Free A Loving Man by Cait London Page A

didn’t think—she acted. She patted his jeaned knee and asked, “Hey, bud. Are these crackers all there is to eat?”
    Stefan smiled gently. “You always give to others, don’t you? Trying to help them? You have a soft heart, ma chérie. ”
    “I’m just hungry, bud. Don’t read more into it than that,” she lied lightly and tried to let the shadows hide her blush. Stefan looked as if he needed a friend—or a lover. She didn’t want to be his lover, but she knew how to be a good friend. “You know what this looks like, don’t you? People are already gossiping about us. I don’t want to get them all stirred up and expecting more than they’re going to get.”
    “Well, getting stirred up can be quite—exciting,” Stefan murmured, humor threaded through his deep voice. “When you are ready, I would like you to tell me about your mother, but for now, let us eat.”
    Rose wished she could have refused his meal, but her stomach clenched at the sight of the light dinner, a lovely dome of spaghetti noodles, artichokes, eggs and cooked ham. “Yum,” she said, before diving into the plate Stefan handed to her.
    He ate more slowly, serving her a second helping. “You eat without stopping. Do you ever relax fully without charging into your next project?”
    “This is good, but I would really like to top it off with a hot dog and plenty of mustard,” she managed to say around the salad she was eating. She stared meaningfully at Larry and Mary Lou who were trying not to be too obvious. They slowly cruised by her house, taking stealthy looks.
    Stefan breathed deeply, but did not respond to her hotdog comment. Instead he began methodically, grimly packing the food and plates back into his basket. “I can see your breasts through that material,” he said finally, pinning her with his dark, intimate look. “And I want you. But I want to be your friend, too. You give, but you do not accept the same in return. Your defenses are high, Rose Granger. You fear a broken heart and you trust little. This makes the journey to your heart and hopefully to your bed, a difficult one.”
    “Do you always have to come straight to the point?” she asked, crossing her arms in front of her. Stefan could jar every cell in her body with that look. Now, standing and leaning against the front porch post, his cotton shirt unbuttoned above his crossed arms and wearing jeans like any other Waterville male, Stefan took her breath away.
    She could have leaped upon him and dragged him up to her bed. Rose forced herself back to the garden of reason, picking out the weeds of temptation. She’d only known him for over two weeks; he came from a different world. He would be leaving, once boredom hit him—or the summer ended—and she’d be left in a dark, depressing hole.
    “Yes, I do always come to the point,” he said unevenly. As he spoke quietly, he smiled at Mrs. Wilkins, who was peering over the hedge.
    “You know,” Mrs. Wilkins said, “the last time Rose had man-trouble, she painted that whole big two-story house by herself, then redid every room in it. In the summer, I had my windows open and I could hear her crying over that no-good who dumped her. I’m getting old and I’m not in the mood to hear that poor girl cry again. You’d just better have good intentions.”
    “Mrs. Wilkins, thank you—but I can handle this,” Rosesaid, loving the woman who had tried to ease her mother’s desertion. “I’m thirty-seven now, you know.”
    “I changed your diapers, Miss Sass. Don’t think the whole town isn’t buzzing about this man paying so much attention to you.”
    “I assure you, Mrs. Wilkins, my intentions are purely—” Stefan shot Rose a sultry look, then murmured, “honorable.”
    “Here in Waterville, people take their time courting and when they do, there’s usually a wedding ring at the end of it,” Mrs. Wilkins persisted staunchly, unswayed by Stefan’s deep, seductive voice. “Rose ought to have a flock of