Bed of Lies by Paula Roe Page B

through the window as he made a few phone calls.
    Oh, how she desperately wanted to demand he get a lawyer and she’d see him in court. But that would be supremely stupid, not to mention inflammatory.
    Remember who he is and what he could do.
    Luke De Rossi. In her home. In the bedroom next to hers.
    Letting him in was a mistake. Luke was a very smart man, not to mention determinedly single-minded—and she had so much to lose, so many secrets to guard.
    She watched him pace her front yard, phone still attached to his ear as the sun glared down, bathing him from shiny head to toe.
    Her stomach made a weird little lurch.
    You sure your secrets are all you’re worried about?
    With a snort she yanked open her cupboard. He could deny it all he wanted—Luke was a white knight. He obviously believed they would sort everything out, the bad guys would be caught and justice would prevail.
    She did not.
    It would be better to think of him as a self-absorbed, perfectionist career junkie instead of the truth—that beneath the tough exterior was a man who wanted to spare his family further heartache, no matter how tainted Gino Corelli’s reputation had become. Who held her hand to distract her during that interminable flight.
    Who wanted to make her lasagna.
    She banged a cup on the countertop with a satisfying crack.
    How long since a man had touched her? Wanted her? And he felt so good, smelled like a gift straight from heaven. Celibacy did that to you, made you forget what it was like to need someone.
    Oh, boy .
    Yanking open the fridge, she pulled out a carton of juice.
    Why now, after all those years of denial, all those years spent carving out a life, did she have to start thinking of sex? And with someone like Luke De Rossi, a man whose mere presence could ruin everything?
    Because you’ve got a good-looking guy up close, and you know that abstinence has been too much .
    Beth poured the juice with an unsteady hand. She didn’t even like him.
    She glanced out the window just in time to see Luke bending down to take an overnight bag the driver had retrieved from the trunk. His pants stretched tight, outlining a set of perfectly formed buttocks, and she groaned, turning away.
    She would just have to focus on the problem at hand and not on that smooth-talking, dark-eyed, divine-smelling, soft-lipped…distraction about to settle in the guest room so unnervingly close to hers!
    As Luke walked in, she downed the rest of her juice, muttered, “I’ll make up the spare room,” and left.
    The room that served as her office was a mess. Aromatic oil bottles and bags of fragrant leaves littered every available space on the windowsill and bookcase. She grabbed up a box and stashed them in the wardrobe. Then she put the scattered accounts folders back on the shelves, drew the curtains, returned a pair of sneakers to her room. Even as she pulled out the sofa bed and started to make it, she still couldn’t get that flight out of her head. The soft caress of Luke’s fingers, the feel of his breath, the burn of want in his eyes. And his pure male smell, all warmth and promise.
    It took her breath away.
    As if on cue, Luke appeared in the doorway. “Need a hand?”
    “No.” She fluffed up the last pillow and tucked in the sheets. When she looked up, she caught the tail end of his scrutiny…and a sudden undeniable flame of heat flickering in those dark depths. But the second he realized she was looking, it was gone.
    Beth straightened. “Look. I know I’m… I’ve been a bit—”
    “Overzealous? Unbending?”
    “Defensive. I like to be self-sufficient. And, well…” She shrugged. “You’re obviously a take-charge guy.”
    The corners of his mouth kicked up. “In many things. Not all.”
    If he sought to embarrass her, he was hitting the right notes. Picking up an empty cup from the desk, she turned to leave. He crowded the doorway—nasty habit of his—so she had to make a good impression of ignoring that broad chest as she