particular stray?”
She stirred. Puffed a little breath between her lips. Sighed. And settled more comfortably into the corner of the couch.
Sighing himself, he stalked back to the kitchen and yanked open the freezer in search of another steak. No point in deluding himself. She was there for the duration, whether or not he liked it.
But lest there be any doubt, he liked it not one bit and intended driving the message home to her as soon as she was alert enough to comprehend it—which, given her present comatose state, was unlikely to be anytime soon.
CHAPTER TWO
THE eerie sense that she was being watched—scrutinized with unblinking intent, in fact—penetrated the mists of sleep and lent an even greater edge of danger to the fitful dreams chasing her.
Jarring awake, she sat up too suddenly and took a moment to get her bearings. Leather warm and smooth as satin against her bare skin, a soft wool shawl caressing her shoulders, a tingling numbness creeping down her right leg. Her face touched by the heat from a fire whose flames danced in reflection on the wall of windows to her left. A framed painting above the mantelpiece, of majestic evergreens marching up a mountainside. Massive beams supporting a high ceiling. Music—a Chopin nocturne, she guessed—flowing from a sound system housed in an open cabinet made of some dark wood inlaid with ivory.
And in a tanned face of incomparable male beauty, cool watchful eyes the color of storm clouds, dissecting her, feature by feature.
He lounged in a chair on the opposite side of the granite hearth, an old-fashioned glass one-third full held negligently in one hand. He’d showered and changed since he admitted her to the house. His hair gleamed thick and black against his skull, and she detected a faint and pleasant whiff of aftershave. He wore a long-sleeved shirt almost the exact shade of his eyes, and black cargo pants.
Relaxed and casual, one might have been fooled into believing. Except there was nothing relaxed or casual in his unswerving observation, and she knew without a shadow of doubt that, had the need arisen, he’d have uncoiled out of that chair in a stunning blur of speed and power. He was part man, part machine; frighteningly intelligent, and terrifyingly detached.
“How long have I been asleep?” she asked him, her voice croaking from a throat grown dry and gritty.
“Close to an hour.”
“You should have woken me.”
“Why?”
“Because…” she said, then, unable to come up with a reason that didn’t sound either affected or downright silly, drifted into silence.
“I already told you once, ‘because’ isn’t a reason.”
She wished he’d divert that unnerving stare to some place other than her face. She felt like a butterfly pinned under a microscope. Helpless. At his complete mercy. “I guess I was tired.”
“I guess you were.” He shifted in the chair, glanced briefly at his glass, took a mouthful of whatever he was drinking, and resumed his inspection of her. “You’d like to tidy up,” he said, not in question but in command. “There’s a washroom to the right of the front door.”
Normally she’d have resented his tone but it had been hours since she’d been to the toilet and nature was calling with growing insistence. Wincing, she unfolded herself from the couch and slid to her feet, the pins and needles shooting up her right leg rendering it excruciatingly sensitive to the pressure.
“Cramps,” she offered, feeling some sort of explanation was called for as she took a lurching step forward.
“You mean you’ve got your period?” he inquired dispassionately. “Sorry, I don’t keep supplies like that on hand.”
She thought she’d die. Scarlet in the face and probably over every other inch of exposed skin as well, she groped her way to the end of the couch. “Cramps in my leg,” she stammered, beating as dignified a retreat as she could manage.
The washroom bore the same stamp of masculine opulence as the living area. Pristine white marble floor tiles, dark green porcelain fixtures, brass fittings and black hand towels. Above the sink, a large oval mirror revealed a map of creases down one side of her face and her hair mashed unflatteringly against her head from where she’d lain on it.
No wonder he’d been staring at her so fixedly. He probably hadn’t seen anything quite as unsightly since the last time he’d scraped a drunk off the sidewalk, back in the days when he cruised the streets in a patrol car.
She did the best she could with soap and water, but she’d left her bag in her car at the top of his driveway and much though she’d have loved to get her hands on her toothbrush and a comb, she wasn’t about to leave the house and risk not being allowed back in again. He’d just have to put up with her as she was.
“It took you long enough,” he informed her, when she reappeared. “Men can do what they have to do in half the time it takes a woman.”
“They also stand up to do it,” she snapped without thinking, and blushed again as he let out a rumble of laughter.
“Here,” he said, handing her a steaming mug. “Maybe this’ll warm you up and sweeten your mood.”
She sniffed the contents suspiciously. “What is it?”
“Hot rum and lemon with sugar. I just reheated it. Watch you don’t burn your mouth.”
“I don’t like rum.”
“And I don’t like strays coming down with pneumonia under my roof, so do as you’re told. You aren’t dressed for the kind of temperatures we get out here in the evening.”
“I’m not cold.”
He traced the tip of his finger over her bare arm. “Then why the goose bumps?”
Because you’re touching me, she thought, unable to control a shiver. “Reaction setting in after sleeping, I suppose. It’s not uncommon.”
“Maybe not, but I don’t want to take any chances.” He tucked the knitted shawl around her shoulders and nudged her toward the fire. “Sit on the hearth awhile and down the rum while I fix us some food. You eat red meat?”
“Would it make any difference if I said ‘no’?”
“Not a bit,” he replied cheerfully. “I’m having steak and a baked potato, with salad and mushrooms on the side. You can either join me or watch me.”
“Steak will be fine,” she told him, wondering what demon of perversity made her take issue with him when what she most wanted was to win his cooperation. “Thank you for inviting me to stay.”
He laughed again, unkindly this time. “As if I had any choice! Medium rare okay?”
“Perfect.”
The hot rum and lemon tasted remarkably pleasant and slid down her throat in a rich, syrupy stream, warming her as thoroughly within as the fire did on the outside. Beyond an open archway at the far end of the room, she could hear him moving around, clattering utensils and running water.
