Bedroom Therapy: A Hot Romantic Suspense Novel

by Rebecca York

  “What are you thinking,” he asked.

  “That I’m glad the Knight family hired you,” she blurted, then wished she hadn’t put it quite that way.

  He laughed. “Murder investigations make strange bedfellows.”

  She felt a little chill travel over her skin.

  He reached across the table and took her hand again. “Sorry. That was a bad choice of words. Cops have a cynical way of viewing the world.”

  “I’m sure. You’ve seen a lot more of the sordid side of humanity than most people.”

  “Yeah.” He stroked his fingers over hers. “Which is why it’s nice to meet a woman who makes me feel like there’s something more to life than the job I do.”

  “Do I?” she murmured.

  “Yes. But I shouldn’t hold you captive here much longer. You probably want to get home and get to work.”

  She felt a surge of disappointment. She hadn’t been thinking about work. In fact, she’d had the feeling that the conversation was headed toward a more personal discussion. But he’d just backed away from that. Obviously he wanted to bring the evening to an end.

  “Okay,” she managed to say.

  Zach looked up, located the waiter, and signaled for the check, and she stared out the window at the garden lights.

  The ride home was a lot like the ride to the Plantation. She’d thought they were getting close. But he’d suddenly acted like he wanted to get rid of her. Well, maybe he had something else he needed to do.

  “Thank you for a very nice dinner,” she said stiffly, as they entered the living room.

  “I enjoyed it,” he replied, sounding as awkward as she felt.

  Because she didn’t know what else to say now, she marched back to her bedroom, changed out of the fancy outfit she’d put on for Zach’s benefit, then picked up her cell phone to see if there were any messages.

  When she went through the sequence of button pushes, she found that Beth had called.

  “I haven’t heard from you in a couple of days. When I tried to call your home phone, there wasn’t any answer. And your voicemail didn’t pick up.”

  Big surprise, Amanda thought as she listened to the message on her cell phone. The phone with the built-in answering machine was sitting on the floor beside the bedside table, not connected yet.

  “So, how’s it going with Zachary Grant?” her friend and editor asked. “In this case, is no news good news? And what’s the story with the phone? I’m home this evening. Give me a call if you get back before ten.”

  Amanda swung her gaze toward the clock on the bedside table. It was before ten, and she felt a pang of guilt. She should certainly have informed Beth about the man who had broken into her house last night. Last night? It seemed like it was days ago, but it really wasn’t.

  In the rush of events that had followed their previous conversation, she’d forgotten all about Beth.

  Before the end of her dinner conversation with Zach, she would have wanted to talk about him. But dinner had ended on a flat note, and she knew her mood would come across in any discussion with Beth.

  With a sigh, Amanda switched off the phone. Another pang of guilt stabbed at her as she looked at the work she’d left on her desk. Really, she was making a career out of her first column, and she had to get the damn thing finished.

  Of course, she had some pretty good excuses now. Someone had broken into her house. Then Zach had made her move. But she wasn’t going to whine to Beth about any of that.

  As she stared at the mountain of letters next to her laptop, it seemed like something wasn’t quite right. It took several moments for her to figure out that the top letter looked all wrong. She remembered it had been on pink notepaper with a little cat in the corner. Now a piece of notebook paper was sitting on top of it.

  A little frisson went through her. Had someone been in here while they were gone and left her a note?

  Should she call Zach?

  The question made her grimace. What was he going to think—that she couldn’t handle a piece of paper by herself?

  Quickly she crossed the room and picked it up. The handwriting was bold and masculine. But it was the words on the page that captured her attention. As she looked down at the message, her eyes widened, and she had to reach out with her free hand to steady herself against the edge of the desk.

  Chapter Nine

  After scanning the letter, Amanda forced herself to take a breath, then read more carefully.

  Dear Esther, I’m writing about the woman I’ve been seeing. We haven’t known each other for long, but I like her a lot. It’s been a long time since a woman has turned me on the way she does. I want to get to know her a lot better, but I worry that she’s not going to open up with me. One thing about her is that she thinks she’s really au courant about sex. But actually she’s kind of prim and prudish. I think it would help her in her work if she let herself go where I’d like to lead her. But I’m hesitant to push her because I don’t want to ruin our relationship. If I were going to tell her what I’d like to do, I’d suggest that she let me create a very sensual environment for the two of us. Then I’d like to watch her turn herself on. Well, actually I’d like to tell her the things I’d like her to do. But I get the feeling she’d think that was nasty. So I’m afraid to ask.”

  Amanda stared down at the letter. He’d like to what? Not in this lifetime. Smart of him to be afraid to ask! Although he’d gone ahead and done it—in a very sneaky way.

  The first thought that leaped into her head was to stomp down the hall and demand to know if he’d lost his mind.

  But she’d never been someone who made rash decisions. She looked toward the closed door. She was the one in control now, and she was going to think about what she said before she went off half-cocked.

  Half-cocked! Right. That was a great way to put it.

