been around enough women to know the fairer gender didn’t go anywhere with a man if they really didn’t want to.
Carrying Delphi’s luggage—he hadn’t taken no for an answer—he continued up the stairs until they turned right and traversed the short hallway.
“Here ya go, Lars.” Merrilee opened the door and he walked in. Merrilee lowered her voice. “I thought you’d rest easier if you knew that we put your mother at the new bed-and-breakfast at the other end of town. We figured it might work out better that way and Alyce could use the business.”
“Good call.” He put down one of Delphi’s suitcases and slid his duffel bag off his shoulder, dropping it on the bed.
The room was pretty much the way he remembered it sixteen—wait, it was more like seventeen or eighteen—years ago, when they’d come to visit one summer. It was old-fashioned and welcoming. Log walls, flannel and lace curtains, a braided rug against the wooden floor and a quilt thrown over the bed.
He picked up her suitcase again. “It’s still nice.”
Merrilee smiled. “You’re a sweetie.” She walked next door and he followed with the luggage. “And here you are, Delphi. I hope you find it comfortable.”
“It’s lovely.” The expression on her face tugged at something undefined inside him, something he hadn’t even known was there. It was as if she found the room comforting.
He noticed a door in the wall. Closed and locked now, it connected their rooms.
This was working out well enough. He couldn’t have requested a better setup.
* * *
DELPHI PATTED HER FACE dry and quickly touched up her makeup, which was minimal anyway. She’d traded her travel clothes for a pair of casual black slacks and a nylon/spandex top. She’d probably be overdressed but she wasn’t comfortable showing up at the clinic in jeans, at least not the first time.
She gazed longingly at the claw-foot tub. It practically begged for a long soak with bath salts and bubbles, her leaning against Lars’s chest, nestled between his thighs, his kisses against her neck, his hands on her—
No, no and no. There, it was living proof that he was trouble. She’d met him on the plane, he’d carried up her suitcases...and she was already fantasizing about an erotic bath experience with him. She’d never experienced this kind of chemistry—the heat, the anticipation she felt around him.
Work. She needed to focus on work. She was here for R&R—résumé and reputation repair.
Gathering her stuff, she opened the bathroom door. Lars stood leaning casually against the wall outside, his shaving kit tucked under one arm. A guilty flush engulfed her face but she reassured herself he had no way of knowing she’d just been thinking about sharing some naughty tub time with him.
“Oh,” she said. She felt breathless, flustered. “It’s all yours.”
She stepped into the dimly lit passageway and stopped when she was even with him. There was no reason in the world that she couldn’t just keep moving. There was room to pass. Her bedroom was four, maybe five steps away. Her brain said go. Her body said stay.
The smoldering heat in his eyes rooted her. His warmth, his energy tugged at her like an invisible cord.
“I wasn’t sure if I wanted a hot shower,” he said, “or a hot meal first. The shower won out.” Would you like to scrub my back?
“The tub is great. Well, it looks great.” I was thinking about you.
“Sweet.” His glance dropped to her lips and it was almost as if she could feel him touching her, tracing the curve of her mouth.
“You look nice,” he said. His low voice slid over her like a caress.
He looked dark and sexy, with stubble shadowing his jaw and those faint lines radiating from his eyes. Her breath seemed stuck in her throat, her feet glued to the floorboards. She must be more tired than she thought to be so shaken by a compliment. She found her voice, if not the full measure of her wits. “Thanks.”
He shifted slightly on his feet, pushing away from the wall. Her heart pounded against her ribs and she curled her fingers into her palm. Tension, anticipation, desire thickened the air and flowed through her. She swayed slightly.
Lars raised his hand, reaching for her. It was a measured, controlled movement that matched the look in his eyes, part question, part challenge. He had signaled his intent. Now it was her move. He gave her time to advance, retreat or stand her ground. She stood.
Her heart thunking against her ribs