what she slept in. She presumably wore a gown or pajamas of some kind, because of the kids. Sexy? Probably not, he had thought wryly, and made himself keep going, first to the bathroom, then the twin bed where his feet would hang off the end.
But at least he had the privacy of his own room. He hoped Lia didn’t accept another foster child until he was gone.
Tonight there had been a modest stirring of activity next door. A car had come and gone, the driver alone. He’d gone into the house and stayed for a good hour. This guy wasn’t one of the two who’d brought the crates or any of the three who seemed to be living in the house. But his face, too, was familiar.
Conall was still thinking about it as he came downstairs and quietly closed the attic door. This familiar was different. He’d met the man from the pickup truck, had seen him move, speak. He knew it, even though he hadn’t been able to nail down when or where. The wondering stuck with him like an itch.
He was confident he’d recognized this new visitor only from a photo. Depending on the operation, he looked at a hell of a lot of images. Face recognition software would find a match, he was willing to bet. His preoccupation took him safely past Lia’s bedroom door.
Nights weren’t hot yet, except in the attic where the air remained stuffy. He’d have liked a shower, but the noise of it running might wake someone. Instead, after brushing his teeth he stripped off his shirt and stuck his head under the faucet, scrubbed his underarms and ran the wet washcloth over his chest and as much of his back as he could reach, then toweled himself dry.
This time his feet came to a stop in the hall, refusing to carry him on to his bedroom. He stared at that dark opening.
Did Lia sleep with her hair braided or loose? Because of the way he and Henderson had broken down their shifts, Conall had yet to see her first thing in the morning. He had the stupid thought that right now he’d be satisfied if he could only get a look at her. Find out whether she slept with abandon or curled into a defensive ball. Wore a long-sleeved, floor-length flannel gown or a T-shirt that ended at mid-thigh. But he knew damn well he was lying to himself. His fantasies would grow more vivid once he could picture her accurately in bed.
He rasped a hand over his jaw, sighed and prodded himself into motion…at the exact moment her door opened silently and she stepped into the hall. He stopped but not quite in time. Lia walked right into him.
She gave a startled gasp. Conall gripped her shoulders—almost bare, oh damn, they felt delicate—and said quietly, “Shh, it’s me, Lia. Conall.”
Her “Oh” came out in a shocked exhalation. “What are you doing…?”
He bent his head so his mouth wasn’t far from her ear. “On my way to bed.”
“Oh,” she whispered again.
His hands, all on their own, slid up and down her arms. Bare arms. He was gently kneading, arousal having slammed into him. He’d been halfway already, thinking about her. Now her hair was tickling his face. It was braided, but strands had slipped loose. The scent was tart, lemon or lime. He’d seen her shampoo in the shower, imagined her naked with the water pouring over her body and her arms raised as she washed her hair.
His hands cupped the balls of her shoulders. A shiver ran over her. Her collarbones were fragile, the skin unbelievably soft. Only a camisole with tiny straps kept him from sliding his hands down to cover her breasts. God, he wanted to strip it off her. She stood very still, as if paralyzed. He could hear her breathing, quick, hard pants. He nuzzled her cheek and murmured, “Lia.”
“What…what are you doing?”
“Touching you,” he whispered. On impulse he dropped his hands to hers and lifted them to his own chest. “Touch me,” he said, near soundlessly. She jerked, and he realized she hadn’t known in the dark that his torso was bare. He pressed her hands flat against his chest and almost groaned from the pleasure.
He removed his hands from hers. For an instant she didn’t move at all and he was afraid she would back away. Then she stroked him, almost shyly, a timid exploration that made a groan rumble in his throat.
He wrapped