Only In Dreams (Stubborn Love Series) by Wendy Owens Read Free Book Online Page B

“It’s for work,” I explain, moving out from around the counter and crossing the concrete floors to take the package from him. As I reach out and place my hands on the box, his skin brushes against me as he pulls away. I drop the box as I recoil from the brief interaction.
    “Are you all right?” Christian asks, dipping low to pick up the package from the ground. Much to my dismay, I bend down at the same time to retrieve the dropped goods, causing our heads to smack into one another’s.
    We both stumble back, clutching our heads in pain. I grab a hold of the counter to steady myself. I realize Christian is wailing with laughter.
    “I’m glad you find my pain so hilarious,” I snarl.
    Christian quickly approaches, scooping up the discarded package, placing it on the counter. “I’m laughing because I see you are just as graceful as you used to be.”
    “Hey!” I gasp, then laugh, realizing he’s right. “How is it I can walk down a runway in four-inch heels, but damn it, anything else, and somehow I manage to hurt myself?”
    “No clue. I suppose you’re just gifted that way,” Christian adds, gasping for breath between laughs, before a silence settles over the room. He quickly attempts to alleviate any awkward silence. “So, I hear you’re not modeling anymore. Finally decided to hang your stilettos up?”
    I examine Christian, quiet for a moment, trying to gauge what his sudden interest in me means. Then, convincing myself he is simply trying to be nice, I answer, “When you say it like that it sounds like I was a stripper.”
    He laughs again. “I’ve missed your sense of humor.”
    I feel my stomach flip as I wonder what else he has missed, then remember the original question. “My fiancé helped me get into fashion design.”
    “Yeah, I heard that, too.”
    “What? About the show? They told you?”
    “Well, about that and about your engagement,” he says, watching my face for a reaction. I give him none.
    “At least one of us was told what was going on in the other’s life.”
    “Huh?”
    “Just you, and being here, and—” I hesitate, and then think better of going deeper into the conversation. “Nothing, never mind.”
    “Wait, you didn’t know I was living in Bastrop? Did you?” Christian asks. I can see he is surprised that I have been kept in the dark.
    I shake my head. “Last I heard, you were a drifting roadie, a different band every few months, a different town every week.”
    Christian glances at the floor as he responds. I can tell he’s thinking about his past. “When you say it like that, it sounds like a bad country song. The ex-stripper and the washed up roadie, we would definitely be a chart topper.”
    I snicker. “Someone is going to hear that and actually think I was a stripper.”
    “Well, if the stiletto fits.” He grins at me.
    “Private showings I did for you don’t count.” Damn it, why in the hell did I just say that?
    He raises his eyebrows as my face turns to a bright shade of red, then says, “My days on the road were a while ago. I found a better gig.”
    I sigh a huge breath of relief that he moved our conversation back on track. Then, with my voice dripping with sarcasm, I comment, “I don’t know, from what I heard, you were leaving a trail of broken hearts behind you. Seems like you had a pretty decent gig.”
    He seems amused by my statement, which doesn’t surprise me in the least. “I don’t know about that,” he says with that crooked smile, the one I refuse to stare at. Damn it! I’m staring at it. Looking away, I allow my eyes to travel to his clothes. A flannel shirt with reds, browns, and creams in it hangs open, unbuttoned, with a white V-neck t-shirt peeking out underneath. His faded blue jeans hug his hips perfectly, a tear in the knee, beginning to unravel, allows his tanned flesh to show through. The way he dresses now is different than when we were young, but something is so right about it. He’s less kept, with his