desire, her mind sharpened as the palm of his hand glided lower. The blanket. Her leg. Her hand clamped onto John’s wrist.
Rustling from the other room penetrated through the open French door. His smoky eyes cleared. The skin across his jaw tightened. “I—” He thrust her away and stumbled from the bed. “I don’t know what I was thinking.”
Clarisse fell back against the mattress, groping for the blanket around her knees. Breathing heavily, she jerked it up around her waist. She squeezed her eyes shut and took a steadying breath. He hadn’t noticed her leg.
She heard the pad of footsteps cross the room. The click of the door sounded hollow and final.
“How could I have ever forgotten about Vivian?” Clarisse whispered in dismay. She clutched the sheet and twisted it around her fingers.
Opening her eyes, she stared at the ceiling in mounting disgust and wondered how she had succumbed to her oversexed hormones with Vivian in the next room. Was she crazy or just plain stupid? John couldn’t possibly have the power to completely cloud her judgment? Or could he?
No, she wouldn’t answer such dangerous questions. She would concentrate on more important things, like surviving this road trip with John and Vivian. The next couple of days couldn’t get worse.
CHAPTER FIVE
The sun’s golden rays streamed through the window, waking Clarisse from a fitful sleep. Momentarily blinded, she turned on her side and blinked until she focused on her watch. A couple of minutes past seven. Still early.
She lay listening. Only the quiet hum of the air-conditioner pervaded the room. She decided to take advantage of the bathroom before John and Vivian rose for the morning.
Clarisse shrugged into her housecoat and pulled a pair of blue jeans, black sleeveless turtleneck, and hiking shoes from her suitcase. With her makeup case tucked beneath one arm, she knocked and waited at the French door. No one answered. Tentatively, she drew aside the drape, pushed her nose against the glass panel and peered inside the other room. No one was moving about.
Clarisse sighed in relief. She couldn’t stomach catching the pair making love.
She tiptoed across the carpeted floor and slipped into the bathroom. Locking the door, she turned on the shower and undressed. She glanced at her reflection in the full-length mirror. Blonde hair cascaded past her pale shoulders and curved around her upturned breasts. Her gaze slid over the flat plane of her stomach and the gentle slope of her pelvis to her scarred thigh. The limb from knee to hip appeared shrunken and mal-formed beside her healthy leg. One thick line slashed across her knee, still pink and tender from the latest surgery. The doctor had told her this would be her final operation, but then again he had told her the operation six months ago would be her last. She didn’t know what to believe anymore.
Pale, opaque patched skin branched out from her scar and up along her thigh. She slid her fingers across the thin jagged lines that crept randomly through the discolored flesh. Clarisse flinched and pulled away. She squeezed her eyes shut and wheeled from the mirror. Tears welled and burned through her lashes.
Would John do the same? Would he, too, turn away in disgust? Impatiently, Clarisse swiped a tear from her cheek. Of course he would. And could she really blame him if he did, when she still hated looking at her scarred body after living with it for three years?
Stepping into the shower, she lifted her face and let the water wash away her tears. The spray pounded into her skin and eased the tension knotted along her back and shoulders. She thrust John from her thoughts. She had no business dwelling on what he would think; his life involved Vivian and a path Clarisse no longer traveled.
After showering, she applied a liberal amount of foundation and mascara; she did not relish Vivian’s snide comments about her pallid complexion. There! She checked her appearance a final time. She
Rustling from the other room penetrated through the open French door. His smoky eyes cleared. The skin across his jaw tightened. “I—” He thrust her away and stumbled from the bed. “I don’t know what I was thinking.”
Clarisse fell back against the mattress, groping for the blanket around her knees. Breathing heavily, she jerked it up around her waist. She squeezed her eyes shut and took a steadying breath. He hadn’t noticed her leg.
She heard the pad of footsteps cross the room. The click of the door sounded hollow and final.
“How could I have ever forgotten about Vivian?” Clarisse whispered in dismay. She clutched the sheet and twisted it around her fingers.
Opening her eyes, she stared at the ceiling in mounting disgust and wondered how she had succumbed to her oversexed hormones with Vivian in the next room. Was she crazy or just plain stupid? John couldn’t possibly have the power to completely cloud her judgment? Or could he?
No, she wouldn’t answer such dangerous questions. She would concentrate on more important things, like surviving this road trip with John and Vivian. The next couple of days couldn’t get worse.
CHAPTER FIVE
The sun’s golden rays streamed through the window, waking Clarisse from a fitful sleep. Momentarily blinded, she turned on her side and blinked until she focused on her watch. A couple of minutes past seven. Still early.
She lay listening. Only the quiet hum of the air-conditioner pervaded the room. She decided to take advantage of the bathroom before John and Vivian rose for the morning.
Clarisse shrugged into her housecoat and pulled a pair of blue jeans, black sleeveless turtleneck, and hiking shoes from her suitcase. With her makeup case tucked beneath one arm, she knocked and waited at the French door. No one answered. Tentatively, she drew aside the drape, pushed her nose against the glass panel and peered inside the other room. No one was moving about.
Clarisse sighed in relief. She couldn’t stomach catching the pair making love.
She tiptoed across the carpeted floor and slipped into the bathroom. Locking the door, she turned on the shower and undressed. She glanced at her reflection in the full-length mirror. Blonde hair cascaded past her pale shoulders and curved around her upturned breasts. Her gaze slid over the flat plane of her stomach and the gentle slope of her pelvis to her scarred thigh. The limb from knee to hip appeared shrunken and mal-formed beside her healthy leg. One thick line slashed across her knee, still pink and tender from the latest surgery. The doctor had told her this would be her final operation, but then again he had told her the operation six months ago would be her last. She didn’t know what to believe anymore.
Pale, opaque patched skin branched out from her scar and up along her thigh. She slid her fingers across the thin jagged lines that crept randomly through the discolored flesh. Clarisse flinched and pulled away. She squeezed her eyes shut and wheeled from the mirror. Tears welled and burned through her lashes.
Would John do the same? Would he, too, turn away in disgust? Impatiently, Clarisse swiped a tear from her cheek. Of course he would. And could she really blame him if he did, when she still hated looking at her scarred body after living with it for three years?
Stepping into the shower, she lifted her face and let the water wash away her tears. The spray pounded into her skin and eased the tension knotted along her back and shoulders. She thrust John from her thoughts. She had no business dwelling on what he would think; his life involved Vivian and a path Clarisse no longer traveled.
After showering, she applied a liberal amount of foundation and mascara; she did not relish Vivian’s snide comments about her pallid complexion. There! She checked her appearance a final time. She
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