My Favorite Husband. Sally Carleen
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Название: My Favorite Husband
Автор: Sally Carleen
Издательство: HarperCollins
Жанр: Современные любовные романы
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Katie walked woodenly through the door of room 133 of the Sleepy Time Motel. The place could have been carpeted in rainbow colors with neon signs on the walls for all she knew. Her field of vision encompassed nothing except that double bed. That tiny rectangle.
Her logic in requesting the one double had been that a newly married couple sleeping in two beds might have aroused suspicion, but why hadn’t she asked for king—size?
Rider walked around her and dropped their luggage to the floor. She could see that he’d take up at least two—thirds of the bed. There’d be nowhere to get away from him.
He turned and smiled at her, then walked around to close the door behind her. She stood motionless, paralyzed. Not that there would be anywhere to go if she decided to move.
She jumped at the feel of warm fingers on her shoulders. “You’re really tense,” Rider said. “Come sit down and let me rub your neck.”
He strode across the room and pulled down the covers.
“Come on.” He patted the white sheet. “You did all the driving. Now it’s your turn to relax. After all, you’ve got a big day ahead of you tomorrow.”
The air—conditioning unit whirred beside her, but the refrigerated breeze didn’t make a dent in the heat that started somewhere inside and worked its way to her skin. “Uh, John…” Maybe she ought to tell him the truth. She’d had her opportunity to plead her side of the case. Her original idea had been a good one. She still believed that. She just hadn’t planned beyond the pleading part of things. And now they were beyond it. Way beyond.
He took her hand and drew her to the bed, then gently pushed her down. She popped up again.
“We need to…” She didn’t have a clue what they needed to do. If she’d known before, the act of standing so close to Travis Rider in the tiny motel room, next to the tiny bed, had driven the thought right out of her mind.
“We need to what?”
She sank back onto the bed. At least that way she wasn’t so close to him.
He knelt in front of her and began to untie the laces of one canvas shoe.
“Talk!” she exclaimed. “We need to talk.”
“Okay. Talk.” He removed her shoes and lifted her legs onto the bed.
She watched like a rabbit mesmerized by a snake as he tossed his leather jacket onto a chair, then took off his own shoes and socks and slid in behind her, leaning against the headboard and wrapping his long legs around her.
Talk. They needed to talk.
Expertly he began to massage her neck, his strong fingers picking out spots she hadn’t even realized were tense. The corners of the room softened and rounded as did the sharp edges and corners of her mind. She was tired, so tired, and not just from the drive. The past three months had been frenzied, hectic, nerveracking.
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