He didn't answer. Was he having second thoughts? No wonder. She was behaving like a nut case, and who wanted a crazy for a landlady? She said, "I'm not much of a cook. Cathy's worse, I'm afraid, and she's the one cooking the dinners because that's the deal I made and she'd take off if she wasn't earning her way. She lives in the downstairs apartment and—Well, you know that, don't you? Anyway, Barry sometimes cooks and she—I'm sorry, but the menu's not going to be as—"
He jerked the car around and she found herself hanging onto the dashboard, staring at the parking lot for Kits beach. She swallowed and said dully, "It's not going to work, is it? I'm sorry."
"It's going to work." He was breathing oddly, not looking at her. He shoved the lever into park. Then, after a second, he turned the lights off, then the engine. "Let's go for a walk. I need the air."
It was dark. She walked at his side, slipping awkwardly in the sand and finally taking off her heels and walking in her stockings through the sand. He was staring out at the boats anchored in English bay, their lights reflecting in the water.
"You're going to miss the boat, aren't you?" She caught her hand reaching for his, jerked it back and stood a little farther away. "Are you going to bring it back here?"
What would he say if she told him she loved him? He knew, didn't he? But—
"Not yet." He turned and stared down at her. Without her high heels on he seemed a lot taller, although she was a tall girl. "Holidays, I thought." His jaw worked and he said grimly, "I thought maybe—Well, maybe you'd like to come down and spend holidays on the boat. With me."
She touched her lips with her tongue. They dried again instantly. "But why?" She sucked in a lungful of air. "I—It doesn't matter why. I—"
"Because I need you." His voice was harsh, and she forgot to breathe. "Because ever since you walked into my life I've been discovering that when you’re with me—when—there are colors and sounds and ... and life." His arms reached, took her shoulders very gently between his hands. "Dinah, I know you're—that you need time, but—" His voice dropped to a whisper and he said, "Señorita, you make me want all the things I thought I would never have again. Loving. You."
She saw him gulp and she tried to speak, but her throat was seized, frozen. He said, "Dinah, you scare hell out of me. You were just there, on that Baja mountain, and my heart wanted to stop beating for the beauty of the world. It was as if I'd been in a shadow all my life, and you turned the world into light and color."
"Why did you come back?" she asked on a whisper. She found that she dared to lift her hands, to explore the hardness of his chest through his suit jacket.
"Because you're here. Because it was time." His fingers tightened and he said, "I want to share your home, Dinah. I want to see you frowning over a painting that's not going right, the smile in your eyes when it works. I want to share your worries over those girls." She saw him swallow. "I want more. When you're ready to trust me with your life, I want you ... in my bed and my heart and—I love you, Dinah."
"Oh," she breathed.
His fingers straightened, then curled into her upper arms. "I think you could love me, too. You said it once, and I know you've regretted saying that, but I think if you let yourself you'd—"
"I didn't regret it. I thought you didn't want to hear it." She could feel his gasp, his heart thundering through the jacket. She moved her hands and slipped under the jacket, felt his heat through the crisp cotton shirt. She whispered, "Would you like to hear it again?"
He nodded. She felt his arms drawing her close and her voice strengthened, "I love you. I love you, Joe Mitchell. I asked you to live in my house because I want you in my life. I want your babies."
"Enough talking," he growled as he drew her soft eagerness against his hard male body. "Enough. It's time for loving." His lips took hers, his tongue exploring her eager mouth. "Oh, señorita, I've been so hungry for you."
When she could, she laughed, a husky, joyful sound. "I love it when you call me señorita, Joe. I love you. It reminds me of when you kissed me up there on that mountain. I wanted you so much."
He laughed, then his lips covered hers again, loving and demanding. "We'll have to find another pet name," he growled. "You're not going to be a señorita for long. How about mi esposa—my wife?" He took her gasp with his lips, his mouth, murmured, "I think one unwed mother in that house of yours is quite enough." Then his laughter died and he said raggedly, "You are going to marry me, aren't you? And have our children?"
"Yes, darling. Yes." Then for a long time, she couldn't say anything else.
###
About the author:
Vanessa Grant's desire to understand the motives, passions and secrets that drive human behavior has led her to study psychology, volunteer on a crisis line, complete individual and relationship counselor training, volunteer as a peer counselor for a Family Life organization, and tell stories about life, love, and secrets.
Vanessa has over 10 million books in print with 29 romance novels published internationally by Zebra and Harlequin, and has written, as one critic described it, “by far the best writing book I’ve ever read.” Writing Romance, published by Self Counsel Press, won the Under the Covers Best Writing Book Award, and is now in its third edition.
Vanessa is also a professional accountant, a university faculty member, a publisher of educational materials and reprinted fiction books, and a popular international speaker with considerable media experience. Vanessa's home is on Vancouver Island, where she and her husband have lived since returning from a two year sailing cruise to Mexico some years ago.
Vanessa loves hearing from her readers at [email protected]
Discover other titles by Vanessa Grant at
www.smashwords.com/profile/view/vanessagrant
Connect with Vanessa Online
My Website: www.vanessagrant.com
My blog: www.penwarriors.com
Twitter: twitter.com/vanessa_grant
Table of Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
So Much for Dreams Page 16
