view.
Race turned his head to meet Gina’s disbelieving gaze. Voice taut, he said, “See what I mean?”
She closed her eyes, then pressed her hands to her face and rubbed hard, as if getting rid of something clinging and unpleasant, like an old spider web. When she let them drop again, she appeared tired and somehow defeated, so that compunction stirred uncomfortably inside him.
After a moment she released her breath in a long sigh of concession. “No man your size could possibly sleep on that loveseat, and the bedroom is definitely off limits. That leaves the bathtub, or maybe a pallet.”
“I’ll stretch out on the sheepskin rug in front of the fireplace. I’ve slept on worse.” She was silent so long, watching him with wide, questioning eyes, that he added, “You’ll be safe, I promise. Scout’s honor.”
She gave a slow nod. “I suppose I can let you have one of the bed pillows. And maybe there’s an extra blanket around here somewhere.”
His satisfaction seemed obscene somehow; he hid it as well as he was able. It was short-lived, in any case. The night was not going to be easy, much less exciting. Before it was over, he might discover he had outsmarted himself.
The bed he made was comfortable enough, all things considered, once he pushed the loveseat out of the way. Regardless, he had never been more restless, never felt less ready to sleep. He could not seem to wrench his stupid mind away from visions of Gina in a long, white gown with ruffles and lace. Nor could he prevent the memory of her kiss. The sweet nectar of her mouth seemed to linger on his tongue, and he could almost feel her close against him. He ached like a teenager with the need to wrap his arms around her warmth and fragrance, her firmness that was so soft, her softness that was so firm. Her face floated in the forefront of his mind, with a smile curving her lips and promise in her eyes.
It was pure torture. And he deserved it, no doubt about it.
The hours advanced, and all he did was twist the blanket around him with his tossing and turning. He thought of getting up and finding something to read in the well-stocked shelves beside the fireplace, but was afraid he might wake Gina. That wouldn’t do, because he had been forced to sleep in his briefs. Pajamas were not a part of his life; he had failed to throw a pair into his bag.
It was toward dawn when he finally began to feel drowsy. With the usual timing of such things, he was just at the edge of sleep when he remembered he hadn’t turned the dead bolt or flipped the safety latch when he shut the outer door. There had been too many other things on his mind.
The door locked automatically, of course, but he really should get up and flip the security latch.
There was no real worry; he was a light sleeper. If anybody tried anything, he would be up before they could get both feet across the threshold. At least the balcony doors, both in the sitting room and bedroom, were locked tight; he had managed to retain that much presence of mind.
Turning to his back, Race kicked the blanket away from him then flung his arms out on either side. He breathed deep once, making a conscious effort to relax. Sleep came down like the fall of an auctioneer’s hammer.
It might have been hours later, or only minutes, that he heard the rattle of a key in the lock. The sound brought him surging up through deep fathoms of unconsciousness. He rolled from the sheepskin in a fluid movement before he was fully awake.
Gaining his feet, he plunged toward the foyer. He stopped so fast his bare feet squeaked as he skidded on the pink marble floor.
The woman just opening the door came to a halt with her mouth open. Her hand went to the breast of her pink uniform, holding her heart.
“Oh, my stars!” The maid’s startled gaze flickered over him, touching the width of his shoulders, the breadth of his chest, the low-cut briefs and his
Race turned his head to meet Gina’s disbelieving gaze. Voice taut, he said, “See what I mean?”
She closed her eyes, then pressed her hands to her face and rubbed hard, as if getting rid of something clinging and unpleasant, like an old spider web. When she let them drop again, she appeared tired and somehow defeated, so that compunction stirred uncomfortably inside him.
After a moment she released her breath in a long sigh of concession. “No man your size could possibly sleep on that loveseat, and the bedroom is definitely off limits. That leaves the bathtub, or maybe a pallet.”
“I’ll stretch out on the sheepskin rug in front of the fireplace. I’ve slept on worse.” She was silent so long, watching him with wide, questioning eyes, that he added, “You’ll be safe, I promise. Scout’s honor.”
She gave a slow nod. “I suppose I can let you have one of the bed pillows. And maybe there’s an extra blanket around here somewhere.”
His satisfaction seemed obscene somehow; he hid it as well as he was able. It was short-lived, in any case. The night was not going to be easy, much less exciting. Before it was over, he might discover he had outsmarted himself.
The bed he made was comfortable enough, all things considered, once he pushed the loveseat out of the way. Regardless, he had never been more restless, never felt less ready to sleep. He could not seem to wrench his stupid mind away from visions of Gina in a long, white gown with ruffles and lace. Nor could he prevent the memory of her kiss. The sweet nectar of her mouth seemed to linger on his tongue, and he could almost feel her close against him. He ached like a teenager with the need to wrap his arms around her warmth and fragrance, her firmness that was so soft, her softness that was so firm. Her face floated in the forefront of his mind, with a smile curving her lips and promise in her eyes.
It was pure torture. And he deserved it, no doubt about it.
The hours advanced, and all he did was twist the blanket around him with his tossing and turning. He thought of getting up and finding something to read in the well-stocked shelves beside the fireplace, but was afraid he might wake Gina. That wouldn’t do, because he had been forced to sleep in his briefs. Pajamas were not a part of his life; he had failed to throw a pair into his bag.
It was toward dawn when he finally began to feel drowsy. With the usual timing of such things, he was just at the edge of sleep when he remembered he hadn’t turned the dead bolt or flipped the safety latch when he shut the outer door. There had been too many other things on his mind.
The door locked automatically, of course, but he really should get up and flip the security latch.
There was no real worry; he was a light sleeper. If anybody tried anything, he would be up before they could get both feet across the threshold. At least the balcony doors, both in the sitting room and bedroom, were locked tight; he had managed to retain that much presence of mind.
Turning to his back, Race kicked the blanket away from him then flung his arms out on either side. He breathed deep once, making a conscious effort to relax. Sleep came down like the fall of an auctioneer’s hammer.
It might have been hours later, or only minutes, that he heard the rattle of a key in the lock. The sound brought him surging up through deep fathoms of unconsciousness. He rolled from the sheepskin in a fluid movement before he was fully awake.
Gaining his feet, he plunged toward the foyer. He stopped so fast his bare feet squeaked as he skidded on the pink marble floor.
The woman just opening the door came to a halt with her mouth open. Her hand went to the breast of her pink uniform, holding her heart.
“Oh, my stars!” The maid’s startled gaze flickered over him, touching the width of his shoulders, the breadth of his chest, the low-cut briefs and his
Similar Books
