For Love or Money Bundle (Harlequin Presents) by Sarah Morgan & Jane Porter & Trish Morey

Author:Sarah Morgan & Jane Porter & Trish Morey [Morgan, Sarah & Porter, Jane & Morey, Trish]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Goodreads: 5001580
Publisher: Harlequin
Published: 2007-03-13T04:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER SEVEN

DINNER was a simple toasted cheese sandwich served with bowls of tinned tomato soup. Not a glamorous meal but it met the need for warm food and drink.

They ate in front of the fire in the sitting room because it was the warmest spot in the cottage. Once finished, Sam stood to carry their plates and bowls to the kitchen, but as she reached for Cristiano’s dishes, his eyes met hers, his gaze boring into her, the hazel-green depths warm and flecked with gold. “Leave the dishes,” he said. “I’ll do them later.”

“That’s okay. I don’t mind.”

“I do. Leave them.”

Nervously Sam stacked the dishes in the sink before running her hands down the front of her dark gray slacks, her palms damp.

The cottage was so small. There was nowhere to go. And the bedrooms, even if she wanted to hide in there, were too cold.

But the idea of returning to Cristiano, to sitting with him near the fire filled her with dread.

He made her so jumpy. Just being near him her heart raced, her pulse pounded. She felt hot and cold at the same time, jittery, scared, uneasy.

Why was she so afraid of him?

Why did everything in her scream for her to run? Was it survival instinct? Common sense?

Glancing out the window yet again, Sam felt discouraged by the snow still falling. “We’re stuck,” she said, returning to the sitting room.

Cristiano made a rough sound. “You’ll survive.”

Sam grimaced, sat down in one of the armchairs near the fire. “I know. Unfortunately so will you.”

Cristiano surprised her by laughing, a rough deep sound that was as masculine as it was seductive. “You’re really not comfortable with me, are you?”

“No!”

“Finally,” he mocked, leaning back in his chair. “We get a little honesty.”

“I haven’t been dishonest.”

He made a soft, rough sound in the back of his throat. “No. I understand. You’re English, and you’ve cultivated through years of practice and self-denial this wonderful British stiff upper lip to keep others from knowing what you want, or need.”

“That’s not true. The only thing I want or need is Gabby, and I’ve been quite open about my feelings with regards to her.”

He studied her in the red and gold firelight, his lashes lowered, his mouth firm. For a moment there was just the crackle and pop of the fire and the acrid smell of smoke. “Someday you’ll marry again,” he said surprisingly gentle. “You’ll have children, and a family, of your own.”

If he’d hoped to soothe her, his words had the opposite effect. Her throat, chest and stomach hurt as if she’d just chewed and swallowed glass. “I won’t,” she answered. “I’ll never marry again. And I don’t want children of my own.”

“But you’re good with children.”

“I’m a nanny. My job is to look after other peoples’ children. I hope I’m good with them.”

“But don’t you want more for yourself?”

“More, how?”

“A lover, a partner. Someone to share your life with.”

She felt herself blush and she shook her head, amazed at how quickly he could fluster her.

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