Free One More Kiss by Kim Amos Page A

a bit here?”
    Betty stared at him for a long moment. Under her unflinching gaze, he felt as though all his layers were being peeled back until everything was exposed.
    “I’m not interested in dinner,” she said, squaring her shoulders. “I don’t want to go to a movie.”
    “What do you want, then?”
    “I want your heart, Randall. And if you can’t give me all of it because of what happened with your brother—well, then don’t give me any of it.”
    His gut twisted. The room heated all over again. He wanted so much to pull her into his arms and tell her he would give her his heart—and his mind and his body and his soul and his very being. He just needed more time. He needed to do it in degrees, not all at once.
    “Do you need all of it now? Right this very moment?” he asked.
    “I know what I feel,” Betty said, her sky blue eyes as clear as ever, “and I know what I want. If you don’t feel the same, that’s fine. But I won’t be jerked around. You won’t rip my stockings off one minute, then act hangdog the next. Want me or don’t—that’s your call. But don’t give me lukewarm. I can’t stand tepid.”
    She turned and, in her torn tights and with her disheveled hair, walked calmly to the other side of the counter, where the register was. She placed both hands on the glossy wood. She looked steely and strong—but he could see her fingers trembling.
    He should go to her. He should kiss her deeply and throw caution to the wind and trust that this thing between them was good and right and wasn’t like his battered past at all.
    Instead, he gave her a nod and headed for the door. On the other side of the glass, the day had clouded over. He could already see gray gathering in the distance, a pending rain that would strip leaves from the trees and leave the ground damp and smelling like rot.
    He pushed the door open, feeling Betty’s eyes on his back. But she wouldn’t call out to him. That much he knew.
    He faced the Lutheran church a few blocks away on Main Street. The rain began as he headed toward it.
    My God , he thought to himself as he jogged to beat the deluge, what have I just done?

Chapter Five
    B etty ripped off her tights and hurled her skirt into the farthest corner of the store’s back room. She stomped to the bathroom and ran the tap as hot as she could stand it, then scrubbed her face until all her makeup was swirling down the drain.
    When she’d toweled off, she looked at herself in the mirror—skin pink and raw and shining—and vowed never again to conduct a test about anything with any man ever. Because if you had to go to those lengths to find out how someone felt, then it was probably best to stay away.
    She turned from her reflection, disgusted. She was such a fool. She’d let Randall Sondheim kiss her and touch her and she’d been on the brink of surrendering more—surrendering totally, if she was honest—only to discover what a wolf in sheep’s clothing he was.
    All that talk about not wanting to feel too much and not trusting his heart, about wanting to slow down when they were just getting started. The hard lights of the bathroom put everything in sharp relief. The dark circles under her tired eyes, the lines around her eyes that got deeper with every year.
    In reality, Randall’s words were probably just an excuse. He probably didn’t want to slow down.
    He simply didn’t want her at all.
    She shook her head, leaving the bathroom in search of the jeans she’d stashed in a back cupboard.
    As she slammed around, looking for the denim, she marveled at how easily she’d bought his whole sob story about his brother and the accident and not wanting to hurt anyone else. She’d swallowed the tale whole, never suspecting that he was telling it specifically so he’d have an excuse if he wanted to walk away.
    Because surely that was the only reason he had blabbed it at all.
    Wasn’t it?
    She had never known the pastor to lie, but then again she’d never known him