her eyes never leaving him as she contemplated her situation. Would he dare try to rape her with the entire Rodriguez family right below? With another long look at him, Lora thought, Yes, he'd dare.
"The price of a night's stay also included a meal. Senora Rodriguez is probably preparing it now. In the meantime, I suggest you get out of those wet clothes and into bed. We've turned the Rodriguez couple out of what is obviously their love nest, so we may as well enjoy it."
"I—I'm fine," Lora stuttered, her eyes widening. Did he mean what she feared he did by that last? Determinedly, she ignored the chills that were running up and down her spine. She was soaked to the skin, her hair sending icy streamers of water down her neck, her dress clinging clammily to her goose-bump-riddled body. Even her sandals were miserably awash with mud and water, and slid uncomfortably around on her feet; Every cell in her body longed to be out of the wet, filthy clothes—except those in her brain. They shrieked at her to remain fully dressed at all cost. Love nest, indeed!
"What do you mean, you're fine? Thanks to your idiocy, we're both as wet as a pair of fish. I'm going to strip off, and if you have any sense you will, too." He looked very big and intimidating as he stood eyeing her from beneath scowling brows. The effect was in no way mitigated by the forced bowing of his head in deference to the low roof. Lora sidled back toward the trapdoor, which was still open. If it actually came down to attempted rape, she would scream like a banshee and let the chips fall were they would.
He still stood near the foot of the bed, looking big and dark and frightening as he waited for her reply. The lantern cast weird shadows over his face making him look like some evil demon risen from the netherworld to terrorize her. His black brows were drawn together over glittering eyes that were no less dark. His mouth was compressed grimly beneath the mustache that was just what was needed to make him look the part of a desperate criminal. The square, unshaven jaw and gleaming wet black hair, the height of him and breadth of his shoulders, the length and strength of his limbs all combined with the knowledge that she was his helpless prisoner to scare her through to the very marrow of her bones.
"Are you going to get undressed or not?" He was regarding her in a way that made Lora feel sick. His hands hung loose and flexed at his sides. Any minute now he would come across the room and grab her, she thought, and she would scream because she would not be able to help it and the innocent Mexican family downstairs would come tumbling up the ladder to see what ailed their guests and they would all, herself included, likely end up dead…
"No." Her voice was hoarse with dread. This is where he came storming across the room to rip the clothes from her shrinking body…
"Suit yourself, then," he said, turning his back on her. "If you want to sit around freezing in wet clothes, it's no skin off my back." And with that he started to unbutton his shut.
Lora didn't know whether to feel relieved or freshly alarmed. She watched, both frightened and fascinated, as he stripped off his shirt to reveal those massive shoulders and that lean, muscular back. His skin gleamed in the lamplight like bronze silk. The muscles underneath rippled as he moved… His hands were on the narrow leather thong that served him as a belt, pulling it free, and Lora understood that he meant to take off his clothes with as little regard for her presence as if she had not been there at all. She stared, unable to look away as he kicked the silver and maroon running shoes from his feet and then pushed his jeans down over thighs and calves that were dark with hair and ridged with muscle. Clad only in a pair of white jockey shorts that seemed to be as wet as the rest of his clothes from the way they molded every hard curve and shadowed indention in his rump, he sat down on the bed to remove his white
"The price of a night's stay also included a meal. Senora Rodriguez is probably preparing it now. In the meantime, I suggest you get out of those wet clothes and into bed. We've turned the Rodriguez couple out of what is obviously their love nest, so we may as well enjoy it."
"I—I'm fine," Lora stuttered, her eyes widening. Did he mean what she feared he did by that last? Determinedly, she ignored the chills that were running up and down her spine. She was soaked to the skin, her hair sending icy streamers of water down her neck, her dress clinging clammily to her goose-bump-riddled body. Even her sandals were miserably awash with mud and water, and slid uncomfortably around on her feet; Every cell in her body longed to be out of the wet, filthy clothes—except those in her brain. They shrieked at her to remain fully dressed at all cost. Love nest, indeed!
"What do you mean, you're fine? Thanks to your idiocy, we're both as wet as a pair of fish. I'm going to strip off, and if you have any sense you will, too." He looked very big and intimidating as he stood eyeing her from beneath scowling brows. The effect was in no way mitigated by the forced bowing of his head in deference to the low roof. Lora sidled back toward the trapdoor, which was still open. If it actually came down to attempted rape, she would scream like a banshee and let the chips fall were they would.
He still stood near the foot of the bed, looking big and dark and frightening as he waited for her reply. The lantern cast weird shadows over his face making him look like some evil demon risen from the netherworld to terrorize her. His black brows were drawn together over glittering eyes that were no less dark. His mouth was compressed grimly beneath the mustache that was just what was needed to make him look the part of a desperate criminal. The square, unshaven jaw and gleaming wet black hair, the height of him and breadth of his shoulders, the length and strength of his limbs all combined with the knowledge that she was his helpless prisoner to scare her through to the very marrow of her bones.
"Are you going to get undressed or not?" He was regarding her in a way that made Lora feel sick. His hands hung loose and flexed at his sides. Any minute now he would come across the room and grab her, she thought, and she would scream because she would not be able to help it and the innocent Mexican family downstairs would come tumbling up the ladder to see what ailed their guests and they would all, herself included, likely end up dead…
"No." Her voice was hoarse with dread. This is where he came storming across the room to rip the clothes from her shrinking body…
"Suit yourself, then," he said, turning his back on her. "If you want to sit around freezing in wet clothes, it's no skin off my back." And with that he started to unbutton his shut.
Lora didn't know whether to feel relieved or freshly alarmed. She watched, both frightened and fascinated, as he stripped off his shirt to reveal those massive shoulders and that lean, muscular back. His skin gleamed in the lamplight like bronze silk. The muscles underneath rippled as he moved… His hands were on the narrow leather thong that served him as a belt, pulling it free, and Lora understood that he meant to take off his clothes with as little regard for her presence as if she had not been there at all. She stared, unable to look away as he kicked the silver and maroon running shoes from his feet and then pushed his jeans down over thighs and calves that were dark with hair and ridged with muscle. Clad only in a pair of white jockey shorts that seemed to be as wet as the rest of his clothes from the way they molded every hard curve and shadowed indention in his rump, he sat down on the bed to remove his white
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