black cotton stockings. More water poured from a couple of those thin corset cover things women wore that always took forever for his big hands to unbutton.
Staring up, he moved to the center of the room. A pair of white lacy bloomers dropped on the floor in front of him like a sodden flag of surrender.
"Nellibelle?"
A muffled call for help came from deeper inside the apartment. He looked around, then crossed room. "Where the hell are you?" He looked around the corner, but then heard something behind him and spun around.
That oak cabinet with the stupid and useless bed shuddered like it was alive. A voice came from deep inside it. "Help! Help!"
Swearing, he crossed the room and jerked open the doors. The bed fell forward so fast he had to jump backward so it didn't hit him.
It banged against the watery floor with a loud crashing splat. Nellibelle bounced up off the mattress with a shriek. Her tangled mass of wet hair flew outward; it looked like floating black spaghetti.
Momentum made the front legs of the bed frame collapse.
Before he could move, she hit the slumping bed again and rolled down the mattress, landing on the wooden floor with a hard wet thud that made him wince.
He moved to her side and hunkered down. "Are you all right?" He reached out tentatively and touched her shoulder.
She shifted slightly.
He heard a choking sound. "Nell? Uh . . . Eleanor? Are you crying?"
"Yeeeeeessssssss!" she wailed all curled up in a pitiful wet ball.
He scooped her into his arms, and water dripped down to his hands and onto the soaked floor. He held her tightly against his chest, and she turned into him as if she were trying to hide, sobbing the whole time.
He patted her back a little tentatively. "Don't cry. Okay?"
She cried harder, then slid her damp arms around his neck. She buried her head against him.
He could feel her, every soft feminine inch of her. He had to remind himself just who he was holding in his arms. He looked down at her and saw nothing but a small woman with a mass of hair that hung past her butt. Her bare feet poked out of the hem of her nightgown. They were pink and narrow and looked as soft as she felt. He studied the back of her head, then spoke to it because he couldn't see her face. "Tell me where it hurts."
"All over." Her words were muffled against his shoulder and neck.
He rubbed her back with one hand, making soothing circles to stop her pitiful crying. "If I'm going to help you, then I need you to be more specific."
"Okay." It was barely a whisper. She said nothing more, just hiccuped against him as she tried to catch her breath.
"Please. Tell me, sweetheart. What hurts the most?"
The silence dragged on. Finally he felt her take a deep quivering breath, then she muttered, "My pride." She tightened her arms around him and began to cry all over again.
Eleanor's pride was still smarting a few hours later. She was wearing a huge flannel nightshirt with sleeves that came to her knees and sitting on the most dangerous place she could think of—Conn Donoughue's bed.
Bed. The word was enough to make her want to crawl in a hole and never come out. The bed was what go her into this mess. Trapped in a bed cabinet. She wanted to bury her head in her hands in horror. She was so foolish, especially around him. What a goose! All that silly crying. Whenever she was around him, she was not herself. The trouble with love was it made you different; it made you act in the most irrational ways.
Love was a lot like the winter weather. It came at the worst time and made your life as difficult as possible. Like the way snow and ice always fell, then melted. There was no reason why, it just did. Love just smacked you right in the face for no logical reason at all. You could ask yourself why forever, but that didn't change the fact that you loved the person you were destined to love.
Conn Donoughue….
To make the whole thing even worse, he had been really kind to her. A perfect gentleman. Completely out of character.
She drew his brush through her hair with hard quick strokes that hurt, a handy way of punishing herself. Her scalp was tingling. She kept brushing through her long straight hair, more out of nervousness than