“Hello darling,
I’m home.”
“I don’t understand.”
Lillian stared at him, stunned.
“What’s not to
understand, love?” He leaned against the wall.
“I’m home and ready to take my rightful place at the store.”
“You’re rightful
place?” She frowned. “Wait!”
She held up her hand and narrowed her eyes. “Before this goes any further, who the sugar
are you?”
“I’m your husband,
darling,” he said. “Have I been away so
long that you don’t recognize me?”
“You, sir, are not
my husband.”
He watched her struggle with what
to do with him.
“Yes, I am.” Donovan took a step toward her. Maybe if he kissed her again…
“Don’t come
anywhere near me.” Lillian backed into the corner. He stopped short, when she
grabbed the broom in the corner, and held up his hands.
“Darling,” he
crooned. “Put that broom down. You know I’d never hurt you.”
“No I don’t.” She narrowed
her eyes. “I don’t know you.”
“You kissed
me. Are you telling me that you are in
the habit of kissing strange men on the street?”
She gasped and
swung. “I would do nothing of the sort!”
He ducked. That got her. She had to admit that either she was a loose
woman or he was her husband. He grabbed
the broom and hauled her up against his chest.
She was small but
curvy in all the right places. Her
auburn hair smelled of violets and it frightened him how well she fit up under
his heart. Instead of letting her go, he
pulled her closer.
“Of course you
wouldn’t run around kissing strange men on a public street, darling,” he said low
next to her ear. “Everyone knows the
only man you’d kiss is your husband.”
“That’s right.”
Pride showed in her beautiful eyes.
He grinned. “Gotcha, sweetheart.”
Her eyes grew wide
and she pushed at him. “Let me go.”
“Only after you
admit the truth.”
“What truth?”
“You kissed me.”
“So, what if I
did?”
“That can mean
only one thing.”
“That you ambushed
me?”
“No, silly, I’m
your husband, Donovan West.” He held his
hands out like a silly circus ringleader at the “tada” moment.
She opened and closed her mouth, then paused, her blue eyes
revealing terrible thoughts. Good thing he was quick, he managed to move his
foot before she could come down on his instep.
He let her go to give her some time.
In the thick silence, he pulled out an available chair, turned it around
and sat down.
“You can’t be
Donovan West,” she argued vehemently.
“Why not?”
“Because I—“
“You what?” He leaned his arms across the back of the
chair. Sitting down he had a good view
of her curves, set off by the white apron tied diligently around her tiny
waist. “You what?” He knew she would
never, could never, tell him the truth. She’d created Donovan West out of thin
air.
