When Twilight Comes - By B. J. Daniels Page 0,16
herself, but now she was scared again. She rubbed the back of her neck, unable to throw off the memory of that cold draft, and Fred’s odd behavior.
But it wasn’t just the cold. Or the cat. It was the feeling of being watched.
She stared down at the tubful of steamy water and glistening bubbles, smelled the almond-scented bubble bath and yearned to sink into it.
“You aren’t going to keep me from this bath,” she said to the empty room, then directed a challenging glare at the tile bench.
Still, she disrobed hurriedly, stepping in and sliding down into the hot water until all but her head was under the bubbles. Her gaze went to the corner of the window seat again as she tried to assure herself that she was alone in the bathroom, that no one was sitting in the corner, watching her.
HARRY BALLANTINE SAT ON the tile bench, idly watching the woman through the steam.
The cat had sensed him. He wasn’t sure what to make of that, any more than he was sure why he was here, in this room, with this woman.
The cat had spooked her. But she was no more aware of him than before, he thought with a disappointment he should have gotten over years ago.
She didn’t know he was here. No one did.
Except maybe the cat. But who could tell with cats? They reacted to all kinds of things that weren’t there.
Harry studied the woman.
He’d always been good at sizing up people. Had to be in his former line of work. He had been able to tell a lot by the way they dressed, their body language, their actions, the way they talked.
But his skills were rusty from lack of use.
She glanced toward him again, her big brown eyes dark and a little afraid.
What is your story?
Earlier, he’d watched her search the suite three times. Who did she think she was going to find here? Harry couldn’t help but wonder what monsters she feared were hiding in the closet, waiting for her to turn out the light.
She was running from something. Someone. He’d bet everything he had on that. If he had anything to bet.
She was humming softly to herself now. Probably her version of whistling in the dark, since it was a child’s song she was humming.
He’d seen the way she was with her daughter, love shining in her eyes whenever she looked at the child. He’d felt something like loss as he’d watched her. He couldn’t remember his mother ever looking at him like that.
Not that she’d been mean to him. She hadn’t. She’d just been too busy cooking, cleaning and taking care of nine kids, along with working in the fields with his father.
Jenna moved on to Broadway show tunes. He smiled, watching her hum away, her breath making the soap bubbles glide across the water’s surface like tiny white sailboats.
He could see she was beginning to relax. Steam rose off the water, making her dark hair curl around her face. She brushed it back from her cheek.
She was pretty with her hair wet, her face bathed in steam. Her eyes were a different brown. He tried to think of the color as she blew out a breath and sent more bubbles scooting across the water.
He wondered what kind of trouble she’d gotten herself into. And why he felt so strongly drawn to her.
Harry slid off the seat and moved to the side of the tub. Steam rose from the hot water. She looked soft and lush in all that warmth, her head tilted back against the white porcelain, eyes closed, her dark hair wet and slick, falling like a waterfall down the side of the tub.
He couldn’t help himself. She looked so young, so appealing, so vulnerable. Her skin was fair, dotted with a faint sprinkling of golden freckles across her cheekbones. He brushed his fingers over her warm, wet cheek, trailing them like falling stars. He’d forgotten what warm skin felt like.
Her whole body went rigid, her brown eyes widening.
He touched a finger to her full lips to see if they were as soft as they looked.
She jerked up into a sitting position, her breasts bobbing above the bubbles, full and round, the peaks dark and dripping wet.
She had felt his touch!
He quickly stepped back as she looked in his direction, even though he knew she couldn’t see him.
Her pulse throbbed in her slim throat. Her eyes were wide and dark, reminding him of a thunderstorm. She pressed a hand