Summer of Love Marie Ferrarella (easy books to read in english TXT) 📖

The walk down the driveway was filled with the scent of magnolia blossoms, a smell he remembered well. Unbeknownst to Jessi, he’d sat in front of her house for hours the night of graduation, listening for any sounds of fighting, or worse. It had been hard back then to remember that not every father struck out with his fists.

But there’d been nothing that night. Just the muggy heat and that rich floral scent—something he connected to Jessi every time he smelled it. Even now, memories of the soft carpet of moss he’d felt beneath his hands as he’d supported his weight swirled around him. Of her face, soft and flushed, tilting back as he’d trailed his mouth down her neck.

Damn. He never should have come here.

He quickened his steps, only to have her hand touch his arm as they reached his car. He turned to face her, keys in hand, ready to get the hell out of there. The faster he left, the sooner he could regain his sanity.

Which right now was nowhere to be found. Because all he wanted to do was kiss her. Right in front of her house. To relive a little of the magic he’d experienced all those years ago.

“Why didn’t you tell me … back then?” she asked.

He might have known this was why she’d wanted to come with him. “I thought I’d explained that. It was my problem, there was no reason to involve anyone else.”

“God, Clint. I bawled my eyes out about my dad’s stupid rules without even knowing what you—”

“I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want anyone to know. Besides, it doesn’t matter anymore. It’s all in the past.”

“And your dad is gone.”

His jaw clenched. His father’s liver cancer, brought on by years of alcohol abuse, didn’t mitigate the fact that Clint wished he’d known sooner how to help him. “So is yours.”

“Yes. I’m just glad he’s not suffering. The strokes came faster at the end …”

“I’m sorry.” He put his arm around her, meaning to give her a quick squeeze and release her. Instead, somehow she wound up against his chest, palms splayed against his shirt, staring up at him with those huge eyes.

The same eyes that did something to his insides every damn time she looked at him. It had happened in high school. And it was still happening now. He leaned back against the car door, still holding on to her.

She bit her lip for a second. “For what it’s worth, I’m glad you were the one—back then. And I’m glad it’s you now.”

Whoa. If that wasn’t a kick in the gut, he didn’t know what was. She was glad he’d been the one who’d taken her virginity and not Larry? He’d beaten himself up about that for years afterwards.

And what did she mean, she was happy it was him now? She had to be talking about Chelsea.

“I had no idea who she was, Jess, until you stepped into that room. I swear.”

“I didn’t know it was you either. Until I saw the nameplate on your desk.”

Her fingers came up and touched the line of his jaw, and she smiled. “I never believed that rebel freedom air you put on back in school.”

He cocked a brow. “Oh, no? And why was that?”

“Because you looked so lost at times. I just never understood what caused it back then.”

Before he had time to tense up, she continued. “Mama is right, you know.”

“How’s that?”

“You are the absolute best person to be treating Chelsea.” She closed her eyes for a second before looking up at him again. “I’m so glad you’re here, Clint. So glad you came home.”

The squeezing sensation in his chest grew. The tightrope he was toeing his way across was thinner than he’d realized … harder to balance on than he’d expected.

“Promise me you won’t drop the case,” she added.

That’s exactly what he should do. Especially now. Bow out and ask someone else to step in. Transfer the hell out of that hospital and go back to California.

A thought came to him. Was this why Jessi was in his arms, staring all doe-eyed at him? “I can’t make you that promise. I have to do what I think is in the best interests of your daughter.”

“I know. Just promise me that tomorrow, when you walk into that office, you’ll still be the one treating her.”

He was suddenly aware of her fingers. They were still on his skin, only now they’d moved slightly backward, putting his senses on high alert—along with certain parts of his body. “I’ll be there for her.”

“Good. Because I think I’m about to do something very, very stupid.”

He didn’t need to ask what it was. Because he was on the verge of doing something just as stupid.

But it didn’t stop him from tugging her closer, neither did it stop his lips from closing over hers in a sudden crazy burst of need.

And once their mouths fused together, he was transported to the past. Twenty-two years, to be exact. He’d been unable to get enough of her. Her taste. The faint scent of her shampoo or body wash, or magnolias—whatever the hell it had been that had filled his senses, intoxicating him more than the booze he’d been offered earlier ever could have.

A faint sound came from her throat. He was fairly certain it wasn’t a gasp of protest, since her arms had wound around his neck and her body had slid up his as she’d gone up on tiptoe. He buried his fingers in the hair at her nape, the slight dampness probably due to the Virginia humidity, but it brought back memories of perspiration and bodies that moved together in perfect harmony. Of …

The sound of Cooper’s plaintive howl split the air a short distance away, followed by the sound of the front door opening. Abigail’s voice called out the dog’s name.

Cursing everything under the sun, he let Jessi pull free from his lips, even though the last thing he wanted to do was let