by Nikki Logan
“I imagine you are more of a jeans and boots kind of guy.”
“Definitely,” he answered. “Anyway, back to my original question. Are you sure you’re okay?”
“Of course I am,” she replied.
“Okay,” he said, sticking his hands in his trouser pockets, making his suit jacket flare away from his hips in a most attractive way. Clara swallowed. She remembered not two months ago, asking Angela about Sam as he chopped wood in the back yard at Butterfly House. She had told Angela there was a big difference between appreciating the package and taking the leap into something more. She’d looked at Sam through the window that day and found him handsome. But Ty…Ty resembled Sam but with an added something she couldn’t put her finger on. For the first time since crawling away from Jackson, battered and bruised, she was definitely appreciating the package, all wrapped up in a suit and patent shoes.
Her tongue snuck out to wet her lips and she saw Ty’s gaze follow the movement. All the air seemed to go out of the room.
She fought to be rational. Other than his hands briefly on her arms as she came barreling out of the bathroom, he hadn’t touched her or made any sort of suggestion that he was interested.
Except…
Except for the dark gleam in his eyes as he stared at her lips. There was just this thing hovering around them. It had been a long time since she’d felt it, but it was like riding a bike. Once you experienced it once, it came back to you in a flash—whether you wanted it to or not. Now she found herself staring at his lips and wondering what it would be like to be kissed.
Reality hit like a splash of cold water. “I really should go,” she said, taking a step backwards. Her voice sounded higher than normal and she swallowed. “Your mother will be expecting me here on time tomorrow. Weddings are all well and good, but real life has a tendency to intrude, and your dad has physio in the morning. It was nice meeting you, Ty.”
“You’re not going to stay for a dance or two?”
“God, no.”
The answer came so quickly and with such force that she didn’t have time to think about not saying it. There was acknowledging the presence of some sort of…chemistry, she supposed was a good word for it. But dancing—touching—in front of people? She swallowed. Her progress hadn’t quite extended that far. She’d even said no to Sam—who she trusted more than she’d trusted any man since leaving her ex—when he asked for a dance. He’d been perfectly understanding, but she’d stood by the sidelines watching everyone else dance, feeling silly. Like a coward.
Ty’s gaze darkened until it was almost black, and she felt his cool withdrawal. Leaving the half-full bottle, he headed towards the deck doors, stopping for just a moment beside her. She could feel the heat from his body and the crisp scent of whatever aftershave he wore surrounded her in a cloud of masculinity. “Miss Ferguson.” He nodded, then continued on his way. The click of the French door let her know that he was gone in a swell of country music that was immediately muted; she couldn’t bear to turn around and watch him stride away.
She hadn’t meant it how it sounded. She’d only been thinking of the idea of being held close in a man’s arms. The very prospect was laughable. Dancing was so intimate. The one thing she still hadn’t managed to shake in all the therapy sessions and the time that had passed was her aversion to having her personal space invaded. She hadn’t been held by a man since walking away. It triggered too many memories of how Jackson had held her and told her he loved her, only to turn around and use those same loving hands to…
She shuddered. But she knew how it must have sounded to Ty. It had been an indirect invitation on his part and she’d refused before he’d been able to take a breath. Right after he’d called himself the adopted bastard. He’d looked at her lips and she’d acted like she was repulsed.
He would think she considered herself just like Amy—a cut above. But he was wrong, so very wrong.
Tomorrow she’d have to face him. He was living here now, and she would be here every day, helping Molly with the household chores and putting Virgil through his physio exercises. It would be incredibly awkward at best if they left things the way they were now. She should at least explain that it wasn’t him, right?
She rolled her shoulders back and resolved that she would not have an anxiety attack in the next fifteen minutes. Instead she would take another step towards having a normal life. She couldn’t lean on Angela and Sam any longer. “Living in fear is not living,” she repeated to the empty room. Wasn’t it about time she started putting that mantra into practice? Wasn’t it time she did something about the one thing that still held her back?
Her hand tightened on the handle of the French door. She’d be able to face herself—and Tyson Diamond—in the morning.
It was time to move on.
ISBN: 9781459234970
Copyright © 2012 by Harlequin Books S.A.
All rights reserved. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of publisher, Harlequin Enterprises Limited, 225 Duncan Mill Road, Don Mills, Ontario, Canada M3B 3K9.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental. This edition published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.
® and ™ are trademarks of the publisher. Trademarks indicated with ® are registered in the United States Patent and Trademark Office, the Canadian Trade Marks Office and in other countries.
www.Harlequin.com
