She watched him cross the great room and disappear around a corner into the front hall. A moment later, she heard him talking to someone, the answering voice as deep and masculine as Jameson’s own. And then she heard the door close.
Jameson reappeared—alone—and came back to her. He took his chair again. “Just Dawson dropping off a load of mineral barrels for me to fill in the morning.” Grinning, he added, “And no, he didn’t ask about your car in the driveway.” He picked up his fork.
She groaned. “It’s official. Iamridiculous.”
Jameson set his fork down without taking a bite.
Ridiculous.The word rubbed him the wrong way, had him wondering who had made her doubt herself, made her feel less than the beautiful, brilliant, tenderhearted woman she actually was.
“No, you are not ridiculous,” he answered firmly, eyes locked on hers.
She forced a laugh. “It was just an offhand remark.”
He didn’t think so. “You asked me if I thought you were ridiculous the night we met, the night you said would be our only night, the one that ‘never happened.’” He air-quoted those last two aggravating words.
Her gaze slid away, and the corners of that lush mouth of hers turned down. “I did?”
“You did. That night, I thought it was sexy, that someone so gorgeous and smart and strong would let me have a glimpse of her shyness, her insecurity.”
Again, she tried to pretend it was nothing. “This conversation has become altogether too serious.”
“Vanessa. Please don’t blow me off. One timewassexy and so damn cute. But now you’ve called yourself ridiculous again. I’m starting to believe that someone has made you doubt yourself.”
He could see the pulse beating—too fast—beneath the silky olive skin of her throat. She gave a half shrug. “Okay, yeah. As you said, I do have insecurities. Sometimes I let them show. We struggled when I was a growing up. Money was always tight. I didn’t have a lot of friends, and sometimes the richer kids made fun of me for not being thin, not having the right clothes, not looking just so.”
“And that’s why you don’t want to live in Bronco ever again? Bad memories from when you were a kid?”
“Essentially, yes.”
He wanted to press her, to get her to tell him more about those memories, about who had made her feel less than beautiful and desirable, smart and bighearted. But he respected her reluctance. He could see that she wasn’t ready to give him her secrets.
Maybe she never would be. And that hurt. The woman had gotten so far under his skin in such a short period of time. It amazed him.
It scared him, too. With Maybelle, he’d been ready to find love and settle down.
With Vanessa, it was so much more than just readiness. He wanted to be the man she needed, the man she wanted to move on to the next step with. The man she turned to in the night,everynight. The man she stood with proudly in the bright light of day.
He wasn’t that man. Yet.
But at least for now, he did own her nights. He intended to make the most of whatever time she gave him.
Rising, he rounded the end of the table and held out his hand. Warmth and hope spread through him when she displayed no hesitation to take it. And when he pulled her up, she came happily into his waiting arms.
He lowered his mouth to hers, and she opened to him. She tasted of wine, of desire and, just maybe, the promise of more. All good things—the things that came to a man willing to practice patience when the right woman finally came along.
As he lifted his head, her long, dark lashes fluttered open. He waited for her to meet his gaze directly before making his request. “Give me one thing...”
“Hmm?”
“The Night That Never Happened?”
Those dark eyes went dreamy. “It was a great night.”
“Yes, it was. And I’m hoping we can agree to give that night the appreciation and respect it deserves.”
“And how will we do that, exactly?”
“For starters, let’s give that night a better name.”
