by Carmen Green
She looked at him. Her lips were slightly swollen from his kiss, but her eyes were solemn and there was a hint of fear in her gaze. “I’m glad you stopped them. They can’t hurt anyone now.”
“No. They can’t.” He thought about the Mace she’d held in her hand. “What were you going to do with the Mace?”
She blinked then frowned. “I don’t know. The guy pointed the gun at you and then it was in my hand.”
He could see that her energy was beginning to fade. She looked weary and fragile.
“You’re tired. Sleep if you can.”
“Don’t want to sleep in this,” she said, her voice growing deeper. She leaned forward and he helped her to her feet. “I’ll be right back.”
He watched her shuffle to a door that opened into the master bath, and close the door behind her. He put his hands in his pockets. He would wait until she got into bed, then would go back downstairs. She needed sleep. There would be other kisses. He’d make sure of it.
He turned when the door opened a few minutes later. She’d changed into plain, white cotton pajamas. The sight of her wearing them shouldn’t have aroused him, but it did. Yep, he was going to have to go back downstairs.
The hem of her top ended just below her waist and the white material clung to her full breasts. The drawstring pants neatly hugged her hips. Her body looked full, lush and tempting. He felt himself harden with desire as she walked toward the bed.
She began pulling back the spread and stumbled. He caught her shoulders to steady her.
“Here,” he said. “Let me do it.” He pulled the spread and sheet down, placed the pillows in a neat line at the top of the bed. He stepped aside then said, “In you go.”
She climbed in, pulling the sheet to her chest, and lay on her side.
“Sleep tight,” he said softly.
Her lids lowered briefly then she looked at him. “Will you sit with me? I don’t want to be alone.” Her voice began to slur.
So much for going downstairs. He sat on the mattress. “Yes, I’ll stay.”
He watched as her lids lowered, her dark lashes forming black semicircles against her brown skin. He sat there watching her fall deeper into sleep.
His brother had brought the two of them together, but he was going to make sure it was him that she wanted. He’d never met a woman like her before. She was brave, stubborn and sexy. And she tried to hide it behind the brainy persona she presented to the world. He watched her and anticipated the day when he would make love to her.
CHAPTER 7
The next morning, Renee opened her eyes and let her gaze feast upon the most luscious man she’d ever met. She knew Chris would be there like he’d been there during the night to awaken her from the nightmares. He’d held her hand and gone with her to the kitchen to make tea when she’d been too afraid to be by herself. Never once had he made her feel like she was being a burden or a bother.
While she’d been sleeping, he’d moved one of two overstuffed chairs and the matching white ottoman beside the bed so he was always within arm’s reach of her. He looked strong and powerful as he lay there sleeping.
He’d kissed her. She stared at his talented lips. His kiss had made her yearn. No other man had made her yearn. She obviously hadn’t affected him as much as he affected her because he hadn’t said another word about it afterward. She sighed. She wasn’t good at kissing. Who could blame her; she could count the number of men she’d kissed on one hand and Marc’s kisses didn’t last that long.
She had a feeling that if the phone hadn’t interrupted them, Chris would have kissed her for a long, long time. She shivered as she remembered the taste of him. Get a hold of yourself. Put the kiss out of your mind. He has. She took a deep breath and let her gaze drift down.
He’d removed his tie and unbuttoned the first three buttons on his shirt, revealing part of his muscled, hard chest. Yesterday, she’d found comfort and acceptance in his embrace. And passion.
No, I’m not thinking about that. She watched as his chest rose and fell. She remembered how gentle he’d been yesterday. She’d asked him to stay with her and he had. She’d let down her guard and been totally exposed emotionally. She wondered why she could be herself around him when she was afraid to be herself around family and her close friends, the Smithstones.
Karen Smithstone would have put the blame solely on Renee’s parents. As a psychiatrist, she’d explained to her the toxic nature of her relationship with her mom and dad. She’d called her parents two of the most self-absorbed people in the universe. Renee didn’t agree with Karen’s statement. She knew she was a disappointment to her parents. She was terrified of disappointing Aunt Gert.
She wouldn’t disappoint her. With Chris’s help, she’d recover the necklace.
Renee moved her gaze from his chest down his arm to the hand that lay on the armrest a few inches from the bed. His fingers were long and lean, and his touch had been her anchor during the night. She wanted to close the few inches of distance between their hands and experience his touch once more, but she wouldn’t. She looked at his face and nearly jumped out of her skin when she realized he’d awakened and was looking at her. How did he go from asleep to fully awake without moving or making a single sound?
“Morning,” she said, then sat up and tried to smooth down her hair. Last night, she had been too emotionally drained to think about it. She didn’t need a mirror to realize that she had to look a mess.
“How are you?” His voice was deeper, richer and sexy. The sound of it made her wonder, would he sound the same the morning after making love?
“I’m okay. I made it through the night.” She looked at him, leaning back in the chair with his legs stretched out on the ottoman. When he smiled at her, her pulse begin to race and she thought he looked like every woman’s fantasy. “Thank you for staying with me,” she said, and was glad when her voice remained even and smooth.
“My pleasure.”
