Keep On Loving You. Christie Ridgway

her throat, she met his gaze. “Zan—”

      “I brought you something else.”

      The expression on his face gave her sudden pause. It was half guarded and half pleased. Exactly how he’d looked when he’d presented her with her eighteenth birthday present—the receipt for four brand-new tires for her battered baby SUV.

      I know it’s not romantic, he’d said.

      Then she’d thrown herself into his arms, grateful, touched to the bone because those tires would keep her safe on the mountain roads for years to come. He’d known pride would never have allowed her to accept them as charity, but as a birthday gift...yes.

      She thought of what Angelica had said to Brett the night of their wedding reception. You know what I need.

      But the way of those memories lay danger and not the distance she’d decided upon, so she returned to the moment at hand. “A croissant? One of Oscar’s cinnamon buns? I warn you, I don’t like the lemon cake.”

      He grinned. “I recall your aversion to citrus paired with sweets.”

      It took effort to pretend that didn’t stab. He remembered? “That’s right. No lemon bars. No key lime tarts.”

      “But you indulged my love of peach pie.”

      Mac’s body froze. Had he really said that? Peach pie? Um, sexual innuendo, much?

      But before she could think of how to respond, he pulled something out of one of his many coat pockets and set it on the counter. The item was about the size of a large baked potato. Which turned out to be a very weird first impression of the actual object.

      Her gaze glued to it, she moved forward, unable to stifle her curiosity.

      “It’s a Russian nesting doll.”

      Her fingertip stroked the smooth surface. More than that, it was a work of art. On the carved hourglass shape, a woman’s face and figure decorated the pale wood. Dark-haired, blue-eyed, she was delicate and so, so lovely.

      “I watched the artist paint her,” Zan said. He cleared his throat. “She, uh, makes them by request.”

      Her head shot up. It didn’t take a genius to realize the rendered woman had her coloring...even, perhaps, her features. Mac put her hands behind her back. “It’s wonderful.”

      His mouth quirked. “I thought so.” Then he picked it up and twisted.

      A bleat of protest escaped her mouth.

      He laughed. “Watch.”

      It was a work of moments. Inside, were five other figurines, each one opening to reveal a smaller figure, similarly painted, until the smallest was revealed, the size of a thimble.

      Mac stared at them, noting that each had the same features and each wore a beautiful blue gown, highlighted with what looked like gold leaf. So exquisite. Inhaling a breath, she shifted her gaze to Zan again. “For me? Really?”

      One of his long fingers brushed the painted hair of the largest of the dolls and his gaze tracked the stroke. “Yeah. I’ll miss her, though. She’s been with me a long time.”

      Like the long time he’d been gone. Ignoring the hot pressure behind her eyes, she watched him renest the dolls into one.

      Then he cradled it in his hands like a kitten, bringing it close to his face. “We had many the long, dark-night conversations, didn’t we, girl?” he asked, addressing the piece.

      Oh, man. That burn intensified behind Mac’s eyes and she felt a traitorous twinge in her chest. On long dark nights, had he needed a friend? During those lonely hours, had he been talking to a surrogate for her?

      She curled her hands into fists to keep herself from reaching out to him. You need to keep your distance, she reminded herself. You need to keep up your guard.

      But when he offered the object to Mac, she couldn’t help but lean closer to take it from him. As her fingers neared, he lifted it just out of reach. “Now, what am I going to get in return for this little pretty?” he asked with a roguish glint in his eye.

      It was charming as heck, so the look she sent him was stern. “A simple ‘thank you’ won’t do?”

      “Surely you can do better than that. Think of the miles I’ve traveled to bring her to you. The terrain I’ve overcome! The dangers I’ve braved!”

      “The bullshit you’ve dished out along the way,” she said drily.

      His lips twitched. It drew her attention, reminding her of kisses, hours of them, that mouth on hers, taking her to new and heated places. That mouth, exploring new and heated places.

      Peach pie. She felt a blush rush up her neck and cursed the persistent memories.

      “I think you’ve turned into a cruel and cold woman,” Zan declared.

      She latched on to that. “And don’t you forget it.”

      “But still,” he said, in that teasing tone, “one small kiss doesn’t seem too much to ask.” His fingertip tapped the edge of his jaw. “And then I’ll be on my way.”

      And then she’d be safe from him, her space once more her own. And yet... “Zan...”

      He wiggled the doll back and forth. “Please?” His smile was boyish and friendly. “With sugar on top?”

      “Good God,” she muttered but found herself giving in to his ridiculous request. Bellying up to the counter, she closed the gap between them. Then she fisted her hand in the lapel of his jacket, drew his face close and rose onto her tiptoes. “Thank you,” she grumbled.

      And moved her lips to his cheek.

      At the same instant that he turned his mouth to meet hers.