Taboo (A Classic Romance) Read Online Free PDF Page B

tomatoes from the top shelf, which was just beyond her reach in the walk-in pantry.
    "Thanks," she said, her voice strained as their hands brushed when he passed it to her.
    Grant let his fingers linger for a luxurious moment, then broke the contact. Before she could hide the truth, he saw the proof, the small frown of disconcertment. Of disappointment.
    Oh, it was good. Hell, it was wonderful, fantastic, exhilarating! Just as electric as the shared bond that had leaped and surged between them less than an hour ago. He owed the reverend. That long, drawn-out closing prayer had had some miracle magic, and Cammie hadn't been able to disguise her response. She was too transparent to begin with; Cammie couldn't lie her way out of a paper bag. Besides, they could read each other as if with ESP. and both of them knew it.
    "Hurry up, kids," Dorothy called from the adjoining kitchen. "We need to change clothes and eat so we're not late for the game."
    "Coming!" Cammie wheeled around, then froze as Grant grabbed her hand. Her gaze riveted on his firm fingers as he curled them into her soft, warm flesh.
    "Sit with me at the game," he murmured.
    She swallowed hard before darting a furtive glance toward the kitchen, where they could both hear Dorothy stirring something on the stove and humming to herself.
    "I don't think that's a good idea," she whispered.
    "Why not? You never minded sitting with me in the past."
    "That was before... before..."
    "Before, what, Cammie?" he demanded huskily. "Before you found out I'm no brother and we've got something brewing between us that's a lot more potent than affection?"
    "No!" she said sharply. She jerked away from him, and the jar slipped from her hold. It crashed loudly, glass and tomatoes splattering on the linoleum floor, his shoes, and her hose.
    "Uh-oh! Did something break?"
    They heard Dorothy's scurrying steps just before she appeared in the pantry doorway.
    "It's nothing," Grant said, smiling. "Just a case of butterfingers. Can you get us a mop and a towel, Mom? I'll clean the mess, but we'll track up the kitchen if we don't wipe this off first."
    "Be careful of the glass," she admonished before heading to the utility room.
    "Damn you, Grant," Cammie whispered. "See what you made me do? Now stop this nonsense before anything else happens."
    "I didn't make you do anything. You tried to run from me all by yourself. And if you think I'm going to stop this 'nonsense,' you can forget it. As far as I'm concerned, we're just getting started."
    For a moment they locked gazes and wills. Grant's lips were compressed in determination; Cammie's trembled slightly in spite of her sharply spoken warning.
    "You're crazy," she finally said in a tight voice, and looked away.
    "You're right," he said quietly, then traced a single fingertip along her delicate jaw. "Crazy about you."
    Her gaze flew to his, and she mutely shook her head in denial.
    "What are you so scared of, Cammie? Me? Or yourself."
    "Here's the mop." Dorothy rounded the doorway just as Grant withdrew his lingering touch.
    "Thanks, Mom." He reached for the mop handle. "Cammie, grab that towel, would you? You can start with my shoes. I'll take care of the floor."
    "That's fine," Dorothy said. "If you've got it under control, I'll get back to the stove."
    "Oh, it's under control," Grant assured her as she turned to go. "I've got it all under control."
    "Hang on, Mom," Cammie blurted a bit too loudly. Grant could hear the edge of desperation in her voice. "I'll come help in the kitchen."
    "Don't bother. Just help your brother."
    Grant smiled in satisfaction while Cammie nervously bit her lower lip.
    "Hear that, Cammie? Mom says you need to help me. I can always count on Mom to be in my corner."
    "Bastard," she whispered.
    "Don't tell Mom that. She's under the impression I was a planned pregnancy. And I don't think Dad would take to me belonging to the milkman." He chuckled as her hands twisted the towel, as if she wanted to strangle him with it.