could she have liked the feel of his mouth on hers? She hadn't been remotely interested in sex or members of the opposite sex in over a year. And now her libido kicks in? For him? One of the rudest men she'd ever met?
Maybe she’d stopped seeing the psychologist too soon.
Hillary had paced the room restlessly, searching for something to distract her. She’d needed to put the whole experience from her mind. She’d considered her reference books, but decided against them, too angry for the material to hold her interest. Then she’d remembered the book Joan had given her still on the dresser where she'd left it.
Fully intending to mock Caid, Hillary had picked up the book and settled back on the bed, but soon her anger ebbed away, the need to mentally berate Caid forgotten. The need to figure out why someone would stalk a seemingly mild mannered loans officer became far more important.
The soft knock at the door made her grit her teeth. Probably Joan, insisting she eat something. Hillary set the book down on the bed, crossed the room and opened the door. Caid stood on the other side, his eyes dark and his mouth set in a grim line.
Her heart fluttered a little when she remembered the feel of those lips on hers.
Good kisser or not, he was still a jerk.
"I'm not in the mood for another round." She started to close the door, but he put his hand out to stop her, his body filling the doorway.
Fear, practically paralyzing, rushed through her as images of Randall filled her head. His body blocking a faraway threshold and forcing her back against the wall.
She took a step back and lifted one trembling hand like a traffic cop with the shakes. "Don't do that."
Caid frowned and nodded slowly, backing off. "I'm sorry."
God, she must look like a lunatic if the mixture of confusion and horror in his expression were any indication.
"No," she said, covering her face with both hands and rubbing her eyes vigorously. "I'm sorry. I'm just tired."
And that's all it was. Well, that and her confrontation with Willie. Obviously, the incident still nagged at her subconscious. To keep memories of Randall at bay, she had to work at it. After an emotionally draining day like the one she'd just had, was it any wonder he'd crept into her thoughts again?
She dropped her arms back to her sides. "What do you want?"
"I wantae apologize," Caid told her. "I'm very sorry for what I said. It's been a long day and I let my temper rule my brain. That's no excuse I know, but…" He shrugged.
She could relate to the effects of a long day. "Accepted.”
He blinked, as if surprised. Perhaps he’d been expecting more of an argument. But what would be the point? After tonight she’d probably never see him again. “Now, if you don’t mind--"
"I'd like to make it up to you."
"Oh?"
"I've an offer that might prove advantageous to both of us. Could I come in for a moment?"
She shrugged and stepped aside, as much to prove to herself that she could as to hear his offer. "Why not?"
"Thanks." His gaze fell on the book open on her bed. "Are you reading my book?"
Heat stung her cheeks. "Yes. Joan insisted on lending it to me. I didn't want to appear ungrateful."
"Well, there is that. Are you enjoying it?" A hint of insecurity tinged the usual couldn't-care-less tone of his voice.
"More than I wanted to."
He chuckled, clearly understanding her meaning.
"So, let's hear this offer." She sat on the corner of the bed and he on the hard-backed chair next to the dresser.
"As you now know, I've inherited Glendon House." He smiled ruefully, then continued. "The truth is, I've as much need for the decrepit estate as I have for a hole in the head. I plan to sell it, but I need to do a little renovation work first. Only a mad person would buy it as it is now. Joan told me you'd had a financial agreement with Agnes to stay and view the journals. I'd like to honor that agreement. You get the journals, I get the money to repair the house. Both of us get
Maybe she’d stopped seeing the psychologist too soon.
Hillary had paced the room restlessly, searching for something to distract her. She’d needed to put the whole experience from her mind. She’d considered her reference books, but decided against them, too angry for the material to hold her interest. Then she’d remembered the book Joan had given her still on the dresser where she'd left it.
Fully intending to mock Caid, Hillary had picked up the book and settled back on the bed, but soon her anger ebbed away, the need to mentally berate Caid forgotten. The need to figure out why someone would stalk a seemingly mild mannered loans officer became far more important.
The soft knock at the door made her grit her teeth. Probably Joan, insisting she eat something. Hillary set the book down on the bed, crossed the room and opened the door. Caid stood on the other side, his eyes dark and his mouth set in a grim line.
Her heart fluttered a little when she remembered the feel of those lips on hers.
Good kisser or not, he was still a jerk.
"I'm not in the mood for another round." She started to close the door, but he put his hand out to stop her, his body filling the doorway.
Fear, practically paralyzing, rushed through her as images of Randall filled her head. His body blocking a faraway threshold and forcing her back against the wall.
She took a step back and lifted one trembling hand like a traffic cop with the shakes. "Don't do that."
Caid frowned and nodded slowly, backing off. "I'm sorry."
God, she must look like a lunatic if the mixture of confusion and horror in his expression were any indication.
"No," she said, covering her face with both hands and rubbing her eyes vigorously. "I'm sorry. I'm just tired."
And that's all it was. Well, that and her confrontation with Willie. Obviously, the incident still nagged at her subconscious. To keep memories of Randall at bay, she had to work at it. After an emotionally draining day like the one she'd just had, was it any wonder he'd crept into her thoughts again?
She dropped her arms back to her sides. "What do you want?"
"I wantae apologize," Caid told her. "I'm very sorry for what I said. It's been a long day and I let my temper rule my brain. That's no excuse I know, but…" He shrugged.
She could relate to the effects of a long day. "Accepted.”
He blinked, as if surprised. Perhaps he’d been expecting more of an argument. But what would be the point? After tonight she’d probably never see him again. “Now, if you don’t mind--"
"I'd like to make it up to you."
"Oh?"
"I've an offer that might prove advantageous to both of us. Could I come in for a moment?"
She shrugged and stepped aside, as much to prove to herself that she could as to hear his offer. "Why not?"
"Thanks." His gaze fell on the book open on her bed. "Are you reading my book?"
Heat stung her cheeks. "Yes. Joan insisted on lending it to me. I didn't want to appear ungrateful."
"Well, there is that. Are you enjoying it?" A hint of insecurity tinged the usual couldn't-care-less tone of his voice.
"More than I wanted to."
He chuckled, clearly understanding her meaning.
"So, let's hear this offer." She sat on the corner of the bed and he on the hard-backed chair next to the dresser.
"As you now know, I've inherited Glendon House." He smiled ruefully, then continued. "The truth is, I've as much need for the decrepit estate as I have for a hole in the head. I plan to sell it, but I need to do a little renovation work first. Only a mad person would buy it as it is now. Joan told me you'd had a financial agreement with Agnes to stay and view the journals. I'd like to honor that agreement. You get the journals, I get the money to repair the house. Both of us get
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