own checking out, so maybe she shouldn’t feel as bad about searching his place.
The Internet isn’t the same as rummaging through his home.
She ignored the nagging guilt and bounced out of the chair. As she turned to leave the room, she spotted framed photos on a shelf: pictures of Sky with a family. Shala looked closer, and she realized the man in the picture was Redfoot. Was he Sky’s father? Again her heart clutched with hope that everything turned out okay.
Shala next found herself standing in the door of the master suite. She could smell him here. The scent of sleepy male skin filled her nose, and light from the hall sprayed inside. Her gaze caught on an unmade king-size bed with dark tan sheets and a darker, mussed comforter. For just a second, she allowed herself to imagine Sky in the bed. Her imagination took it one step further and she saw herself in that bed with him.
Oh, hell! What in freaking frack was wrong with her? Had being humped by that dog turned her into a divorcée on the make? Shaking off her desire, she stepped into the room. “If I was a camera where would I be?” But her gaze stayed on the bed. The low lighting created an intimate setting.
Did Sky bring a lot of women home? I’m not prone to telling beautiful women they can’t stay in my house…or in my bed. That’s what he’d said. Of course Sky brought a lot of women home.
“If I were a camera, I wouldn’t be in that bed.” She hit the light switch, hoping to chase away her lascivious thoughts. Like the rest of the house, the room’s decor stood out—not like an interior decorator had spent time pulling it together, but the owner was a person of good taste.
Forcing herself to get it over with, she went to the pine chest of drawers and opened the top. It contained underwear, socks rolled into balls, and a box of condoms. The second drawer held folded shirts and shorts—neat, but not to the point of obsession. None of the other compartments held her camera, either.
She next attacked the dresser. There she found somesweats and another box of condoms. Okay, the man liked sex. She’d already figured that out, thank you very much. Slamming the drawer, she stood straight and faced herself in the dresser mirror. “It’s my camera I’m looking for. And I just want the memory card.”
Shaking off her sense of guilt, she headed to the bathroom. All sorts of dirty little secrets lurked in a man’s bathroom. Standing inside it, she glanced around. He clearly had someone who came out and cleaned his house. Men didn’t keep house this well.
She checked below his sink. Only cleaning supplies. No condoms. What, he didn’t keep them in every room?
Opening the medicine cabinet, she stared at a row of over-the-counter meds. Aha! Finally. She knew the man couldn’t be perfect. There, between the Advil and peroxide, rested a tube of athlete’s foot cream. Then she looked at the john and found his second flaw. The seat lid was up. Arrest the guy right now. She knew he couldn’t be perfect.
That’s when it hit her, and hit her hard. She hadn’t been looking for her camera in here. Damn! Damn! Damn!
She stormed out of the bathroom, ready to storm out of his house and out of his life, eager to outrun the crazy feeling that her emotional insurance was about to be tested. She almost got out of the bedroom before she spotted the closet door.
“If I were a camera, that’s where I’d be.”
She pulled open the door. Clothes hung in neat rows, more jeans and casual shirts than dress clothes, but the three pairs of Dockers, dress shirts, and two blazers said Sky Gomez wasn’t afraid to get dressed up. On several of the hangers hung plastic covers, as if he used a dry cleaner regularly. Then her gaze hit a box tucked in back. It seemed unlikely that he would have hidden her camera there, but then again, who knew?
She found the light switch and got on her hands and knees to retrieve the box. Pulling it away from the wall,she removed its
The Internet isn’t the same as rummaging through his home.
She ignored the nagging guilt and bounced out of the chair. As she turned to leave the room, she spotted framed photos on a shelf: pictures of Sky with a family. Shala looked closer, and she realized the man in the picture was Redfoot. Was he Sky’s father? Again her heart clutched with hope that everything turned out okay.
Shala next found herself standing in the door of the master suite. She could smell him here. The scent of sleepy male skin filled her nose, and light from the hall sprayed inside. Her gaze caught on an unmade king-size bed with dark tan sheets and a darker, mussed comforter. For just a second, she allowed herself to imagine Sky in the bed. Her imagination took it one step further and she saw herself in that bed with him.
Oh, hell! What in freaking frack was wrong with her? Had being humped by that dog turned her into a divorcée on the make? Shaking off her desire, she stepped into the room. “If I was a camera where would I be?” But her gaze stayed on the bed. The low lighting created an intimate setting.
Did Sky bring a lot of women home? I’m not prone to telling beautiful women they can’t stay in my house…or in my bed. That’s what he’d said. Of course Sky brought a lot of women home.
“If I were a camera, I wouldn’t be in that bed.” She hit the light switch, hoping to chase away her lascivious thoughts. Like the rest of the house, the room’s decor stood out—not like an interior decorator had spent time pulling it together, but the owner was a person of good taste.
Forcing herself to get it over with, she went to the pine chest of drawers and opened the top. It contained underwear, socks rolled into balls, and a box of condoms. The second drawer held folded shirts and shorts—neat, but not to the point of obsession. None of the other compartments held her camera, either.
She next attacked the dresser. There she found somesweats and another box of condoms. Okay, the man liked sex. She’d already figured that out, thank you very much. Slamming the drawer, she stood straight and faced herself in the dresser mirror. “It’s my camera I’m looking for. And I just want the memory card.”
Shaking off her sense of guilt, she headed to the bathroom. All sorts of dirty little secrets lurked in a man’s bathroom. Standing inside it, she glanced around. He clearly had someone who came out and cleaned his house. Men didn’t keep house this well.
She checked below his sink. Only cleaning supplies. No condoms. What, he didn’t keep them in every room?
Opening the medicine cabinet, she stared at a row of over-the-counter meds. Aha! Finally. She knew the man couldn’t be perfect. There, between the Advil and peroxide, rested a tube of athlete’s foot cream. Then she looked at the john and found his second flaw. The seat lid was up. Arrest the guy right now. She knew he couldn’t be perfect.
That’s when it hit her, and hit her hard. She hadn’t been looking for her camera in here. Damn! Damn! Damn!
She stormed out of the bathroom, ready to storm out of his house and out of his life, eager to outrun the crazy feeling that her emotional insurance was about to be tested. She almost got out of the bedroom before she spotted the closet door.
“If I were a camera, that’s where I’d be.”
She pulled open the door. Clothes hung in neat rows, more jeans and casual shirts than dress clothes, but the three pairs of Dockers, dress shirts, and two blazers said Sky Gomez wasn’t afraid to get dressed up. On several of the hangers hung plastic covers, as if he used a dry cleaner regularly. Then her gaze hit a box tucked in back. It seemed unlikely that he would have hidden her camera there, but then again, who knew?
She found the light switch and got on her hands and knees to retrieve the box. Pulling it away from the wall,she removed its
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