Can't Hurry Love by Christie Ridgway Read Free Book Online Page B

bright contrast to the soft reddish blond of her short wavy hair that matched the color of the freckles sprinkled over her creamy skin. When she’d first started working at Tanti Baci, there’d been bruises on her—fresh purple ones, fading green ones, the sick yellow that spoke volumes. The five distinct finger marks ringing her upper arm had been nearly black.
    The color of the rage that too often bubbled inside Kohl.
    Fuck.
    Ignoring the little rabbit in the room, he started scrubbing. He hadn’t intended to finish the task, but what the hell. It was too early to hit a bar and start drinking.
    Grace began dusting the shelves again. “She’s going to be all right,” she ventured after a silent moment. “It’s just that she hasn’t been sleeping well. Or eating.”
    Kohl grunted. As if he didn’t know! He should have dragged Giuliana away for a meal before her sister had a chance to tell her about the baby. Instead of celebrating with Stevie, she’d slumped right into the arms of that rich, overprivileged asshole, Liam Bennett.
    “Do you have any cigarettes?” Kohl barked out.
    Grace’s eyes widened. “I don’t smoke.”
    He hadn’t, either, not for a long time, but he thought he might have taken it up again. The morning after the fire, he’d woken to find matches in his pocket, though he didn’t actually remember lighting up. He didn’t actually remember hours of that night—the time between his first few drinks at one bar until the news of the apartment burning had roused him from a stupor on his stool at another. He’d slapped himself two-thirds sober, then called for cab, downing Dentyne to alleviate the stink of booze clinging to him.
    When he’d first left the army and returned to Edenville, he’d spent a lot of lost evenings with his best bud, José Cuervo. It didn’t happen nearly as often now, but he still couldn’t claim saint status.
    He’d been trying, though, for Jules.
    Fuck.
    Angry all over again, he heaved the sponge. It landed on the fridge’s back wall with a loud splat .
    A bleat reminded him of the little rabbit. Guilt pinched and he swung toward her, ready to apologize for scaring the bejeezus out of her. But she was focused on her work, deftly arranging the items displayed for sale. His gaze narrowed on her hands. They weren’t trembling, he was glad to note, but still he didn’t look away. How pretty they were, he thought, covered with those same freckles that stood out like cinnamon-sugar snowflakes on her face.
    He wondered if they tasted sweet.
    She bleated again and he started, embarrassed he might have said that thought aloud. But she was staring down at her forefinger. A drop of blood welled there.
    His feet rushed forward. He halted as he reached her, aware that his mere size spooked some women—not to mention his temperament. “Are you all right?”
    “It’s nothing.” She darted him a nervous glance. “I caught it on the edge of this tin of tea.”
    He eased back a step. “Are you up to date on your tetanus shots?”
    Her face flushed. “Yes.”
    They would have made sure of that at the hospital. He’d known she’d gone there after her ex’s last beating. Another spurt of wrath shot through him, and it felt as if a strap was tightening around his chest. It only cinched harder as she brought that slim, cinnamon-dusted hand up to insert the injured digit in her mouth. Sucked.
    Lust shot through him, heat arrowing toward his cock. It immediately thickened. “You shouldn’t do that,” he told the girl, fascinated by the sight. His voice was gruff. Christ! This poor little thing was likely terrified of men and he was stuck on Jules, yet still he reacted just like an animal. Only a beast would let his temper and his hungers get the best of him like this . . .
    In those hours he couldn’t account for, he only hoped they hadn’t.
    Grace wound a paper towel around her injured finger. “Your sister is very nice,” she said, making him suppose she