She gave him a sad smile. “No, it wasn’t. You had to sleep in a chair.”
He patted the armrest. “I’ve slept in worse and it’s comfortable for a girly froufrou chair.”
She smiled. “I like girly froufrou. Every stick of furniture in here is brand-new and really girly. I told the interior designer that I wanted a fairy princess bedroom for a woman.”
He looked around the room then said, “I think she nailed it.”
“He.”
“Mmm.” He rubbed his hand on his chin then rolled his shoulders. “Do you mind if I use your shower? I want to change out of these clothes.”
Chris Foster. Shower. Wet and naked. Her mouth became dry as her overactive mind brought the scene into clear focus. Heat rushed to her face as desire filled her. The man could make her hot with words and without even trying.
“Ahhh. Sure, you can use the guest bathroom down the hall.” She scrambled off the bed. “I’ll get the towels.”
* * *
Chris watched her race out of the bedroom. It was a good thing because he nearly pulled her off the bed and into his lap at her expression when he’d asked to use her shower. Desire, pure and simple, shone on her face. Soon, he would learn if her body was as expressive as her face. As much as he wanted her, he wouldn’t push her. She seemed all right this morning but he would give her a little time.
A few minutes later, she came to the door. “Everything is all set.”
He followed her down the hall to a large bathroom. A stack of neatly folded large towels was placed at one end of a double granite vanity with double sinks. She’d placed a bar of soap, new toothbrush still in the box, toothpaste and lotion beside the towels. He wondered if she had guests in her home often. He appreciated her thoughtfulness. “I’m going to the car to get my suitcase.”
He made the trip to the car, got his suitcase and was back inside within minutes. Locking the front door, he went upstairs. He heard water running when he walked past her closed bedroom door. His body became hard as he imaged her standing naked beneath a warm
stream of water showering down on her skin.
He walked to the extra bathroom with long strides. He needed a cold shower and he needed it now.
* * *
Showered and dressed, Chris followed the smell of coffee to the kitchen. Renee held a big wooden spoon and stirred something in a large white bowl. She stood with her back to him and he studied her. She wore white pants and a long, black-and-white-striped shirt. Her hair was pulled into a thick ponytail.
He watched her take the spoon out of the bowl then scoop out a handful of flour from an open plastic bin. She shook her hand back and forth, spreading the flour over the countertop. Her movements were smooth and practiced like she’d performed the act many times in the past. She used the spoon to scrape the sticky, white blob from the bowl onto the countertop.
“What’s that?” He walked to the island where there was a full pot of coffee, two cups and spoons, sugar and a small black-and-white container shaped in the form of a smiling cow.
She turned around and he blinked. She wore an apron—not the kind he’d seen chefs wear but the kind he’d seen June Cleaver wear on the Leave it to Beaver television show. The apron was white with a large cake sewn on the pocket and smaller cakes lining the ruffled bottom. He wouldn’t have thought that she would wear something that…retro.
“Biscuit dough,” she said, then floured her hands and pinched off a part of the dough and began rolling it in her hands. “Breakfast will be ready soon.”
“Thanks.” He saw a carton of eggs beside the stovetop. Biscuits and eggs might be enough for her to have for breakfast, but he hadn’t eaten dinner last night and he was starving. On the counter beside the refrigerator sat a large cookie jar in the form of a smiling, pink pig wearing a white chef’s hat and apron. She had a thing for smiling farm animals. He hoped the jar had the same cookies she’d given him yesterday.
“Do you mind if I use your phone to call the hotel?” He nodded to the cordless phone. “I need find out if they still have a room available.” He wouldn’t use the room tonight because he planned to stay here again. He didn’t want her to be alone if she had nightmares again tonight.
“You don’t have to stay at a hotel. You can stay here in the house or in the guest suite over the garage. That way we could work longer and find the necklace faster.” She finished speaking in a rush of words.
He poured coffee into a cup and took a sip. She was offering him the perfect out. Now he wouldn’t have to think of a reason to stay. “That’ll work.” He took another sip. “I spoke to Ms. Morgan from the jewelry store this morning. The necklace Marc bought from them was a string of diamonds from the 1940s. She called all of the employees and none of them have seen your great-aunt’s necklace.”
She nodded and turned back to the biscuits. “I’m going to call Alex and Danielle after breakfast. I wonder what he’s done with that necklace? I don’t have it, and I’ve even checked the cabinet over the refrigerator.”
Hunter had discovered Marc’s fake divorce papers and the deed to the yacht in Alex’s cabinets above her refrigerator.
“I don’t know,” Chris said. He could think of several things his brother could have done with the necklace, but sharing that information would only upset her.
“Marc married three women, so there’s no telling how many girlfriends he had. He could have given the necklace to one of his girlfriends.” She looked at him with horror. “What if he gave Aunt Gert’s necklace to another woman?”
“Hey, calm down. Don’t think the worst,” he said.
“How can I not? You know, I thought I was lucky to have married Marc. Most men don’t even consider dating someone like me, but Marc did.”
“What do you mean someone like you?”
She shrugged her shoulders. “People like me end up alone, living with multiple cats.”
