скачать книгу бесплатно
A Weaver Christmas Gift
Allison Leigh
HELP WANTED: HUSBANDJane Cohen needs a man for her baby plan. Love and marriage are non-negotiable – she wants the fairy tale! So she cuts her friend-with-benefits loose… because while Casey Clay is gorgeous, he doesn’t do commitment. The trouble is, this irresistible man has set the bar high for her husband hunt…Casey’s feelings run deep for Jane, but when it comes to babies he can’t give her what she wants – and his secrets don’t stop there. As mistletoe goes up around them, is this the season for Casey and Jane’s moment of truth… and shot at true love?
His back was still toward her.
He had a small scar over his right shoulder blade. She’d kissed her way over it dozens of times but had never asked what had caused it.
Why hadn’t she asked?
Because she wasn’t interested?
Or because she was afraid he wouldn’t have told her?
She slowly propped the broom handle against the wall and walked over to him. Her hand wasn’t entirely steady when she placed it on his shoulder, but it was a lot steadier than her insides felt.
He stiffened at her touch and looked at her.
She didn’t know what was tormenting him.
And maybe comfort wasn’t their thing.
But she did know what was.
She leaned forward and slowly pressed her lips against his. She felt him inhale slightly. Resistance, almost.
But not quite.
***
Return to the Double C:
Under the big blue Wyoming sky, this family discovers true love
A Weaver Christmas Gift
Allison Leigh
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
There is a saying that you can never be too rich or too thin. ALLISON LEIGH doesn’t believe that, but she does believe that you can never have enough books! When her stories find a way into the hearts—and bookshelves—of others, Allison says she feels she’s done something right. Making her home in Arizona with her husband, she enjoys hearing from her readers at Allison@allisonleigh.com (mailto:Allison@allisonleigh.com) or PO Box 40772, Mesa, AZ 85274-0772, USA.
In loving memory of Saing.
Contents
Cover (#u31947191-c22b-55f9-819c-03ea09c04a9d)
Excerpt (#u6e172314-6c5a-5633-88f2-c56913bea9ae)
Title Page (#u025ab0c9-a2a7-5c0e-8994-24d7492e1065)
About the Author (#ud0775fff-32b7-587c-89ca-bf4bae0ebaf0)
Dedication (#u157c6dd4-b2d5-5f8f-ae29-e7ac5dc34e93)
Chapter One (#ud46602f1-372e-56d9-bddd-6ec07a249f23)
Chapter Two (#u44c0cd4e-2978-5efd-9ad4-0c4cc5b301af)
Chapter Three (#uabd20e17-8ac9-5492-bfb1-ecd086436f27)
Chapter Four (#u7cb3768d-4911-5942-8b25-66d4fa177253)
Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Extract (#litres_trial_promo)
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter One (#ulink_330308b9-92b5-5794-97c3-9c6d53cd410e)
“I’ve decided to get pregnant.” As far as sweet nothings went, Jane Cohen’s statement didn’t rank very high on the scale.
Casey Nathaniel Clay had to have heard her wrong. Maybe his head was still reeling from the truly phenomenal sex. Outside of the bedroom, he and Janie couldn’t seem to agree on the time of day. Inside the bedroom, though, they were like two halves of a whole.
But in the year since their relationship—for lack of a better word—had moved into the bedroom, not once had either one of them expressed an inclination to take things into the “serious” realm.
He levered himself up on his elbow and peered down at her.
Her long golden hair was tangled around her head, strands clinging to her cheeks and neck, sliding in loose curls down her chest, over her breasts that were still rising and falling as she caught her breath from not one but—hell, yeah, if he didn’t mind counting ’em—two orgasms.
He dragged his stupidly reluctant gaze upward to meet her coffee-colored eyes. “What’s that you say?”
She pressed her lips together. They were the same soft pink as her nipples. “Don’t pretend you didn’t hear me.” Annoyance rang in her voice as she impatiently pushed her hair from her face. “I was perfectly clear.”
Ordinarily, people tended to consider Casey a relatively intelligent guy. His degrees from MIT supported that opinion. But just then, he didn’t seem capable of forming much of a coherent thought, much less a reasonable response.
What the hell are you talking about? was in the forefront of his mind. And he was pretty sure that wasn’t what Janie was looking for.
She seemed to know what he was thinking anyway, because her lips tightened even more.
Looking disgusted, she rolled her eyes and shoved his shoulders aside, disentangling her warm legs from his, and slid off the bed. “Cool the panic jets, Casey.” Her voice was tart as a bowl of lemon juice with the closest supply of sugar a few counties away. “I wasn’t suggesting I wanted to get pregnant by you.”
The words stung more than she’d ever know.
He eyed her, wondering why he’d thought that getting into bed with the infernal woman was a good idea in the first place. But that was just what happened when a man followed his baser nature. “Then why on earth did you bring it up now?” he groused.
She made that impatient sound that only women seemed to know how to make, the sound meant to convey he was missing something completely obvious to anyone with a half a brain. The sound that pretty much meant he was dumber than a box of rocks. She retrieved her robe from the back of the bedroom door and slid into it, yanking the belt around her narrow waist.
The action only served to draw attention to her breasts.
