slipping towel was anywhere close. But she couldn’t
pull it off, so she sucked in a breath and went for calm, cool, and collected, or
at least the appearance of it.
And reminded herself that as far as the worst-case scenario went, this wasn’t it.
Close, but not quite. After all, she hadn’t been raped, tortured, or killed before
the goons had left her, right? She was still breathing, which was a good thing, so
she kept that in front of her.
James let out a sound that managed to perfectly convey his surprise and unhappiness
at the sight of her.
The fading light fell over him favorably, but any light fell over the man favorably. Then he flipped on the switch and the fluorescent
bulbs had her blinking like an owl. “Hi,” she said.
He just looked at her. His nearly black hair was cut short as always, but no matter
the length, it had a mind of its own. His melt-me chocolate eyes could reveal everything
in his heart, or nothing at all, depending on his mood. They were pretty stingy at
the moment. He had his cop face on, allowing only his tough competence to show as
he moved in closer to prop up the wall with a shoulder, his arms crossed casually
over his chest. A deceptively relaxed pose. “I’d appreciate it if you wouldn’t play
sexual games with your boyfriend on my weekend for the house,” was all he said.
She registered the urge to knock her head against the wall. He hadn’t actually yet
signed the divorce papers she’d sent him, which technically made them only separated,
but that he’d been the one who’d left still rankled. And that it had been her job to drive him
away made explaining her current problem a tad bit difficult, because she really hated
when he was right. “I don’t have a boyfriend.”
He lifted a disbelieving brow but relaxed. It was a marginal lessening of the tension
in his shoulders that no one else would have noticed, but she’d known him for a very
long time and could read his body like a book.
“If there’s no boyfriend, what’s this?” He gestured with a jerk of his chin to the
way she was cuffed to the rack. “An early Christmas present?”
“Ha, ha,” she said, and jangled the cuff. “A little help?”
He took his gaze on a slow roll up her body, starting at her bare feet, past her legs,
which she’d thankfully shaved— No . Just because he’d been the first, and the last , man to drive her to the edge of sanity with a debilitating combination of love and
lust and like and more lust, she did not care if her legs were shaved for him. Damn, but he could still get to her like no
one else, which really topped the cake.
His gaze continued on its tour, landing on her breasts, which were spilling over the
edge of the slipping towel, then her throat, and finally her face, his own impassive.
She couldn’t blame him there. She’d taken that single, horrified glance in the mirror.
She knew her long, curly, blond hair had long ago rioted, resembling an explosion
in a mattress factory. She knew she looked like a ghost without blush and lip color.
She was just surprised he hadn’t gone running for the hills.
But then again, nothing scared James. He stood there in black jeans, black athletic
shoes, black T-shirt well fitted to that mouthwatering body, looking like sin personified.
“What the hell are you doing here, Ella?”
Good question , she thought, and since she had no intention of telling him the truth, that she was
a complete idiot, she racked her brain for a good excuse. “ Me? Just . . . hanging.” She added a grin, and hoped he bought it.
But he’d never bought the bullshit she’d been able to feed just about anyone else.
He stepped closer, a mixed blessing for her. She felt a huge relief, because though
he was a lot of things, including a rat bastard, he was incapable of leaving her here
trapped and helpless. Or so she hoped.
And then there was her panic, because now she could see him up
pull it off, so she sucked in a breath and went for calm, cool, and collected, or
at least the appearance of it.
And reminded herself that as far as the worst-case scenario went, this wasn’t it.
Close, but not quite. After all, she hadn’t been raped, tortured, or killed before
the goons had left her, right? She was still breathing, which was a good thing, so
she kept that in front of her.
James let out a sound that managed to perfectly convey his surprise and unhappiness
at the sight of her.
The fading light fell over him favorably, but any light fell over the man favorably. Then he flipped on the switch and the fluorescent
bulbs had her blinking like an owl. “Hi,” she said.
He just looked at her. His nearly black hair was cut short as always, but no matter
the length, it had a mind of its own. His melt-me chocolate eyes could reveal everything
in his heart, or nothing at all, depending on his mood. They were pretty stingy at
the moment. He had his cop face on, allowing only his tough competence to show as
he moved in closer to prop up the wall with a shoulder, his arms crossed casually
over his chest. A deceptively relaxed pose. “I’d appreciate it if you wouldn’t play
sexual games with your boyfriend on my weekend for the house,” was all he said.
She registered the urge to knock her head against the wall. He hadn’t actually yet
signed the divorce papers she’d sent him, which technically made them only separated,
but that he’d been the one who’d left still rankled. And that it had been her job to drive him
away made explaining her current problem a tad bit difficult, because she really hated
when he was right. “I don’t have a boyfriend.”
He lifted a disbelieving brow but relaxed. It was a marginal lessening of the tension
in his shoulders that no one else would have noticed, but she’d known him for a very
long time and could read his body like a book.
“If there’s no boyfriend, what’s this?” He gestured with a jerk of his chin to the
way she was cuffed to the rack. “An early Christmas present?”
“Ha, ha,” she said, and jangled the cuff. “A little help?”
He took his gaze on a slow roll up her body, starting at her bare feet, past her legs,
which she’d thankfully shaved— No . Just because he’d been the first, and the last , man to drive her to the edge of sanity with a debilitating combination of love and
lust and like and more lust, she did not care if her legs were shaved for him. Damn, but he could still get to her like no
one else, which really topped the cake.
His gaze continued on its tour, landing on her breasts, which were spilling over the
edge of the slipping towel, then her throat, and finally her face, his own impassive.
She couldn’t blame him there. She’d taken that single, horrified glance in the mirror.
She knew her long, curly, blond hair had long ago rioted, resembling an explosion
in a mattress factory. She knew she looked like a ghost without blush and lip color.
She was just surprised he hadn’t gone running for the hills.
But then again, nothing scared James. He stood there in black jeans, black athletic
shoes, black T-shirt well fitted to that mouthwatering body, looking like sin personified.
“What the hell are you doing here, Ella?”
Good question , she thought, and since she had no intention of telling him the truth, that she was
a complete idiot, she racked her brain for a good excuse. “ Me? Just . . . hanging.” She added a grin, and hoped he bought it.
But he’d never bought the bullshit she’d been able to feed just about anyone else.
He stepped closer, a mixed blessing for her. She felt a huge relief, because though
he was a lot of things, including a rat bastard, he was incapable of leaving her here
trapped and helpless. Or so she hoped.
And then there was her panic, because now she could see him up
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