Sharing Sunrise by Judy Griffith Gill Read Free Book Online Page A

her will, but his parents and hers and hell, let’s face it, his own guilty conscience.
    But … what if it weren’t against her will? Lord! Did he want to find out? Did he dare to take a chance on that? What if this thing that he was half-convinced was only physical turned out to be more? What would he do when Marian upped-anchor again as was inevitable?
    But yes, dammit, he liked her dress. He liked it far too well. “I … uh, well, it’s sort of … revealing, isn’t it?”
    “Would you say that if it were a date wearing it, or are you only saying it because your assistant’s wearing it?” she asked pertly, the tilt of her chin showing a certain disdain. Right. And so it should.
    And she was right to remind him of their working relationship as he’d reminded her yesterday. If he’d thought for a few minutes then that she might be growing interested in him as a man, he’d been wrong. And he couldn’t permit himself to think of her as a woman. He never had, not until recently. Well, except for a couple of times. Why couldn’t he control his feeling better than this? He didn’t want her to be a woman to him, only … Hell, she looked like a woman, and smelled like a woman and, when she smiled, he reacted just like a man.
    All because that damned dress looked like a slip. Or one hell of a nightgown. In his mind, he replayed his having reached for the phone to call her and cancel, saw himself hesitate, saw himself withdraw his hand, turn and walk away, still full of questions to which there were no answers. Now, he looked at her, at her dress, and wished he’d carried out the thought.
    “Don’t you … uh, don’t you have something to put over it?”
    “Of course,” she said, and picked up a soft, sheer white thing that felt, as she handed it to him, about as substantial as cobwebs. He draped it around her shoulders, gaze lingering on the light, golden tan of her smooth, creamy skin. For just an instant, he let himself touch her. She smiled at him over her shoulder and he quickly dropped his hands, trying not to breathe too deeply because the scent of her perfume did things to his libido that had no business happening.
    Scooping up a tiny white purse, she opened the door and preceded him out. Her hair gleamed like polished gold in the low-angled rays of the sun sweeping through a window at the end of the hall. Rolph clenched his teeth and followed her down the stairs. Her tiny waist looked even smaller, just the right size for a pair of hands the size of his to encircle. Her sweetly rounded hips swayed as she walked. Her long, beautiful legs were smooth and would feel like satin to the touch, as would that deep vee of bare skin revealed by the open back of her dress. For the sake of his own sanity, he would not, absolutely would not, dance with her tonight.
    Rolph swung Marian aside to let another couple pass on the dance floor and the motion brought her soft breasts against his chest. She wasn’t wearing a bra. He’d known that, of course. The back of her dress, cut low the way it was, made the wearing of one impossible. He drew in a deep breath and set her back several inches, only that had the effect of letting her thighs brush against his.
    “Mmm, you’ve always been a wonderful dancer,” she said. “Remember when you taught me how to slow dance?”
    He’d been thinking about that since they’d come to the dance floor. When he was teaching her all those years ago he hadn’t once felt even a glimmer of what he was suffering now. “No,” he said brusquely, and after a confused glance into his eyes, she lowered her head.
    “I remember,” he said, stroking her back by way of apology. “It seems so long ago, though, it makes me feel old thinking about it.”
    Damn! How could he have let himself be goaded into dancing with her by watching Slim Masterson do what he was trying so damned hard not to do? Slim was old enough to be Marian’s father and clearly in love with his wife of thirty-some