watched her twist her own fingers together, then smooth them over her gown, clenching the fabric. He knew she was resisting the urge to pull her hands up to cover her breasts. She didn’t want him to see her awareness.
Impossible. He didn’t know her name, but he knew a whole lot about her, just the same. She was beautiful. She was intoxicating. She was exciting. She wanted him.
Really, what more did a man need to know?
Besides, she wasn’t indecent, not at all. Her nightgown was thin, but not transparent. He’d seen plenty of women in dresses that covered less. So, no, it wasn’t her apparel that made the situation so damned provocative.
It was the heat in what should have been a cold room. The awareness between two strangers. The purely physical reaction that made it tough to think, tough to breathe. Neither of them was doing a good job at hiding that physical reaction. Her, with the goose bumps on her exposed skin, the pointed tips of her nipples against her silk gown making his mouth water. Him, wondering if he was going to burst the seam of his pants.
“Don’t tell me,” he finally said, respecting her unspoken wish to slow things down. “You’re a movie star, stopping at the inn on the way to your next film location.”
He earned a slight laugh. “Not by a long shot. Though, we do have a couple of old-time movie stars staying with us this weekend. At least, that’s who they say they are.”
He nodded, not surprised. The cast of characters widened…how creative of Mick to bring Hollywood into the mystery. Putting his curiosity about the other players in this game aside, he continued to speculate on this particular one. “So, are you a bride on her wedding night, with a jealous husband about to burst through that door?”
She shook her head.
“A woman being gaslighted by some wicked man and a maid?”
“Uh-uh.”
He thought about it, wondering what other possible scenarios his cousin might have come up with for his cast of characters. “Please tell me you’re not a Rapunzel type who’s eventually going to need rescuing from a high tower. Because heights and I don’t like each other very much.”
She laughed softly. “I’m just a simple innkeeper.”
“Ahh.” He reached out and touched her hair, picking up one long, curly gold tendril. Then he smiled, thinking of one of his favorite Charlie Brown movies from his childhood. “Do innkeeper’s wives have naturally curly hair?”
She didn’t react to the joke, didn’t even seem to have heard him. