with two chairs stood between her and another doorway, but it wasn’t that direction that held her attention.
By far the largest single item in the room was a massive bed, with enormous wooden posters and a top rail from which hung dark folds of heavy-looking draperies.
Ominously, the draperies were drawn shut, obscuring whatever might be in the bed.
Whoever.
Not whatever.
Whoever
might be in that bed.
Dani stilled, holding her breath, not even daring to blink, listening for any sound that might be coming from behind those draperies.
It took a bit to separate the pounding of blood inher ears from the silence in the room, but she concentrated, willing herself to hear, and at last found what she sought.
A shudder ran up her arms and down her spine as her ears picked up the slow, steady
whoosh
of someone breathing.
The internal debate was short but intense, with fear encouraging her to run toward the other door while curiosity pushed her to look behind the draperies.
Aunt Jean’s oft-used saying about what curiosity did to the cat rang through her thoughts even as she found herself tiptoeing toward the bed.
Mere inches from the bed, she stopped, one hand already on the curtains, fear and curiosity still locked in a vicious battle. Granted, whoever was behind those curtains should have the answers she needed. But what if they didn’t feel particularly like sharing?
Her candle didn’t make much of a weapon. Sure, she could set the bed on fire, but that wasn’t likely to stop anyone who might be less than happy to see her here. At least, it wouldn’t stop them in time to do her much good.
Holding the candle aloft, she examined the room again, this time with a purpose.
Two small bowls and a large vase sat on the table. That would have to do. Turning her back to the bed, she hurried over and set her candle on the table to pick up the vase. One sniff told her this was more decanter than flower holder. Scotch, she’d guess from the smell.
No matter. It was made of some sort of pottery and heavy enough that it should serve just fine as her new weapon.
She reached out to retrieve her candle and her hand froze as an impression of movement caught her eye. There, on the wall directly ahead of her, a misshapen blob flickered and danced. Fascinated, she stared for an instant, before her brain registered the form of shadow, a figure caught between her and the glow of the fireplace.
Arm raised, she stepped backward from the table and directly into a wall of hard flesh.
A wall with arms of steel that banded around her, one hand at her throat and the other covering her mouth before her first squeak had a chance to meet the night.
Panic speared through her chest and she swung the decanter up and over her head, wildly hoping to make contact with something. Faster than she could have imagined possible, the hand left her throat. The decanter flew from her fingers and shattered on the stone floor as her attacker deflected the blow by grabbing her wrist and twisting her arm up behind her.
“Stop it right now,” a male voice ordered. “Behave yerself.”
“Me, behave?” She sputtered from behind his hand even as he pulled his fingers away from her mouth. “I’m not the one who’s attacking some innocent woman.”
“Innocent women do not skulk about strange men’s bedchambers. Which, by the way, would bebetter accomplished under cover of darkness, no by announcing yer presence with yer candle held high.”
He had let go of her arm as he’d spoken and she whirled to face him, her fear quickly taking a backseat to a building anger.
“I wasn’t . . .”
Though he no longer touched her, he hadn’t backed away. A rather disconcerting fact she hadn’t considered until she faced a wide expanse of naked chest.
“Um . . . skulking.” She fumbled for what it was she’d intended to say. Probably best her mouth had gone dry before she could get herself really wound up for a tongue-lashing. A guy built like that could
By far the largest single item in the room was a massive bed, with enormous wooden posters and a top rail from which hung dark folds of heavy-looking draperies.
Ominously, the draperies were drawn shut, obscuring whatever might be in the bed.
Whoever.
Not whatever.
Whoever
might be in that bed.
Dani stilled, holding her breath, not even daring to blink, listening for any sound that might be coming from behind those draperies.
It took a bit to separate the pounding of blood inher ears from the silence in the room, but she concentrated, willing herself to hear, and at last found what she sought.
A shudder ran up her arms and down her spine as her ears picked up the slow, steady
whoosh
of someone breathing.
The internal debate was short but intense, with fear encouraging her to run toward the other door while curiosity pushed her to look behind the draperies.
Aunt Jean’s oft-used saying about what curiosity did to the cat rang through her thoughts even as she found herself tiptoeing toward the bed.
Mere inches from the bed, she stopped, one hand already on the curtains, fear and curiosity still locked in a vicious battle. Granted, whoever was behind those curtains should have the answers she needed. But what if they didn’t feel particularly like sharing?
Her candle didn’t make much of a weapon. Sure, she could set the bed on fire, but that wasn’t likely to stop anyone who might be less than happy to see her here. At least, it wouldn’t stop them in time to do her much good.
Holding the candle aloft, she examined the room again, this time with a purpose.
Two small bowls and a large vase sat on the table. That would have to do. Turning her back to the bed, she hurried over and set her candle on the table to pick up the vase. One sniff told her this was more decanter than flower holder. Scotch, she’d guess from the smell.
No matter. It was made of some sort of pottery and heavy enough that it should serve just fine as her new weapon.
She reached out to retrieve her candle and her hand froze as an impression of movement caught her eye. There, on the wall directly ahead of her, a misshapen blob flickered and danced. Fascinated, she stared for an instant, before her brain registered the form of shadow, a figure caught between her and the glow of the fireplace.
Arm raised, she stepped backward from the table and directly into a wall of hard flesh.
A wall with arms of steel that banded around her, one hand at her throat and the other covering her mouth before her first squeak had a chance to meet the night.
Panic speared through her chest and she swung the decanter up and over her head, wildly hoping to make contact with something. Faster than she could have imagined possible, the hand left her throat. The decanter flew from her fingers and shattered on the stone floor as her attacker deflected the blow by grabbing her wrist and twisting her arm up behind her.
“Stop it right now,” a male voice ordered. “Behave yerself.”
“Me, behave?” She sputtered from behind his hand even as he pulled his fingers away from her mouth. “I’m not the one who’s attacking some innocent woman.”
“Innocent women do not skulk about strange men’s bedchambers. Which, by the way, would bebetter accomplished under cover of darkness, no by announcing yer presence with yer candle held high.”
He had let go of her arm as he’d spoken and she whirled to face him, her fear quickly taking a backseat to a building anger.
“I wasn’t . . .”
Though he no longer touched her, he hadn’t backed away. A rather disconcerting fact she hadn’t considered until she faced a wide expanse of naked chest.
“Um . . . skulking.” She fumbled for what it was she’d intended to say. Probably best her mouth had gone dry before she could get herself really wound up for a tongue-lashing. A guy built like that could
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