The MacGregor Grooms Read Online Free PDF Page B

Her throat was abruptly too dry.
    “You’ve got great skin.” He said it softly, slowly, as if the words were foreign to him. He trailed his fingers down to her chin, along her jaw, then down so that he felt the pulse in her throat beat hard and erratic.
    He wanted his mouth there, just there, tasting that wild beat.
    Simple, keep it simple, he ordered himself, and picked up his pencil again. Though he wondered how the devil he was supposed to sketch when his fingers seemed to have gone numb.
    “I thought …” She had to clear her throat. “I thought you painted shapes—the modern school.”
    “I paint what appeals to me.” His eyes stayed on hers as his pencil began to move again. “Apparently you do. On some level.”
    Relax, she ordered herself, and unballed the hands she’d fisted under the table. “You had a show in New York a couple of years ago. I didn’t see it, but one of my friends did.”
    “That’s all right. I don’t do a lot of shopping in Drake’s, but my mother does.”
    Layna chuckled, and the smile stayed in place long enough to make his mouth water. “Well, I suppose we’ve exchanged subtle insults now. What next?”
    “We could try a conversation. How do you like being back in Washington?”
    “Very much. I’ve always loved this house, this area.” She glanced back toward the pansies she’d planted. “I’m going to enjoy making a home here.” Her brow creased. “What did you mean, plant them in a sweep?”
    “Hmm? Oh, the flowers. More of a flow, less rigid lines. Something like what Monet did in Giverny.”
    “Yes, you’re right.” And her eyes went soft, her lips curved again as she imagined it. “I tend to follow directions exactly when I’m learning. You make fewer mistakes that way.” She angled her head, and the dappled sunlight flickered over her face, turned it dreamy again, soft again. “But then you’d look at things with an artist’s eye. And I don’t imagine you worry overmuch about making mistakes.”
    “Not usually.” But he realized he was worried about making one now, with her, here where the light was lovely, the music soaring and the air carrying just a shimmer of scent that was her, turned earth and young flowers.
    “I do, so I plan things carefully and very rarely deviate.” Something about him tempted her to make an impulsive turn, almost demanded it. And she imagined the trip would be just as wild and fast as the ride they’d taken the night before.
    The kind of ride, Layna reminded herself, where a woman could end up crashing very abruptly, and very hard.
    “I guess that’s enough for now.” He shoved his pad in the bag. He had to go, before he did something stupid. Like touch her again. “I appreciate it.”
    “You’re welcome.” She got to her feet when he did, intending to see him out. But they only stood there, a bit too close for comfort.
    “I know the way out.” He took the first step back. He had a feeling if she walked inside with him he’d be unable to stop himself from doing that stupid thing. Like pulling her against him, taking a good long taste of that mouth. Then dragging her to the floor to take a great deal more of her while Chopin crashed around them.
    “All right. Well … goodbye.”
    “Right.” He picked up his bag, turned. He’d nearly made it into the house and away before he was compelled to turn back. She was still standing there, the sunlight on her hair, those misty green eyes watching him.
    “There’s a Dali exhibit at the Smithsonian. Opens Wednesday. I’ll pick you up at seven.”
    No, absolutely not.
“All right,” she heard herself say, with some surprise. “That’ll be fine.”
    He merely nodded and strode into the house. He made it to the front door before he started cursing himself.

Chapter 4
    He thought of a dozen reasons to break the date. He’d have preferred to go alone, enjoy and absorb the exhibit. Then perhaps find an interesting woman to discuss it with. Over coffee or a late