A Weaver Christmas Gift. Allison Leigh

      

       His back was still toward her.

      He had a small scar over his right shoulder blade. She’d kissed her way over it dozens of times but had never asked what had caused it.

      Why hadn’t she asked?

      Because she wasn’t interested?

      Or because she was afraid he wouldn’t have told her?

      She slowly propped the broom handle against the wall and walked over to him. Her hand wasn’t entirely steady when she placed it on his shoulder, but it was a lot steadier than her insides felt.

      He stiffened at her touch and looked at her.

      She didn’t know what was tormenting him.

      And maybe comfort wasn’t their thing.

      But she did know what was.

      She leaned forward and slowly pressed her lips against his. She felt him inhale slightly. Resistance, almost.

      But not quite.

      ***

       Return to the Double C:

      Under the big blue Wyoming sky, this family discovers true love

      A Weaver Christmas Gift

      Allison Leigh

       www.millsandboon.co.uk

      There is a saying that you can never be too rich or too thin. ALLISON LEIGH doesn’t believe that, but she does believe that you can never have enough books! When her stories find a way into the hearts—and bookshelves—of others, Allison says she feels she’s done something right. Making her home in Arizona with her husband, she enjoys hearing from her readers at [email protected] or PO Box 40772, Mesa, AZ 85274-0772, USA.

      In loving memory of Saing.

      Contents

       Cover

       Excerpt

       Title Page

       About the Author

       Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

       Chapter Five

       Chapter Six

       Chapter Seven

       Chapter Eight

       Chapter Nine

       Chapter Ten

       Chapter Eleven

       Chapter Twelve

       Chapter Thirteen

       Chapter Fourteen

       Chapter Fifteen

       Extract

       Copyright

       Chapter One

      “I’ve decided to get pregnant.” As far as sweet nothings went, Jane Cohen’s statement didn’t rank very high on the scale.

      Casey Nathaniel Clay had to have heard her wrong. Maybe his head was still reeling from the truly phenomenal sex. Outside of the bedroom, he and Janie couldn’t seem to agree on the time of day. Inside the bedroom, though, they were like two halves of a whole.

      But in the year since their relationship—for lack of a better word—had moved into the bedroom, not once had either one of them expressed an inclination to take things into the “serious” realm.

      He levered himself up on his elbow and peered down at her.

      Her long golden hair was tangled around her head, strands clinging to her cheeks and neck, sliding in loose curls down her chest, over her breasts that were still rising and falling as she caught her breath from not one but—hell, yeah, if he didn’t mind counting ’em—two orgasms.

      He dragged his stupidly reluctant gaze upward to meet her coffee-colored eyes. “What’s that you say?”

      She pressed her lips together. They were the same soft pink as her nipples. “Don’t pretend you didn’t hear me.” Annoyance rang in her voice as she impatiently pushed her hair from her face. “I was perfectly clear.”

      Ordinarily, people tended to consider Casey a relatively intelligent guy. His degrees from MIT supported that opinion. But just then, he didn’t seem capable of forming much of a coherent thought, much less a reasonable response.

      What the hell are you talking about? was in the forefront of his mind. And he was pretty sure that wasn’t what Janie was looking for.

      She seemed to know what he was thinking anyway, because her lips tightened even more.

      Looking disgusted, she rolled her eyes and shoved his shoulders aside, disentangling her warm legs from his, and slid off the bed. “Cool the panic jets, Casey.” Her voice was tart as a bowl of lemon juice with the closest supply of sugar a few counties away. “I wasn’t suggesting I wanted to get pregnant by you.”

      The words stung more than she’d ever know.

      He eyed her, wondering why he’d thought that getting into bed with the infernal woman was a good idea in the first place. But that was just what happened when a man followed his baser nature. “Then why on earth did you bring it up now?” he groused.

      She made that impatient sound that only women seemed to know how to make, the sound meant to convey he was missing something completely obvious to anyone with a half a brain. The sound that pretty much meant he was dumber than a box of rocks. She retrieved her robe from the back of the bedroom door and slid into it, yanking the belt around her narrow waist.

      The