  ###

  Zachary stood by the living room window, gazing out into the night. He seemed to have spent a lot of time standing here. Earlier he’d taken a seat on the sofa, but he’d been too nervous to sit still. After pacing the room, he’d ended up at his favorite spot at the window.

  He’d written the letter while he was out, then gone back into the house to leave it with the others. It had seemed like a good idea at the time. But during dinner, he’d started worrying about her reaction. He’d known he couldn’t sit there dwelling on it.

  Which was why he’d rushed her home and sent her to her room, where he knew she was going to discover the piece of notebook paper.

  She’d had plenty of time to do that. Was she going to come charge through the door any minute and ask how dare he make such a raunchy suggestion? Was she going to order him out of the house? Call the police? What?

  He wasn’t sure where he’d gotten the guts to write the letter. But he’d known where he’d gotten the idea. It was while he was walking past the linen shop and seen a gorgeous comforter in the window. It was beige and gold, with a subtle red stripe running through the pattern. And he’d stopped and stared at the beautifully quilted fabric, picturing Amanda lying naked in the middle of the comforter. He’d been immediately hard as a lead pipe.

  Impulsively, he’d gone in and bought one—the queen-size, because he knew that would fit the bed in her room. Then he’d added other details that he knew would enhance the scene. The purchases were in plastic shopping bags locked in the trunk of his car.

  He sighed. Maybe he should go outside and take a walk in the dark. Maybe that would cool him off.

  Of course, he might find the door bolted when he came back. It would serve him right. He should never have written that letter. Maybe he could tell her he’d been under a kind of compulsion, because it was the truth.

  He’d never had such intense desire for a woman. Not even in the early days when he’d been courting his wife. And certainly not since the divorce.

  The need for Amanda burned inside him. But he couldn’t do what most guys would do with a woman whose essence had crept into their blood. It sim
ply wasn’t going to work. Which was why he’d asked for something he could have.

  Even now, the thought of what he wanted from her brought a wave of sensual heat sweeping over his body. Yet at the same time, he was suffering the tortures of the damned waiting to find out what she was going to say.

  He had been listening for any sound from the bedroom. The knob turning was like a shotgun shell being pumped into the chamber.

  Then her footsteps, light and slow came down the hall. He wanted to keep his back to the room, but he forced himself to turn around and face her. Waiting to hear what she was going to say was killing him, and he might as well get it over with.

  The look in her eyes made his breath go shallow. Probably she had come down here ready to ask if he had lost his marbles.

  But she didn’t speak as they stood regarding each other. It was agony to keep his arms at his sides and not fold them defensively across his chest.

  Finally she cleared her throat. “Is that why you cut the dinner table conversation short?” she asked.

  “Yeah,” he admitted, glad to get that part out in the open. “I couldn’t sit there any longer wondering what you were going to do when you found the letter.”

  “You were right to worry about it. What did you say—that you thought it would help me in my work?”

  He dragged in a breath and let it out before answering, “That was probably going too far.”

  “You’re damn right,” she shot back, shifting her weight from one foot to the other. “But that’s not the point at all.”

  “What is the point?” he asked softly.

  Although she didn’t answer, she didn’t turn and leave, either. Just the fact that she was still standing here gave him back a measure of the hope that he’d abandoned a few moments ago. Maybe she hadn’t decided anything yet. Maybe she was still weighing her decision.

  It flashed through his mind that if he closed the distance between them and took her in his arms, it might be easier to help her make up her mind. But he wasn’t going to try it since it was just as likely that the move would blow up in his face.

  “You described an activity that a lot of people would find objectionable.”

  “Do you?”

  “Yes.”

  His hands clenched at his sides as he gave her a tight nod. He was thinking he might as well pack up and move out. Or maybe he could sleep out in the car. The comforter was already out there. He could wrap himself up in it. But he stayed where he was, because the idea of leaving her alone when someone meant to do her harm made his stomach tie itself in knots.

  She was speaking again, and her words finally filtered through the buzzing in his brain.

  “But then I started thinking: do I really find it objectionable? Or am I just projecting what I learned from my mother. Maybe it was a knee-jerk reaction.”

  He swallowed hard. “Which means what?”

  “Which, means that I let myself think about it for a while, and. . . and I. . .” She stopped, finishing the sentence with a little raise of her shoulder.

  “You what?” he pressed, feeling that he was getting back control of the situation.

  “The idea made me . . . aroused.”

  “Good,” he said softly.

  “It was exciting, but it was threatening, too.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I’d be putting myself on display.”

  “Maybe you’d find out something about yourself.”

  “Maybe,” she conceded. “But I think it’s more important to find out something about us.”

  He let that statement hang in the air between them. There were things he could say now, but she wasn’t the only one who was nervous. He fell back on a safe statement. “I’ve never forced a woman into anything she didn’t want to do.”

  “And have you done this kind of thing before?”

  “No. I’ve been doing things with you that I’ve never done before. Never wanted to do. But being with you has made me . . . adventurous.”

  “Oh.”

  “I was wandering around the mall, and I started having a fantasy about you. I went into the bedding shop and bought some stuff.”

  “You did?”

