hygiene schedule.
She had just gone into the bathroom when she heard a knock. Being close to the booming sound, she jumped and gasped. Never in her life had the simple act of taking a bath caused her so much anxiety. She stood there naked, her nerves raw, one step away from climbing into the ancient clawfoot tub. “What?” she asked, stress ripe in her tone.
“Are you about done?”
“No,” she said minimally, preferring not to give him a mental picture of her nudity. “It’ll be at least fifteen minutes.”
A pause, then, “Would you mind if I came in and got my electric shaver?”
“I would mind very much. I’m not—decent.”
A moment passed before he responded, then, “Could you get decent? It’ll just take a second.”
Her impatience rose. “We’re going to have to work out a schedule so this doesn’t keep happening,” she shouted.
“Good idea,” he said. “So, is that a yes or a no?”
“A yes or a no about what?”
“About coming in?”
This guy’s pushiness was enough to give any sane person the screaming meemies. She wanted to tell him exactly where he could go, with her blessing, but decided not to fight it. He’d only keep knocking and harping on about his dratted shaving kit until he got his way. Heaving a groan, she called, “Just a second.” She unlocked the door that led to his bedroom, then stepped into the tub and drew the plastic curtain around her. “Okay, come in and get it over!”
“Thanks.” His door opened. “I appreciate it.”
“Whatever! Just hurry.” As she wrapped herself more securely in her green, plastic cocoon, she looked at him and her eyes went wide. “You’re not decent!”
He was about to retrieve his shaving gear from a drawer under the sink when she spoke. He stilled and glanced in her direction. “The hell I’m not.” He straightened and spread his arms, displaying his bare upper torso, which, she was sorry to notice, showed off fantastic pectorals and a shamelessly trim and sexy stomach. His hip area was covered, barely, by a towel that started too far below his navel and ended provocatively high on the thighs. Roth Jerric had a decidedly cruel streak.
“Okay, you’re minutely decent,” she said grimly.
His forehead crinkled as though he’d been slapped. “For the record, Miss Hudson, men have a particular aversion to being alluded to as minute.”
“Your glaring male insecurities are not my problem, Mr. Jerric.” She freed an arm to indicate his “minute” attire. “What is that thing, a hankie?”
“Funny.” He gave the shower curtain she’d wrapped herself up in a slow perusal. “Now I have a question for you.” When he returned his attention to her face he watched her with eyes that missed nothing and revealed less. “You’re wrapped in plastic.”
“That’s not a question.”
“Okay. Let’s try this.” He indicated her with flick of his hand. “That’s your idea of getting decent?”
“At least I’m covered.”
“Yes.” He nodded. “You are.” He crossed his arms with languid, muscled grace she wished she could dismiss without a foolish increase in her heart rate. “There’s one flaw in your fashion statement, however.”
“Really?” She clutched the curtain more tightly around her, hating being put on the defensive, especially by a man who thought of her as inferior. “What might that be?”
“I can see through the blasted thing,” he said. “Am I making myself as clear as you are?”
Her poor overstimulated brain took an extra tick to grasp the truth. He could see through the plastic? “Oh—my—Lord!” She staggered away from the curtain, spun around and hugged the cold wall tile. “Get out!”
“One second.” She heard a drawer open and close. “Give me a knock when you’re through.”
“Get out!” she shrieked. She would never be able to look the man in the face again. Though it had to have been only a couple of seconds, it seemed like forever before his door closed with a solid thud. Quivery and shamed, she sank down and huddled in the depths of the cold iron tub. Drawing up her knees, she hugged them. How could she have been such a dimwit, wrapping herself in plastic like a piece of beef? Didn’t she know better?
Or was there something cunningly sinister about Roth Jerric that caused female brains to short out when he came into a room? Whichever it was, it didn’t alter the fact that she was embarrassed to the marrow of her bones. This fiasco was almost on a par with being labeled mediocre. After a moment’s reflection she shook her head. “No, this is worse, Hannah,” she muttered. “Now he thinks you’re an idiot.”
Hannah’s vow of avoiding Roth at all costs was struck another blow at breakfast, when she discovered she would be sitting elbow to elbow with the man. At least she wouldn’t have to look at him. She could eat, keep her mouth shut and let Joan Peterson, Roth and the inn’s one other guest keep the conversation flowing. Her plan was to remain mute, eat as quickly as possible and promptly escape.
She took her assigned seat and focused across the table at the dour-faced, female artist-type. She nodded a hello. The middle-aged woman eyed her without responding. Not a good sign. Please let this stranger be a babbler, she prayed, staring hopefully at the woman with long salt-and-pepper hair, pulled away from her thin face by a tie-dyed scarf. Or was it a paint rag? She wore a paint-spattered T-shirt and no bra. Though Hannah couldn’t see her lower half, she guessed she had on jeans decorated with the same random splatters of paint. What did she do, throw her oils at canvases?
Hannah had a bad feeling that the artist wasn’t much of a talker. On the upside, she knew Joan to be an avid conversationalist. They’d met online in a chat room. It had been a time when Hannah had felt terribly vulnerable, right after her resignation. She’d needed to pour out her heart, and an anonymous online chat room seemed like as good a place as any.
Their fortuitous meeting and acquaintanceship had blossomed into an online friendship, resulting in Hannah winning this free stay. In all honesty, she had doubts that this trip was an actual “win” in any real contest. She sensed it was more like a good deed. She’d gotten to know Joan well enough to know she was extremely kindhearted and caring.
Whatever the catalyst, the “prize” came in the mail in the form of a coupon to be redeemed “in person” at the Blue Moon Inn. At the time Hannah had been so unhappy, how could she refuse a free, two-week stay on Oklahoma’s most beautiful lake? It was a dream come true.
She sighed wistfully. If only Roth Jerric had gone anyplace else in the world for his vacation, it would have been perfect. He could afford anyplace in the world, she grumbled mentally. She reached for the coffee carafe at the same instant Roth did. Their hands touched. She felt a shock and an odd disorientation. “Excuse me,” she mumbled, withdrawing her hand.
“No problem.” He lifted the coffee and poured her a cup. “Cream?” he asked, as he gave himself a cup and passed the carafe to Mrs. Peterson, who had just seated herself.
Hannah
