Risking It All.... Yvonne Lindsay

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СКАЧАТЬ took the latch off the door and opened it a crack...to reveal the large bulk of John Fairweather blocking the light from the hallway.

      “I brought you some aspirin.” He held up a glass, then opened his other palm to reveal a tiny sachet of some painkiller that actually wasn’t aspirin at all.

      “Oh.” She’d forgotten about her “headache.” With considerable reluctance, she opened the door wider. “That’s very kind of you.” She took the pills from his hand, making sure not to touch him.

      “And I brought you some clothes from the gift shop downstairs. It’s lucky we’re open twenty-four hours.” She noticed a shiny bag under his arm.

      “Thanks.” She reached out for it, only to find that he’d already walked past her into the room. She shook her head and tried not to smile. He wasn’t shy, that’s for sure. Of course, it was his hotel.

      “Did you find everything you need?” He put the bag down on the desk and turned to her with his hands on his hips. “It’s not too late for room service. There’s someone in the kitchen all night.”

      “Thanks, but I’m not hungry.”

      John had also showered and changed. He wore dark athletic pants and a clean white T-shirt that had creases as if it was right out of the package, except that the creases were now being stretched out by the thick muscles of his broad chest. His dark hair was wet and slicked back, emphasizing his bold features and those penetrating eyes.

      She blinked and headed for the shopping bag. Before she got there, he picked up the bag and reached into it himself. He pulled out a blue wrap dress with long sleeves. It looked like something she’d wear to a cocktail party. “We don’t really have office attire in the guest shop.”

      “It’s lovely and very kind of you to bring it.” Now please leave.

      “And we found some sandals that almost match.” He pulled out a pair of dark blue glittery sandals and looked at her with a wry grin. “Not exactly the right look for the office, but better than being barefoot, right?”

      She had to laugh. “My boss would have a heart attack.”

      “We won’t tell him.”

      “It’s a her.”

      “We won’t tell her, either.” He looked at her for a moment, eyes twinkling, then frowned slightly. “You look totally different with your hair down.”

      Her hands flew to her hair. At least she’d blow-dried it. “I know. I don’t ever wear it down.”

      “Why not? It’s pretty. You’re pretty.”

      She blinked. This was totally unprofessional. Of course, nothing about this situation was professional. She was standing here in her bathrobe—in his bathrobe—in his hotel that she’d explicitly said she wouldn’t stay in. And now he was giving her gratuitous compliments? “Thanks.”

      She felt that stupid smile creeping over her mouth again. Why did this man have such an effect on her? Think about computational volatility in Excel spreadsheets. Imagine him cheating on his taxes. Imagine him...

      Her imagination failed her as his mouth lowered hotly over hers.

      Heat rushed through her, to her fingers, which were suddenly on the soft cotton of his T-shirt. She felt his hands on her back, his touch light and tender. His tongue met hers, sending a jolt of electricity to her toes. Oh, goodness. What was happening? Her brain wouldn’t form thoughts at all, but her mouth had no trouble responding to his.

      The stubble on his chin scratched her skin slightly as the kiss deepened. His arms wrapped around her, enveloping her in their embrace. As her chest bumped against his, her nipples were pressed into the rough texture of the bathrobe and sensation crashed through her. She dug her fingers into the roping muscle of his back, plucking at his T-shirt as their mouths moved together.

      A humming sound startled them both and they broke the kiss. “My phone,” he murmured, low. He didn’t reach for it. Still frowning slightly, he raised a thumb and smoothed a strand of hair from Constance’s cheek.

      She blinked, wondering what had just happened. And why? “I really must...” She wasn’t even sure what she really must do. Go to bed? Take a cold shower? Throw herself out the window? Heat darted through her body, and she didn’t know how much longer her knees would hold her up without his strong arms around her.

      “Take your aspirin. I’ll see you in the morning.” He hesitated, phone still vibrating in his pocket. An expression of confusion crossed his face and he shoved a hand through his wet hair. “I’ll call a local dealership about replacing your car keys first thing.”

      “Thanks.” The word was barely audible, but it was a miracle she managed to force it out at all. He walked backward a couple of steps, gaze still riveted on hers, before he nodded a goodbye and strode to the door.

      As it slid quietly shut behind him, she stood there, mouth open, knees still trembling. Had he really just kissed her? It didn’t seem possible. Maybe she’d imagined it. In fact, maybe she’d dreamed up this whole crazy scenario while sleeping fitfully in her lumpy bed at the Cozy Suites Motel. A fire and a kiss in one night? Impossible.

      She pinched herself and it hurt. That wasn’t good. Maybe she should throw herself out the window. A desire to gulp in cool night air made her hurry to it, but it was one of those big modern ones that didn’t open.

      Probably a good thing. She looked out and could see nothing but dark woods barely illuminated by a cloud-shrouded moon.

      She’d grabbed him, fisting her hands into his T-shirt, and clawed at his back. Had she totally lost her mind? Her breath came in heaving gasps and blood pounded in her veins.

      It had been a very long time since she’d kissed anybody. Since anyone had kissed her, or even shown the slightest interest in doing so. Her one and only boyfriend, Phil, had broken up with her right before they graduated from college. Four years together, sustained by promises of marriage and family and happily ever after, and he’d simply told her that he wasn’t ready and he was moving to Seattle without her. Her parents would die—or they’d kill her, or both—if they knew she’d given Phil her virginity outside the sanctity of marriage. They’d blame her for throwing herself away and point out that of course he wouldn’t want to marry a woman like that.

      The pain and shame of it all was achingly fresh even after six years, so she tried not to think about it.

      And now something like this? She could taste John’s lips on hers, his tongue winding with hers, and the memory made her heart pulse harder. She couldn’t even blame him. She couldn’t swear that he’d even started the kiss. It had just happened. And it had happened all over her body, which now hummed and throbbed with all kinds of unfamiliar and disturbing sensations.

      She’d lost her clothes, her car keys and now her mind. How would she ever get to sleep now?

       Three

      “Thanks for picking everyone up last night, Don.” John leaned back in his chair in the hotel restaurant and brushed croissant crumbs from his fingers. “I know I interrupted your hot date.”

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