Free Ready for Marriage? by Ann Major, Beverly Barton Anne Marie Winston Page A

decision, he found himself steering the car toward her town house. He was so deep in thought that he was a little startled when Mollie realized where they were and squealed with excitement.
    As he climbed out of the car he was suddenly struck by a bolt of uncertainty. Should he be here? Should he be considering altering the friendship he and Kristin had shared for so many years? She’d altered it first, he reminded himself. She’d made him think, made him aware of her, made him need again. It was too late to turn back.
    He unstrapped Mollie from her car seat and went to Kristin’s door. He was just about to ring the bell when he realized the door was open a crack. Cautiously, he poked a finger against it, and when it swung open, he peered into the compact living room beyond.
    Kristin lay on the couch, fast asleep.
    Good lord. His blood ran cold at the thought ofher lying there, completely defenseless with her front door unlocked to any predator that might come along. Anxiety rose. Was she ill? That wasn’t like her, to leave a door ajar.
    Setting Mollie down, he crossed the room and knelt at the side of the couch. He cupped her cheek in his palm, relieved to feel the cool silk of her flesh beneath his touch. She wasn’t feverish and he felt his inner tension level ease fractionally.
    ‘‘Kris,’’ he murmured. ‘‘Come on, Sleeping Beauty. Time to wake up.’’
    ‘‘Tristin?’’ Mollie squirmed in between his knees and leaned over to put her tiny palm on Kristin’s other cheek. ‘‘Time to wate up.’’
    Kristin stirred beneath their hands. Her eyelids lazily floated open, and she blinked twice. As she focused on their faces, a luminous smile crossed her face. ‘‘I must be dreaming,’’ she said in a soft, husky voice.
    She put a hand to Mollie’s cheek, but her eyes held his. ‘‘Hi.’’
    ‘‘Hi!’ Tan I read a ’tory?’’ Mollie’s attention was already diverted.
    ‘‘Sure. You know where they are.’’ As Mollie wriggled free and dashed off, she continued to stare up at him.
    Derek slid his thumb forward and gently brushed it over the full line of her lips, still holding her gaze. ‘‘Your door was ajar. I thought something was wrong.’’
    Her eyes clouded. ‘‘Heavens. I’m sorry. I’m justexhausted—I must not have closed it properly.’’ As he continued to whisper his thumb over the petal-soft plumpness of her lower lip, she focused on him again. ‘‘Are you sure I’m not dreaming?’’

Five
    D erek leaned over Kristin. ‘‘You’re not dreaming.’’ He cast a glance at Mollie, who was already immersed in one of the books Kristin kept in a basket on the floor for her, then looked back at Kristin, his gaze lingering on her lips. They looked soft and warm and he badly wanted to kiss her, to shape and mold and caress until she returned the pressure of his lips.
    But not in front of his daughter. ‘‘Have you eaten anything?’’ he asked as he sat back, his hip bumping hers.
    She was staring at him as if he’d grown a second head and her eyes were wide and dazed. ‘‘Wha—?’’
    ‘‘I’m hungry.’’ He cut her off, not ready to dealwith a discussion of his feelings yet. ‘‘If you haven’t eaten, we can eat together.’’
    ‘‘I haven’t,’’ she said absently. ‘‘I came home from work and crashed.’’ Then he could see her brain scramble into high gear. ‘‘I bet you just finished work and haven’t eaten anything, either. Derek, you can’t forget to eat. If you get sick you won’t—’’
    He shifted his hand across her mouth, shaking his head. ‘‘Do you have any eggs?’’
    She nodded behind his hand, her gaze locked on his.
    ‘‘Good,’’ he said. ‘‘I’ll make us some omelets.’’
    ‘‘But—’’
    ‘‘Go get your pajamas on.’’ He stood and headed for the kitchen. ‘‘Come on, Mollie. You want to help Daddy cook?’’
    ‘‘Uh- huh! ’’ His daughter scrambled to her feet.
    He found a skillet, eggs,