Read Sway (Landry Family #1) for Free Online Page A

and press gently on the raised skin. I expect him to pull back, but he doesn't.
    My hand shakes as I touch his warmed skin. His forehead is silky and smooth. I'd like to run my hands over every inch of it, feel it ripple beneath my fingertips.
    The corner of his lips twitch. "Lincoln hit me in the head with a baseball."
    "Bad reflexes on your part?"
    "Wicked curveball on his," he says, his face breaking out into a full smile.
    “I thought he played center field?”
    “He does. But he pitched some growing up.”
    We stand inches apart, my hand gently brushing down the side of his face. Although I feel like he'd stand here all night and talk to me, it’s not possible.
    "I really need to get back to work," I say, trying to unlock my eyes from his.
    “Dinner? This week?”
    I can barely resist the look in his eye, the one that implores me to say yes. The one that makes me believe he really does want to have dinner and spend a few hours with me.
    I need to get away, put some space between us while I can.
    “We ran into each other tonight,” I shrug. “If we’re supposed to see each other again, then I guess we will.” I start to turn away before I completely buckle under his gaze.
    “How am I supposed to get ahold of you? I don’t have your number,” he calls after me.
    Heading up the steps to the Savannah Room, I glance at him over my shoulder. “You’re the Mayor. Figure it out.”

Alison
    IT’S LATE WHEN I MAKE it back to my little two-bedroom rental across town. The light in the kitchen is on as I pull into the driveway and cut the engine. I see the curtains pull back and my mother peering out at me.
    I make my way up the walkway, nearly tripping over one of Huxley’s baseballs. My brain is scattered, still back on the path of the gardens with Barrett.
    I’d forgotten what this feels like. The excitement of sparking someone’s interest, the feeling of being desired by a man. Maybe Hayden made me feel this way early on, but if so, it was quickly replaced with something more . . . mundane. Even the handful of dates I’ve gone on since never set this kind of energy into play. The way he looks at me, the fire from his touch lingers on my skin even now.
    The door swings open as I reach the threshold.
    “How was work?” my mother asks, closing the door behind me.
    “Good. Long,” I reply, tossing my purse on the couch and heading into the kitchen. “How did things go here? How’s Hux?”
    “He did all his homework and fell asleep to cartoons. There’s a permission slip for you to sign on the kitchen table.”
    The purple piece of paper is lying next to the salt and pepper shakers when we reach the kitchen. “Did he eat dinner?”
    “I made spaghetti, so of course. It’s his favorite. There’s some in the fridge if you’re hungry.” She takes a step back and eyes me carefully in the way only a mother can. “What’s going on with you, Ali?”
    Turning my back to her, I run some water from the tap and take a long draw of the cool liquid, hoping it calms my reddened cheeks and stops me from blushing further.
    “Nothing,” I say, leaning against the fridge.
    She taps her lips with her fingertip, something she’s done my whole life. “You look flushed. Are you feeling well?”
    I can’t help but laugh. I’d love to tell her that I’m feeling particularly amazing, that I haven’t felt this good, this woman-like, in years. But I don’t because she’d get all hyped up, wanting details, and I’ve learned my lesson in that department. Besides, this thing , whatever it may be, will end with dinner in the best case scenario. And, if so, that’ll be that. Nothing more.
    “I’m fine, Mom. Stop.”
    “Stop what? Being a mom?” she sighs. “You know I worry about you. You run yourself ragged. Between work at the restaurant, catering, school, taking care of Huxley . . .” She shakes her head and grabs her purse off the chair.
    “I have a lot going on. I know. But it’s all a means to an