release.
Chapter 9
Her body weak and sated, Allison lay facing Scott. His eyes were closed, giving her the freedom to study his face. Life was so full of surprises. Three days ago, she'd almost resigned herself to living vicariously through others. She had the inn, the gift shop, family and friends. She'd told herself that was enough to balance the lonely nights in her empty bed. Yet now, here she was—lying in bed with a gorgeous, compelling man who delighted in making her wild with pleasure. The thought brought a smile to her lips.
"What's that grin about?" he asked in a lazy rumble, and she realized his eyes weren't completely closed.
"That life is never what we expect."
"Oh?" He arched a brow.
He looked so irresistible when he did that even though she suspected he was trying to look dark and cynical. She propped her head on her hand and trailed her fingertip through the swirls of black hair on his chest "When I was young, I used to dream about exactly what you described—dating, marriage, children."
He tucked an arm behind his head and studied her. "So what happened?"
She shrugged, hedging.
"Come on," he coaxed.
"Loving someone makes you vulnerable. And the more you love, the more it can hurt when you lose them. I have no choice with Adrian and Rory, and my aunt Viv. I already love them, but I don't want to let anyone else into that circle."
"What about your parents? I've never heard you mention any."
She kept her gaze fixed on her fingertip as she made precise circles. "They died when I was five. Mom and Dad were both actors, performing on stage in Connecticut. We were in an accident, returning to our hotel one night after one of their performances."
"You were with them?"
She drew more circles, each one smaller. "Adrian and I were asleep on the back seat. Mom had made a bed for Rory on the floorboard. It was a head-on collision."
"Oh God, I'm so sorry. That must have been horrible." He tried to gather her close, but she remained rigidly where she was, refusing to get emotional.
"People think kids are resilient, that they can bounce back from something like that and go on with life. But some things you never get over." She took a breath and blew it out slowly to help keep the pain down deep where she'd buried it years ago. "So ... what about you? Why don't you want a wife and kids?"
He shrugged one shoulder. "Because even I'm not that big of an SOB."
She gave him a questioning look.
"Genetically I'm a bad risk. The men in my family, for as far back as anyone can remember, have been legends for two things: their greed, and their emotional cruelty toward women. Indifference and infidelity were my father's specialties."
She cocked her head to study him. "You don't really think something like that is passed down through the genes, do you?"
"Ask my mother. She'll be happy to tell you how I'm just like my father, that I don't care about anyone but myself, I'm selfish and thoughtless and a terrible son."
"What an awful thing for a mother to say!"
"Yeah, truth is a real bitch, ain't it?" His mouth twisted with sarcasm. "But even if I weren't a chip off the ol' block, I wouldn't want marriage. The whole idea of happily-ever-after is a myth. People pretend they have a great marriage because they don't want others to know the truth. They don't realize everyone is pretending. If we'd all be honest and admit no two people can live together long term and stay happy about it we'd all be better off. I grew up watching what hate does to people, and I don't want any part of it."
"Your parents' marriage was that bad?" she asked, shocked that he thought all marriages were like that.
"Why do you think I became a writer?"
"I don't understand."
"It's the perfect way to escape. When I'm writing, I'm not even part of the real world. I mentally enter a world of my own making. It's like being the god of my own universe." He wiggled his brows, suddenly playful. "Characters live and die by my whim. And if one of them
Chapter 9
Her body weak and sated, Allison lay facing Scott. His eyes were closed, giving her the freedom to study his face. Life was so full of surprises. Three days ago, she'd almost resigned herself to living vicariously through others. She had the inn, the gift shop, family and friends. She'd told herself that was enough to balance the lonely nights in her empty bed. Yet now, here she was—lying in bed with a gorgeous, compelling man who delighted in making her wild with pleasure. The thought brought a smile to her lips.
"What's that grin about?" he asked in a lazy rumble, and she realized his eyes weren't completely closed.
"That life is never what we expect."
"Oh?" He arched a brow.
He looked so irresistible when he did that even though she suspected he was trying to look dark and cynical. She propped her head on her hand and trailed her fingertip through the swirls of black hair on his chest "When I was young, I used to dream about exactly what you described—dating, marriage, children."
He tucked an arm behind his head and studied her. "So what happened?"
She shrugged, hedging.
"Come on," he coaxed.
"Loving someone makes you vulnerable. And the more you love, the more it can hurt when you lose them. I have no choice with Adrian and Rory, and my aunt Viv. I already love them, but I don't want to let anyone else into that circle."
"What about your parents? I've never heard you mention any."
She kept her gaze fixed on her fingertip as she made precise circles. "They died when I was five. Mom and Dad were both actors, performing on stage in Connecticut. We were in an accident, returning to our hotel one night after one of their performances."
"You were with them?"
She drew more circles, each one smaller. "Adrian and I were asleep on the back seat. Mom had made a bed for Rory on the floorboard. It was a head-on collision."
"Oh God, I'm so sorry. That must have been horrible." He tried to gather her close, but she remained rigidly where she was, refusing to get emotional.
"People think kids are resilient, that they can bounce back from something like that and go on with life. But some things you never get over." She took a breath and blew it out slowly to help keep the pain down deep where she'd buried it years ago. "So ... what about you? Why don't you want a wife and kids?"
He shrugged one shoulder. "Because even I'm not that big of an SOB."
She gave him a questioning look.
"Genetically I'm a bad risk. The men in my family, for as far back as anyone can remember, have been legends for two things: their greed, and their emotional cruelty toward women. Indifference and infidelity were my father's specialties."
She cocked her head to study him. "You don't really think something like that is passed down through the genes, do you?"
"Ask my mother. She'll be happy to tell you how I'm just like my father, that I don't care about anyone but myself, I'm selfish and thoughtless and a terrible son."
"What an awful thing for a mother to say!"
"Yeah, truth is a real bitch, ain't it?" His mouth twisted with sarcasm. "But even if I weren't a chip off the ol' block, I wouldn't want marriage. The whole idea of happily-ever-after is a myth. People pretend they have a great marriage because they don't want others to know the truth. They don't realize everyone is pretending. If we'd all be honest and admit no two people can live together long term and stay happy about it we'd all be better off. I grew up watching what hate does to people, and I don't want any part of it."
"Your parents' marriage was that bad?" she asked, shocked that he thought all marriages were like that.
"Why do you think I became a writer?"
"I don't understand."
"It's the perfect way to escape. When I'm writing, I'm not even part of the real world. I mentally enter a world of my own making. It's like being the god of my own universe." He wiggled his brows, suddenly playful. "Characters live and die by my whim. And if one of them
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