“What are you talking about? You don’t have a cat and librarians get married.”
She took the pan, which was now covered with biscuits, to the oven. The scent of bacon poured into the room when she opened the oven door. Inside was another pan filled with what looked like a pound of bacon. His mouth began to water. Breakfast was beginning to look a whole lot better. “It’s not about being a librarian. It’s me. I’ve been on less than ten dates in my life. I’m not date material.”
“That’s a bunch of bull. Did Marc tell you that?”
“No. My mother told me,” she replied casually as she pulled out the pan of bacon and moved it to another drawer below the oven.
Her mother. He shook his head. He’d seen firsthand the way some parents treated their children when he was a policeman in California. Abuse crossed all racial and economic boundaries. “Your mother is wrong.”
“The numbers don’t lie.”
“If that were true, then financial fraud wouldn’t exist.”
She waved her hand as if to push his comment aside. “All I’m saying is marrying Marc seemed like the right thing to do at the time. He was my one shot at having a family of my own.”
He studied her face. She was serious. Her mother and Marc had done a good job of messing with her head and making her think no one wanted her. She wanted a family and a home. He didn’t want either.
When he was a boy he’d wanted to have that kind of life, but he was too jaded to believe anything was permanent. He couldn’t give her what she wanted, but he could show her that she was sexy. A woman this man wanted to get to know on a very intimate level.
The telephone rang, sending her to the end of the counter. He took another sip of coffee.
She looked at the number on the screen and smiled. “Good morning, Aunt Gert.” She moved to the stovetop and lifted the top off a pot.
A few minutes later, he tuned out the conversation. It was girl talk. That’s what he called it when he heard women use a lot of words to say something that could have been said in two. He sat down on one of the bar stools and watched her. She was very much in her element in the kitchen. She moved from the stove to a cabinet and began setting the small table in the corner. Her movements were smooth and graceful, but her clothes were wrong. Her pants were baggy and the black-and-white horizontal striped shirt hung on her shoulders like a sack. The apron she wore showed off her small waist. With the exception of the suit she wore yesterday, all of the clothes he’d seen her wear were too big. Instead of her mother telling her she wasn’t date material, the woman should have taught her how to dress better.
When the tone of her voice changed, he began listening to the conversation.
“Oh, you called last night.” She opened a drawer then closed it without removing a single thing. “I fell asleep early last night.”
He watched as her eyes widened and she leaned her hip against the counter.
“You’re coming back today? Why? I thought you were having fun?”
He listened as she used sounds, not words, to hold up her end of the conversation, throwing in the occasional “oh” and “really.”
“Okay, see you in a few hours. Yes, I’ll remember to bring it.” She ended the call and put the phone on its charger. “Aunt Gert wants to meet you.” She sounded distracted.
“Is that a problem?”
“No. No. Just don’t tell her about the necklace and…” She folded her arms. “I haven’t told her about Alex and Danielle and I’d appreciate it if you didn’t, either.”
“I can do that,” he said softly. “I’ll talk to her about Marc and I’ll let you make the decision to inform her or not about them.”
“If I had my way, she’ll never know about any of this.” She opened the door to the oven and pulled out a pan of golden-brown biscuits. “Breakfast is ready.”
He looked forward to meeting her great-aunt. Maybe then he’d understand why Renee was so afraid to tell her about the necklace. Thirty minutes later, he put the last of the dirty dishes into the dishwasher. He’d insisted on doing the dishes. Even after washing the pans by hand, he thought it was worth it. Renee made the best biscuits he’d ever
tasted. In fact, everything she’d cooked was delicious—even the grits. The first time he’d tried grits, he thought they had the consistency and flavor of old paste.
“So, what’s for lunch?” He closed the dishwasher.
She stopped wiping down the counter and stared at him. “You can’t possibly be hungry.”
“I’m not, but I want something to look forward to this afternoon. You’re a great cook.”
“Thank you. Aunt Gert taught me to cook. Now, she’s a great cook.”
“Your mother didn’t teach you?”
She laughed. “My mother doesn’t cook. Besides, I wasn’t with them long enough to learn to cook. I went to boarding school when I was six.”
“Your parents sent you to boarding school for the first grade?” From Will, he’d learned that some wealthy parents shipped their children to boarding schools. While Renee’s parents were well-off, they were by no means rich.
She tilted her head and narrowed her eyes. “Yes, and it’s not that uncommon to go to school away from home.”
Touchy, he thought. “I’ve never heard of anyone going that young. It’s different.”
She frowned at him. “Different. Yes, I’m very different.” She turned and walked out of the kitchen.
Very touchy. He followed her into the office. She marched to the desk she’d used yesterday and opened her laptop. Her expression was tight.
“Look, I was making conversation. I wasn’t trying to make you mad, so forget I asked.”
“Fine,” she replied with a sharp tone.
He went to the desk and removed the papers he’d been working on last night from his briefcase. Why was she so angry? He didn’t think his question was out of line. It was strange to send a first-grader to boarding school, and talking about it obviously bothered her. Since she didn’t want to talk about her education, he would talk about the necklace and Marc.