They were perfect, those breasts. Surprisingly full for someone with such a lean, athletic figure. Her legs were perfect, too. And don’t get him started on her butt—
“Because if I want to have a baby, all this has to change.” Her tone—superior and vaguely snooty—pulled his attention back to her face. She was waving her hand toward the bed. Toward him.
The pink robe was thin. It clung lovingly to her curves as she moved around the room, snatching up their strewn articles of clothing.
Again, he focused with an effort and bunched the blanket around his hips as he sat up. This particular turn of the conversation made sprawling there naked as a jaybird seem ill-advised. “Change,” he repeated warily.
She made that sound again and tossed him his jeans. She hadn’t found his boxers yet, but he didn’t care. He got off the bed and pulled on the jeans anyway. “Obviously, I can’t proceed with my plan while we’re—” she waved her hand again “—whatever we are.”
“Friends with benefits,” he hazarded. It was a safer definition than some he could have offered.
She snorted softly. “I think friends is overstating.”
He grimaced, not liking the fact that her words bit any more than he liked the way the night had taken such an abrupt turn south. “We’re friends,” he grumbled. Maybe it was an exaggeration, but he was pretty sure it wasn’t an outright lie.
Her eyebrows rose as if she didn’t believe the claim any more than he did. She’d pulled on the pair of black horn-rimmed glasses that she rarely wore when she was working at Colbys, the bar and grill she’d bought five years ago. The lenses made her eyes look unnaturally large.
The first time he’d seen her wearing them, he’d decided the bookish glasses made her look even sexier.
Oddly approachable.
Times like this, he wished he’d never seen her in them, considering they’d ended up in bed together almost immediately after.
“Please,” she drawled. “In what way are we friends? There’s nothing on which we ever agree.”
Even over that point, he had to differ. “You pour a decent beer. And you came to your senses finally and stopped charging to use the pool tables.”
“High praise. We don’t have a friendship. We have a...a sexship.” She didn’t look at him as she tossed him his T-shirt. It still hit him square in the chest. “I want to have a baby,” she said again. “But I have no desire to be a single mother.” She bent over again and the lapels of her robe gaped, giving him an eyeful of creamy skin. “Call me old-fashioned, but I intend to be married first.” She straightened and dropped his socks on the corner of the bed in front of him.
Here’s your hat; what’s your hurry?
“And then stay that way,” she added flatly. “My mom never married my dad. After she kicked him out, she struggled every single day raising my sister and me. Trust me. I am not doing that. I want a husband.”
His head felt oddly light. He sat on the bed and shoved his feet into the socks. “You told me you’d had one of those and couldn’t imagine wanting another.”
“I don’t want another husband like Gage,” she said, as if Casey was missing the point. “He was a complete workaholic.” She gave Casey a pointed look, evidently accusing him of fitting the description, too. “I want someone who will put me first.”
“Someone who’ll let you run the show, you mean,” he muttered. One thing he’d learned about Janie Cohen was that she liked to think she was always in the driver’s seat.
She gave him one of her snippy smiles. “At least I have a plan.”
He scratched his chin. He’d forgotten to shave before coming to see her. He usually tried to remember to, because her fair skin was so easily marred by his whiskers. But he’d had a long day and hadn’t thought beyond seeing her as soon as possible. “Am I supposed to take some hint there that you think I don’t?”
“I’m not talking about you.”
Maybe he’d spent too many hours studying computer feeds, because following her thought process was giving him a headache. “And the plan is to get a husband so you can get knocked up?”
“I’m a thirty-two-year-old woman,” she said. “Knocked up is for teenagers who don’t know better.”
“Like your mom.”
She made a face and ignored that. “Obviously, I’m not getting any younger. So I need to get started.” She waved him out of the way and smartly flipped the sheets into some semblance of order.
He had the feeling he was being flipped away just as easily as the wrinkles in the fabric.
“Just like that.” He snapped his fingers in her face. “What are you going to do? Order yourself up some husband out of Mail-Order Husbands Weekly?”
She hesitated as if she was actually giving the idea some thought.
“I was kidding,” he said hastily.
“There are mail-order brides,” she said. “Guess there are probably mail-order husbands. But no.” She fluffed the pillows, put them back at the head of the bed and turned to face him, her hands propped on her narrow hips. She looked up at him through her glasses with her vaguely buggy brown eyes.
And he was damned if he didn’t want to tumble her right back onto that bed and mess up the sheets all over again, even if she was annoying as hell.
“I intend to find a husband right here in Weaver.”
He barked out a laugh before he could stop himself.
“You think it’s funny?” Her voice went silky but her eyes were as chilly as a Weaver winter. “You think I’m incapable of finding a man who might want to put a ring on it?”
“I think the pickings around Weaver are gonna be a tad slim for a woman like you,” he answered, trying unsuccessfully to curtail his untimely amusement. Their small Wyoming town wasn’t exactly a mecca of single, eligible adults. Despite the consumer electronics company he ostensibly worked for, Cee-Vid, the town was first and foremost a ranching community. Always had been. Always would be. And Jane—for all of her talents—didn’t strike him as a typical rancher’s wife.
A niggle of guilt pricked his mind over that. Among his own relatives, he could count a passel of ranchers. None of their wives were particularly “typical” either. There were doctors, accountants, business owners...
Jane had propped her hand on her hip and was staring down her nose at him. Considering she was about a foot shorter, it was a feat he might have admired under other circumstances.
