Free Kisses From Heaven by Jennifer Greene Page A

arguing,” she said dryly.
    He drew in his breath, and suddenly the corners of his mouth lifted. He put the car in gear and raised his arm to the side so that he could see to back up; his fingers reached out to tug at her rusty hair. “You weren’t a hell of a lot of help,” he said gruffly. “Somehow I was having a difficult time getting your attention. If you were counting on me to have all the control…”
    “I was.”
    “Well, don’t. ”
    “I certainly won’t,” she agreed, her tone so irreverent that he glanced at her again and finally chuckled. His hand snaked down and covered hers, and they drove awhile in silence. Loren was suddenly very tired, and it felt good to rest back against the seat with her head back, her hand nestled in his, the night all around them.
    “Are you really so sure?” he asked her finally.
    She smiled, her eyes half-closed. “Buck, I’m scared out of my mind. I don’t give love easily—surely you’ve figured that out by now?”
    “Loren…”
    She rested her cheek on his chest. “Take me where you live,” she murmured sleepily. “I’ve already half pictured it in my mind. A one-man apartment, a very big bed and a very small kitchen…” She didn’t notice him begin to stiffen beside her as she lazily described the kind of place she thought he must live in. Sensitive to his pride, she made a point of downplaying any image that connoted lack of wealth, or any negative reaction on her part to unmade beds or expectations of nothing beyond hamburger in the refrigerator.
    Her eyes were closed when he made a U-turn; they’d stopped talking. She was still curled up next to him, trying desperately to talk herself into a state of wakefulness after a day that had begun at six. His chest was so warm, his collar soft against her forehead, and all the sexual vibrations lay quiescent in a lazy, somnolent feeling of anticipation, not to be hurried.
    She didn’t open her eyes until he stopped the car and then was shocked into wakefulness all too quickly. They were home—her home. And there was a strange almost-pallor beneath Buck’s complexion in the dark, his jade eyes avoiding hers.
    “What’s wrong?” she asked softly.
    “Everything. You’re tired. I’m tired.” He got out of the car and opened the door on her side. “I started to talk to you tonight and got sidetracked. Now all I’ve got in my damned head is making love to you.”
    Her eyebrows lifted. He sounded more than a little irritated about that. She shoved her hands in her coat pockets as she walked with him up to the house, shivering violently from the sudden cold after the warm car…and his warm body.
    He turned the doorknob and pushed it open, but he didn’t make any move to go in. Confused gray eyes turned up to his, waiting.
    “Loren, I don’t live where you think I do. There isn’t a reason in hell for it to be any kind of a problem, but I think you’re going to make it into one,” he said gruffly.
    She touched his sleeve. “Buck, I’ve tried every way I know to tell you that it couldn’t possibly make any difference where you live. What you do—”
    “Yes,” he said crisply. “Just go in to bed; you’re dead on your feet. We’ll sort through it, Loren. It was a damned idiotic game we started to begin with.”
    Bewildered, she found herself on the warm side of the closed door, and alone. She stared out at the retreating car lights. Had she said something? Had he suddenly remembered a woman he had stashed at his place? More relevantly…was he coming back again? And wouldn’t it really be better if he didn’t…?
    She turned away, took off her coat and headed up the stairs, thinking of the days ahead that would leave no time for a man, thinking of her life that simply had no room for that kind of love. As much as she didn’t want to admit it, he’d hurt her with his abrupt withdrawal. A love affair with a stranger, she thought wryly as she prepared for bed. Loren, you knew better than