Free RUNAWAY by Christie Ridgway Page B

further comment, Bryce took the dirty dishes down the stairs. Owen looked after his brother’s retreating figure. “How much I enjoy playing the older brother card.”

    Izzy smiled. “You didn’t have to. I don’t mind dishes.”
    “But I find that at this moment I mind being deprived of your company.” He toyed with her fingers, braiding his with hers, unbraiding them, braiding them again. She felt every stroke and tickle, the nerve endings between her fingers seeming to stand on alert to absorb every cell-to-cell contact.
    Her breath shortened and she felt her breasts swell and the tips tingle. Did he notice?
    “I see what’s going on with you,” he said.
    She twitched. “What?”
    “You work too hard, Isabella,” he said. “Food, chat, flirtation with my brother.” The smile in his blue eyes said he was joking about that last bit. “You’re here with me, your husband. You don’t have to pretend anything.”
    But she’d pretended most of her life! Pretended feeling secure, pretended not minding being left behind by her parents, pretended a cheerful, friendly, you-can-be-comfortable-with-me attitude. She was supposed to be all that for Owen while he recuperated from his injuries. The runaway bride owed him that, after all.
    “You don’t owe me anything,” he said.
    Did he read minds, too?
    His fingers curled around hers, held tight. “Are you okay?”
    “I…I don’t know,” she heard herself whisper. Butthat wasn’t right, because until she met Owen, Isabella Cavaletti always knew that the way to keep others happy was to appear to be happy herself. The girl someone took in—and this wasn’t all that different, was it?—couldn’t afford to become demanding or temperamental.
    She steeled her spine and drew her hand away from Owen’s. “I’m completely fine.”
    He studied her face. “You’ve got that down pat.”
    Her heart seemed to sort of cave in on itself. No one had ever detected how often she acted a part. “I don’t—”
    Owen put two fingers over her mouth.
    Okay, it really shouldn’t feel like a kiss.
    It felt like a kiss.
    “You’ve been alone too long, Iz,” Owen said. His hand dropped from her lips and then he was leaning across the corner of the small table so that his mouth was just a breath from hers.
    “Not now. Now I’m not alone, Owen.” Her skin rose in bumps as if she were experiencing a cold breeze, while her skin actually felt fevered. “I’m…I’m here with you.”
    He smiled against her mouth. “Exactly.”
    But before the promise of a kiss could take her away from reality, Bryce saved the day. He strode back into the room. “Who’s ready for sweets?”

Chapter Six
    A s he drifted off to sleep that night, Owen was aware that Bryce had interrupted a crucial moment by bringing in the apple cobbler. During that meal with his brother he’d realized that despite her runaway status, not only was Izzy sexually attractive to him, but he also plain liked the woman. Her good humor, her knowledge of odd facts—Mondagreen!—and her moments of emotional vulnerability appealed to him on more than just the libido level.
    As Bryce left that evening, she’d kissed him on the cheek. When she’d wished Owen good-night shortly afterward, she hadn’t touched him at all.

    Which made him admire her brains, too. When the most permanent thing in a woman’s life was her P.O. box, then she had no business getting too tangled up in the man with whom she shared a marriage certificate.
    They were really going to have to do something about that, he thought, closing his eyes….
    He was standing on the roof of a burning structure. Adrenaline pumped through his veins as it did during any firefight. But there was an added kick to the natural drug flooding his system, because this time, he knew. This time, he was keenly aware that at any moment he’d take an elevator fall and drop into the maw of a many-tongued beast roaring in the depths below his fireproof boots.
    Jerry