The MacGregor Grooms by Nora Roberts Read Free Book Online

miseries of love.
    Layna didn’t understand the music, either, though it pulled and stroked at something deep inside her. It made her sad. It made her want. For somehow the singer made the idea of love worth all the misery that came with it.
    Layna sipped her wine, or what the club pretended was wine, and slanted a look toward D.C. He’d barely spoken to her since he’d brought her into this place. He looked like some kind of bohemian god—thetumble of rich hair, the ripple of muscle against black cotton and denim.
    What was she doing there? What was she doing with him?
    This was definitely the last time, she told herself. Absolutely the last. She couldn’t have been more out of place.
    Under the table her foot tapped time with the bass, and her heart was being torn to pieces by the slow and liquid voice of the singer.
    “She’s great, isn’t she?”
    “Yes.” Layna waved absently as smoke drifted in front of her face from the next table. “But why does it have to be so sad?”
    “The blues reach inside you, grab ahold of what’s sinking your heart. Most times it leaves it lighter for it.”
    “Or shatters it,” she murmured.
    He looked over then, let his pad slide onto the table. “Music’s supposed to touch you, affect you, bring on a mood or end one.”
    “Is that what you’re drawing? Moods?”
    “Yeah. And the music.” He tilted his head. She’d swept her hair back tonight, twisting it into some sort of clip in the back. It changed her look, he noted. Added a hint of fragility. “What mood are you in, Layna?”
    “A fairly relaxed one.”
    “You never look really relaxed. You know what you look?”
    “No, but I’m sure you’ll tell me.”
    “Perfect. Just a little too perfect. I’ve never seen you mussed.” On impulse he reached out, and in one quick move nipped the clip out of her hair. “There, not quite perfect now.”
    “For heaven’s sake.” She skimmed her fingers through her hair in an attempt to smooth it, then made a grab for the clip. “Give me that.”
    “No. I like it down better, anyway.” Grinning, he raked his fingers through it to disorder it again. “That’s a good look for you. Just a little tumbled. Very sexy, especially with that bite of temper in your eyes and a pout on your mouth.”
    “I don’t pout.”
    “You’re not the one looking at your mouth.” His gaze lowered to it, lingered there for one long moment. In one long moment her pulse began to shimmy. “I really like your mouth,” he murmured. “In fact …”
    “Wait.” She pressed a hand to his chest. It was foolish, she knew. Hadn’t she wondered why he’d yet to kiss her? Hadn’t she wondered what it would be like when he did? Yet she found herself almost frightened, taking this minute to draw her defenses together, certain she would need them to survive intact.
    “We’ve already done the waiting part.” He closed a hand around hers, then cupped his other around the back of her neck. “We have to get to this sooner or later—see what’s there. Or what isn’t.”
    He lowered his head just enough to catch her bottom lip lightly between his teeth, to feel her breath shudder out.
    “Let’s see what mood we make.”
    He took her mouth slowly, wanting to savor and absorb. The tastes, the textures, the movement. Dark tastes, with a hint of cool, light wine. Smooth textures. Fluid movements.
    More.
    Her lips parted, in a quiet moan that vibrated under the weeping of the sax. He slipped his tonguebetween them, taking his time, and when she began to tremble, he shifted angles and lazily took the kiss deeper.
    God, why had he waited so long for this? was all he could think. And drawing her closer, he steeped himself in her.
    She was drowning, sliding down where the air was too thick to breathe and the music seeped into the blood and pulsed.
    She hadn’t expected this, not this. Gathering her defenses had done nothing to protect her from this endless and dreamy onslaught. Her mind clouded,