Romancing the Crown: Nina & Dominic: A Royal Murder. Lyn Stone

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      She gave a little grunt of pleasure in her throat and turned her head on the pillow, following the scent. Her eyes opened slowly, lids still at half-mast as she licked her lips.

      Ryan could no more suppress his rush of lust than he could have held back the tide in the harbor. The feeling took him by surprise at the oddest times. She should be haggard and pale after the night she’d endured. Instead she looked as if she’d given some lucky man a wild night of hot sex. No, not that exactly, he decided. Too innocent for that. Too unaware of her sensuality.

      He continued to tempt her with the coffee, moving it closer, then drawing it away to watch her seek it out. Then he realized what he was doing and stopped the motion immediately.

      He took a fortifying breath and looked away as he spoke. “C’mon, Nina, wake up. How am I supposed to get any work done if you sleep all day?”

      She slowly pushed herself up until she was leaning on one elbow. His peripheral vision caught that and also noted the covers slipping down around her waist.

      He’d undressed her in the dark last night, leaving her bra and panties on so she wouldn’t freak out when she woke up. Still, he’d had a rough time getting to sleep on her sofa after that. His imagination had been working overtime, fueled by the remembered sensation of her velvety skin against his hands.

      The touching had been unavoidable, of course. Inadvertent and innocent. Totally innocent. Reliving it later and adding fantasies was not, he admitted. Neither were his thoughts at the moment, seeing her deliciously rumpled, tousled and sleepy-eyed.

      “Timeizzit?” she grumbled, reaching for the coffee like it was an antidote to poison she’d just ingested.

      “Nearly seven o’clock. Up and at ’em. I’ve been up for two hours.” And awake a lot longer than that, damn her luscious hide.

      She grunted and gulped another slug of caffeine, eyeing him evilly over the edge of the cup. “Not fair. You weren’t drugged.”

      Ryan shrugged. “I wasn’t a basket case.”

      “Neither was I,” she argued, shoving the cup back at him as she swung her legs over the side of the bed and sat up. “Get out of here so I can change.”

      As she looked down at the scrap of lacy pink bra and whisper thin silk bikini bottoms she was wearing, he watched the light dawn.

      “Wait a minute! Who took my clothes off?”

      Ryan backed out of the bedroom, stopping in the doorway. “Who do you think?”

      “Pervert,” she growled. She snatched the covers up to her chest, leaving an excellent view of those long, long legs, lovely despite the six-inch bandage marring one of them. When he managed to drag his gaze up to her face, he saw her shooting daggers and gritting her teeth. “I think I’m reporting you to the police! That’s what I think!”

      “Okay, enhance my reputation if that’s what you want to do. In the meantime, I’m on my way to rehash some of the evidence and see what else needs doing. I just wanted you awake and aware before I left. Be sure you keep the doors locked while I’m gone.”

      She jumped up, dropping the sheet, abandoning her attempt at modesty. “Wait! I’m coming with you.”

      He’d known that. He’d already decided it would probably be better if he didn’t leave her here alone anyway. The fire might have been meant to destroy the crime scene, but Nina had almost died in it. Whoever set that fire must have seen her enter the guesthouse and realized she was still there. Setting it in the bedroom adjacent to the bathroom where she was hiding could have been meant to prevent her escape.

      It was his responsibility to see that nothing like that happened again, and the best way to do it was to get her out of Montebello as soon as possible.

      Ryan downed the rest of her coffee as he watched her dash for the bathroom. The back view was as nice as the front. “Ten minutes!” he called out as she slammed the door.

      He prepared to wait thirty. She was ready in fifteen, marching into the living room, looking like she’d spent a full hour in front of the mirror.

      Not bad, he reflected, remembering how long it used to take… No, he wasn’t going there this morning. But for some reason, the flash of memory hadn’t stabbed him in the heart the way it once had. He realized he’d been smiling when he thought back to the time when he’d been a husband, listening to the hair dryer, hearing Kath humming off-key while she put on her face and he tapped his foot waiting.

      He shook it off, promising himself he would examine his reaction later when he was alone. Test the waters with one of the happier recollections and see how it went. Not here and now with the feisty Ms. Caruso raring to play Watson to his Sherlock.

      “What did you do with my purse?” she demanded.

      Ryan pointed to the chair by the door. “You know that’s the first thing a good cop looks for when a woman’s reported missing?”

      She glanced up from examining the contents of her shoulder bag, zipping this pocket and unzipping that one. “Hmm?”

      “Handbag. If the purse is still there and she’s gone, it’s a sure bet there’s been foul play. Women won’t take off voluntarily without their stuff.”

      “Don’t be sexist. You go anywhere without your wallet?” “Point taken. You about ready to hit the road?”

      She smiled smugly, holding up one fist. “You about ready to add to your collection of evidence?”

      “The clue you mentioned,” he guessed, returning her smile. “What have you got? That kept me awake last night.” Among other things. It had also prompted him to search her purse and clothing.

      “I meant it to. Are you going to guess which hand, or just take this and have a look?”

      Ryan accepted what she offered. “An earring. Not yours, I take it.” It was for a pierced ear and hers were pierced. He had assumed it belonged to her when he’d found it.

      “Nope, not mine. I stepped on it last night in the guesthouse.” He managed not to gape. The thing was small and could possibly have been missed in the sweep. “Where exactly?”

      “A couple of feet from the bloodstain. I think it might have been caught in the pile of the rug or tangled in the fringe. Your people did vacuum, you said, but you know how vacuums are. Mine barely picks up dustbunnies. Rolling up the carpet could have dislodged it.” She focused on the bauble in his palm. “You think it could it be important?” “Could be,” he granted, squinting at the thing. It was half the size of a dime, suspended by a few tiny links of chain from a round silver ball welded to the post. “If we can get any prints from it, they’ll probably be yours.”

      “I thought it was a tack in my foot or I’d have been more careful handling it. Sorry.”

      “Not your fault. We’ll check it out anyway.” He went to the kitchen, found a roll of plastic wrap and swaddled the earring. “I just wish we knew how long it had been there.”

      “I can tell you how you might find out,” she cooed, rocking back and forth, pulling a face that begged him to ask her.

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