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      Dillon was worse than lint, Ivy decided as she stepped out of the shower into the steamy bathroom and dried off with a soft, fluffy orange towel. She’d scrubbed and scrubbed, run the water as hot as she could stand, and she could still feel the ghost of his touch. She could still smell his scent on her skin.

      She’d brushed her teeth twice and rinsed with mouth-wash, but she could still taste him.

      He wasn’t just clinging to her sleeve or the leg of her slacks. He was under her skin, coursing through her bloodstream. She could feel him inside her head, making things she used to believe, things she counted on, hazy and unclear.

      She rubbed the steam from a section of the mirror and looked at herself. Really looked. Same hair, same eyes, same nothing special body.

      Then why did she feel so…different?

      Confused and frustrated and scared…and more alive than she had in years.

      She slipped her robe on and opened the bathroom door, letting out a startled squeak when she realized she wasn’t alone.

      No, Dillon wasn’t lint.

      He was a virus. A full-blown flu that made her feel weak and feverish and blew her judgment all to hell. A highly contagious bug who had broken into her room while she showered and made himself comfortable on her bed.

      “Howdy.” He lay on his back, propped up on both elbows, one leg crossed over the other. Like he had every right to be there. He’d showered and changed into casual slacks and a slightly transparent, white linen pullover that all but screamed, look at my tan! The scent of freshly scrubbed man reached across the room and wrapped itself around her like a tentacle, tempting her closer.

      Did viruses have tentacles?

      She tugged the belt on her robe a little tighter. Just in case.

      She didn’t trust Dillon, and even worse, she didn’t trust herself. That kiss downstairs would have knocked her out of her shoes had she been wearing any. She never thought the day would come when she would say she was happy to see the Tweedles, but thank goodness they had walked in, jaws flapping. They were the only thing that had stopped her from making another huge mistake.

      “Good shower?” Dillon asked, looking her up and down with warm, blue bedroom eyes.

      Every one of her billion or so nerve endings went on full alert. Her brain kicked into overdrive to compensate and threatened a complete shutdown.

      Why in the hell had she kissed him again? Hadn’t she learned her lesson the first time? Hadn’t she learned it ten stinking years ago?

      The lack of oxygen from staying under the water so long had clearly damaged her brain.

      Or May be he really was a virus, and she just didn’t have the antibodies to fight him off.

      “I know I locked the door before I got in the shower,” she said, doing her best to sound stern. So he wouldn’t know that she was thinking of how much better he would look out of his clothes than in them.

      He looked at the door, then back to her. “What’s your point?”

      Could he be more arrogant? Any cooler or more composed? More of a pain in the behind?

      “A closed, locked door generally means the person on the other side doesn’t want to be disturbed.”

      He just grinned. The frustratingly charming grin she both loved and hated. She would order him to leave if she thought he would actually listen. Hell, she’d even try hosing him down with Lysol. But she knew it was a futile battle. All the disinfectant and antibiotics in the world wouldn’t fend him off. Like every other virus she’d had, he would simply have to run his course.

      This time she wouldn’t give in and let him become a full-blown epidemic.

      She shoved her wet, tangled hair back from her eyes. “Do I even want to know how you got the door unlocked?”

      He reached into the pocket of his slacks and pulled out a credit card. “I used my Visa.”

      So much for her plan of staying barricaded in her room for the rest of a trip. Not even a locked door could keep him out. Besides, wouldn’t that be like letting him win?

      This game he was playing was getting more complicated by the hour. It would be so much easier if she knew the rules, but she had the uneasy suspicion that there weren’t any.

      She tried to work up the enthusiasm to be annoyed but didn’t see the point. Her anger was wasted on him. If anything, he seemed to enjoy getting her riled up. “Was there something you wanted?”

      He flashed her that sexy, simmering grin and wiggled his eyebrows. “You know what I want, darlin’.”

      Oh, that. And here she had been hoping he wanted to play checkers.

      Then he—Oh, my God—pulled his shirt over his head and dropped it on the bed beside him.

      Hunk alert.

      All that bronzed skin and lean muscle was making her eyes cross.

      He patted the mattress. “Why don’t you slip out of that robe and squeeze in here beside me.”

      If only he knew how tempting that was.

      The bedroom was the one place he had never disappointed her. And it wasn’t just the sex, although, Lord knew that had been out-of-this-world marvelous. But, being something of a nerd, one of her favorite things had been to just talk. Back then, few people had had the privilege of meeting the intellectually intriguing man lost behind the rebellious, party-boy facade. Some nights they had made love for hours, then had lain awake until dawn discussing social issues and politics and world events.

      She wondered when that had stopped. When going out to the bar with his buddies had become more appealing than spending time with her. When the discussions had СКАЧАТЬ