly, “but, about that dinner invitation. If—if it’s still open . . .”
Had she said
She looked down, felt herself redden, then brushed self-consciously at the dark marks imprinted over each breast.
When she raised her eyes, Michael was sitting back on his heels, studying her as if trying to gauge her mood. “I don’t suppose,” he began as he gently tugged a leaf from her hair, “that it would do any good to tell you it really is an accident that George and I stumbled onto you today.”
Something in his expression made her want to believe him. A long-nurtured resistance to trust, however, wouldn’t let her. “It does seem a little strange that I’ve never seen you here before.”
He shifted his weight until he was sitting beside her. Linking his wrists over upraised knees, he looked speculatively at her. “You mean you run here often?”
Seeing his genuine surprise, she realized he was telling the truth. “Not as often as I should,” she admitted, feeling an unsolicited sting of disappointment that their meeting was coincidental. Afraid he’d read her thoughts through her eyes, she diverted her gaze to the creek. “I rarely stray off the main path. But it’s so pretty up here, I couldn’t resist today.”
“It is pretty,” he agreed. “This is George’s favorite spot in the park. I think he pretends he’s a frontier dog making the wilderness safe for new settlers.”
His silly banter eased the tension that had been building and drew a laugh from her. It bubbled out, quick and unguarded, as she watched the huge, lumbering dog crash about in his quest for the elusive and bloodthirsty squirrel.
Michael became very quiet. With a soft smile still lingering on her mouth, she met his eyes. The heat she saw shimmering there made her breath catch.
“Definitely worth the wait,” he murmured.
Her questioning frown brought a quick, heart-melting explanation.
“Since the first time I saw you, I’ve been wanting to make you smile.” He touched a finger gently, lightly, to the corner of her mouth. “It was nice,” he said in a hoarse whisper. “Very, very nice.”
The wanting revealed in his eyes was eloquent in its intensity and frightening in its implication. Afraid to acknowledge that mixed with that hunger was a kindness, a caring, and an unexpected vulnerability that touched her bone-deep, she quickly looked away.
She could feel his gaze still touching her, and tried not to think about the fact that she wore absolutely no makeup, that in all likelihood her hair rivaled Helen’s in the wild mop department, and that she had a huge, grubby paw print stamped over each breast.
Michael shared her quiet for a long moment before he rose slowly to his feet.
“Well, George and I have intruded long enough.” He gestured vaguely toward her shirt. “Sorry about that. If he did any permanent damage, uh, to the shirt, I mean, let me know, and I’ll replace it.”
If she didn’t know better, she’d think he was flustered. And somehow, a flustered Michael Hayward was much less threatening . . . and achingly more appealing.
“It’s no problem, really.” She shrugged dismissively and felt her heart kick her a couple of good ones in the chest. He was leaving. Without her request, he was going to leave her alone.
Helen’s words came back to haunt her: You are blowing a very good thing here, sweetie . She swallowed hard, knowing that if she didn’t say or do something, he’d be gone. And she didn’t want him to go.
Maybe it was the phase of the moon. Maybe it was just a temporary lapse in sanity. Or maybe she was simply tired of fighting the feelings. Whatever it was, it had taken over, because she heard herself say his name. “Michael . . .”
His look was expectant, yet cautious, when he turned back to her, a panting George in tow.
She rose slowly, brushing off her bottom as she straightened. “I—I know it was a long time ago that you offered,” she said haltingly, “but, about that dinner invitation. If—if it’s still open . . .”
Had she said
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