  “It’s in the trunk of my car. And some other things.” Figuring that he might as well take the plunge, he went on rapidly. “What I’d like to do is fix up the bedroom—make it very romantic. Then you can come in, and we’ll see what happens.”

  “Fix up the bedroom?” She gave a nervous little laugh. “What—have you been watching those DYI TV shows where two teams of neighbors each fix up an empty house?”

  “No. I just got a very strong vision of you in a very sensual setting.” He couldn’t hold back a little grin. “But apparently there are some aspects of DYI that do appeal to me.”

  It was a relief that she could relax enough to share the joke. With a small laugh, she said, “Apparently.”

  “So—what do you think? Are you willing to try it?”

  “If we agree that I can stop—if this . . . game . . . makes me uncomfortable.”

  “Okay,” he said quickly, because it was the only answer he could give her.

  “Why don’t you relax and watch television out here. I’ll unlock the sliding glass door to your bedroom so I can go in and out without bothering you.”

  She gave an uncertain little nod. “All right.”

  “I’ll go start getting ready. But first I want to give you something.” He left the room, took a deep breath and let it out. He had started on this course, and he didn’t seem to be able to stop. Amanda O’Neal had become an obsession, and he didn’t like that. But he knew he was reaching for something with her. Something that he wasn’t able to put into words—not even in the privacy of his mind.

  He stood in the darkened kitchen for a moment—wondering if he was really going ahead with this crazy scheme. Then he reached for the doorknob. Exiting through the kitchen, he opened the car where he pulled one of the packages from the trunk.

  On the way back in, he carefully locked the door.

  When he returned to the living room, he found Amanda sitting on the sofa. She was probably trying to look relaxed, but he could see the tense lines of her body.

  He wanted to go to her, take her in his arms, and tell her they were both going to have a great time. But he knew himself. If he embraced her, he was going to start kissing her. And he wasn’t going to let go.

  And he needed to keep things on track. Now that he’d gotten her agreement, he wanted very much to go ahead with the naughty little game he’d suggested.

  He stayed where he was, looking from her to the television set. She’d taken his advice. On the screen was one of those DYI shows that he’d seen in passing. Had that been where he’d gotten the idea? He saw a man and a woman using steamers and scrapers to peel wallpaper off the wall, inch by inch.

  It looked like torture. The show switched to another scene where another team was arguing about the deep purple paint one woman wanted to put on the walls.

  “Trust me. You’ll love it,” she said.

  Zach laughed. “Sure.”

  Amanda shifted toward him.

  “Interesting choice of TV shows,” he commented.

  She gave him a long look. “Did you change your mind?

  “Of course not!” He stepped toward her and handed over the bag. “I was thinking about what I wanted you to wear, too. And I pictured you in this. Nothing else.”

  She set the bag on the couch, then reached inside and brought out something thin and silky, wrapped in tissue paper.

  He discovered he couldn’t draw in a full breath as she carefully unfolded the paper. Inside was a dark blue robe, a silk and lace confection that he knew would look wonderful with her hair and skin.

  She didn’t speak, and he found he had to break the silence.

  “Do you like it?” he asked, hearing the catch in his own voice.

  She kept her eyes on the robe, stroking her fingers over the soft fabric. “It’s beauti
ful.”

  “Wear it for me when you come into the bedroom.”

  “And when will that be?” she asked with a small quiver in her voice.

  He needed to touch her then—to reassure them both. Crossing the room, he stopped beside the sofa, cupping his hand over her shoulder, feeling the fine structure of her bones beneath his fingers.

  He closed his eyes, caressing her. When he heard her little indrawn breath, he roused himself.

  “I’ll be back as soon I can get ready. In about an hour, I hope.” He needed to leave, then. Before he spoiled everything by grabbing her, he exited the living room and started down the hall. Stepping into the bedroom, he looked around. He already knew the layout. Already knew some of the things he was going to do.

  He kept his mind on the tasks at hand, trying not to think about where this was leading. If he thought about that now, he’d be too aroused to get anything done.

  He focused on each small step as he leaned the mattress and the box springs against the wall in order to get at the bed frame. Quickly he took the frame apart, leaving the wicker headboard in place. Then he opened the sliding glass door and took the frame and the box springs outside. With the substructure of the bed out of the way, he positioned the mattress against the headboard—then went out to get the purchases he’d left in the car.

  He smiled as he spread the comforter over the mattress, creating a soft, appealing surface that was low to the floor. Like the bedding in a nomad king’s tent. Then he changed the pillowcases for the beige silk ones he’d bought—along with a half dozen other pillows, which he piled against the headboard.

  When he was satisfied with the effect, he went on with the other preparations.

  ###

  Amanda sat in the living room, her eyes focused on the television set. Zach had said he’d be about an hour, and she told herself she could still go down the hall and tell him she’d changed her mind. But she knew she wasn’t going to disappoint him that way. Or disappoint herself.

  She kept her unseeing gaze on the television screen and played with the fringe of the throw that she’d folded over the back of the sofa. The robe lay on the sofa beside her.