Free The MacGregor Grooms by Nora Roberts Page B

And I’m flattered that your grandfather would be interested in my future.”
    “And that’s another way he wraps you up in a bow,” D.C. muttered.
    Layna considered for a moment, then pushed her plate aside, leaned forward. “So, this is the reason you went berserk, dragged me out of your parents’ home and carted me down the street? All because your grandfather said he was going to introduce me to a banker? That sounds suspiciously like jealousy to me.”
    “Jealousy?” His eyes flashed to hers. “That’s the thanks I get for looking out for you. Insults.”
    Coolly, she rose, took her plate to the already overburdened sink. “Just an observation.”
    “Then you need to have your eyes checked.”
    “Whatever you say.” She waved a hand in dismissal. “Tell me, have you ever actually run this dishwasher?”
    “I wasn’t jealous. I was … concerned.”
    “Um-hmm.” She slid her plate neatly into the rack of the empty dishwasher.
    “If I’d been jealous I’d have threatened to break Henry into several small pieces.”
    “I see.” Since she was there, and so were they, Layna began to load the mountain of dishes into the washer.
    “Then I would have hunted him down and followed through.”
    “Well, how exciting. Are you done with your plate?” She knew it was ridiculous, but she enjoyed the quick, wild thrill that whipped through her when he shoved back from the table and spun her around.
    “I’m not jealous. I’m territorial.”
    “Fine. You use your term, I’ll use mine.”
    He snarled, lifted her up to her toes, then caught the glint of amused challenge in her eyes. He felt his lips twitch, then let out a laugh. “The hell with it,” he muttered, and was grinning when he kissed her.
    *   *   *
    But he wasn’t jealous, he told himself later, much later, when he lay in the dark with Layna sleeping beside him. He was simply … protecting what he’d decided to take as his.
    Temporarily as his.
    He liked having her around, even though she’d browbeaten him into cleaning the kitchen before she’d let him talk her back into bed. He liked those cool, measured glances she gave him when they talked, and the hot, greedy stares she sent him when they were tangled up in sex.
    He liked the sound of her voice. Cool again while they were discussing some point of art or music. Husky when she said his name in the dark.
    And he was touched and sorry for the young girl she’d been who’d had so little affection and fun in her life. Advantages, she’d said, but to his mind she’d had very few of those. And that lack of stability and love had made her cross off the possibility of one day having a family of her own.
    He found that terribly sad.
    Not that he was in a hurry for such things himself, he thought quickly. But one day, certainly …when the time was right, the woman was right, he’d want a family, children, a house filled with noise and color. He couldn’t imagine not wanting all those things.
    And he thought that somewhere inside the woman who could smile dreamily over pansies lived a heart that wanted to open and share and be treasured.
    He could still see the way she’d looked in his old robe, the ragged sleeves neatly rolled up, her feet bare, her hair brushed smooth, her mouth full and naked.
    And that earnest look in her eyes as she’d explained to him why nothing could really begin between them.
    Now she was curled beside him, wearing one of his T-shirts against the chilly spring night. They’d discovered at least one point of common ground. They both preferred sleeping with the windows open.
    No, he wasn’t jealous, he assured himself as he wrapped a proprietary arm around her and drew her close. He was simply enjoying her. For as long as it lasted.

Chapter 8
    D.C. stepped back from the portrait and stared, stunned at what had come out of him onto the canvas. He had no false modesty about his work. In fact, more than once he’d been told that he carried an often-annoying