Page 30 of Kyle
"I'll stay for a while, Dad. But you have to promise me you'll try, just a little, to do better. For yourself, if not for anyone else."
"I will," he promised earnestly. As if to prove he meant it, he struggled up from the chair and embraced her. "Why don't wego out on the balcony? It's a pretty night and the stars are out. We could open that bottle of Costa Regal. It would go well with the roast beef. What do you say?" Taking her hand, he tucked it through his arm, a charming smile on his lips.
Silently wondering if the man was bipolar, Ingrid nodded.
"Sounds like a plan."
"Good," he murmured briskly. "And as a reward for putting up with your old man, I have a gift for you."
"That's not necessary--"
"I refuse to take no for an answer. I never gave you a wedding present." He steered her into the morning room and went to pluck a painting off the wall. "Georgia O'Keefe." He studied the delicate lines of the iris for a moment before handing it to her. "I want you to have this. I thought about a diamond bracelet, but this is perfect. Do you like it?" he asked anxiously.
"Of course. It's lovely and will fit right in the living room."
Taking it from her, he set it aside.
"Now, let's go and have that meal."
Chapter 8
He found her sprawled face down on the maroon and white striped sofa in the living room, a blanket thrown over her lower legs.
He hesitated a minute inside the doorway and wondered if he should just go on upstairs. Then she opened her eyes, and he felt the jolt of electricity arrowing straight to his loins. He found himself wondering what exactly he could use to describe the colors and texture.
Honey gold seemed too basic and too wrong.
He tried to clear the huskiness from his throat, but it didn't work.
"Hi."
"Hi." She stayed where she was, and this time could not ignore the hammering of her heart against her ribs. He looked so delicious standing there. Like a long glass of golden wine.
"I just came back."
"Me too, obviously." He came further into the room and sat across from her.
"Were you sleeping?"
"A little bit. When did we become the parents to our parents?"
His chuckle warmed her.
"Dad says he wants to do better."
Her brows arched.
"Mine said the same thing. Of the two, my money is on yours." She flipped away the blanket to reveal black leggings. The sweater was snug against her generous bosom. He had to force himself not to take a peek.
"Have you eaten?"
"I had breakfast at Dad's. We did say we were going to do the popcorn thing and watch movies."
"How about an actual dinner first?"
"Italian?"
"I could do Italian." He rose.
