Carolyn Davidson - The Bachelor Tax

“I took you at your word, Mr. Tanner,” she said beneath her breath.

He paused at the doorway. “Oh? How’s that?”

She turned, opening the oven and, with a heavy pot holder, drew forth a plate upon which she had placed a generous portion of the meal she had prepared.

“I got mine first. Just in case.” With a flourish, she sat down at the table, spreading a dish towel across her lap. Folding her hands before her, she closed her eyes, her mind searching for words of thanksgiving.

For the first time in her life, she met a blank wall. The presence of the Almighty seemed not to occupy this room, and the simple prayer she was accustomed to speaking before her meals was somehow gone from her mind.

She compromised, closing her eyes, whispering a few words of thanks for her food, and asking only for safe refuge in this place. The image of Gabe Tanner’s face flashed before her closed eyes, his lips curved in a smug grin, his gaze flashing a challenge.

Her eyes opened and she gritted her teeth. The man was determined to be an aggravation. With fingers that trembled, she picked up her knife and fork and sawed at a piece of steak, reconsidering her quick petition to the Almighty.

Perhaps, she thought, she should have asked instead for patience.

The rain began during the night, blowing through the window, sending a fresh breeze into Rosemary’s bedroom. She awoke with a start, only a sheet covering her, the residue of a dream fogging her mind. Rising quickly, she moved toward the window, where filmy curtains billowed in the wind, the fabric soaking up the dampness. Beneath her feet raindrops spattered the floor, and she shivered as chills vibrated through her body.

Arms circling like those of a windmill, her legs wobbling beneath her, she slid in an awkward dance across the wet, bare wooden floor. With a loud thump, her left hand banged against the wall, and she cried aloud as she fell, her bottom landing with bruising force. The fabric of her nightgown soaked up the puddle she sat in, and between the throbbing of her hand and the chill of the soggy material wrapped around her, she was beyond discomfort.

Outside the open window the rain increased, and she winced as the lightning flashed, a loud clap of thunder following on its heels, battering her eardrums. It was not, she decided, an auspicious beginning for this, her first night in this house.

“Miss Gibson? Rosemary?” From the doorway, Tanner’s booming voice filled the room. He stepped quickly to the bed as if he sought her there, and then moved around it to where she sprawled inelegantly on the floor in front of the open window.

“If you want to take a bath, there’s easier ways to go about it, ma’am.” He reached past her to close the window, before squatting beside her. Bathed in another flash of light, he leaned toward her, bare chested, his smile raffish. It was too much to bear—this man with his sarcasm, the rain drenching her, a wet curtain draped across her head, and the knowledge that she wore her only clean nightgown.

Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес.

Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.