that light for hours.
She wore pale, fragile pink that skimmed down to her ankles, with a row
of tiny pearl buttons from the hollow of her throat to the hem that
flowed around her bare feet. He had rarely seen her in a dress, but now
he was too thunderstruck by the sight of her to question why she was
wearing it.
All he could think was she looked like a rose, long and slim and just
ready to bloom. And his tongue tangled up in his mouth.
"Ethan." Her hand trembled lightly as she reached down, opened the
screen. Maybe she hadn't needed a star to wish on after all. For here he
was, standing close and watching her.
"I wasa" Her scent, familiar as his own, seemed to wrap around his
brain. "Anna sent you--she asked me to bring this by."
Mystified, Grace took the card he held out. At the sight of the recipe
she had to bite the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing. Her
nerves backed off just enough that her eyes smiled when she lifted them
to his. "That was nice of her."
"You got hers?"
"Her what?"
"The one she wants. The chicken thing."
"Oh, yes. Back in the kitchen. Come on in while I get it." What chicken
thing? she wondered, nearly giddy from suppressed laughter that she knew
would come out well on the hysterical side. "The, um, casserole, right?"
"No." She had such a tiny waist, he thought. Such narrow feet. "Fried."
"Oh, that's right. I'm so scatterbrained lately."
"It's going around," he mumbled. He decided it was safer to look
anywhere but at her. He noted the pair of fat white candles burning on
the counter. "You blow a fuse?"
"Excuse me?"
"What's wrong with your lights?"
"Nothing." She could feel the heat rise into her cheeks.
She didn't have a recipe for fried chicken written down anywhere. Why
would she? You just did the same as you always did when it came time to
make it. "I like candlelight sometimes. It goes with the music."
He only granted, wishing she would hurry up so he could get the hell
away. "You already put Aubrey to bed?"
"She's spending the night with my mother."
His eyes, which had been steadfastly studying her ceiling, shot down and
met hers. "She's not here?"
"No. It's her first overnight. I've already called over there twice."
She smiled a little, and her fingers reached up to fiddle with the top
button of her dress in a way that made Ethan's mouth water. "I know
she's only a few miles away, and as safe as she'd be in her own crib,
but I couldn't help it. The house feels so different without her here."
"Dangerous" was the word he'd have used. The pretty little dollhouse was
suddenly as deadly as a minefield. There wasn't any little girl
innocently sleeping in the next room. They were alone, with music
sobbing and candles flickering.
And Grace was wearing a pale-pink dress that just begged to have those
little white buttons undone, one by one by one.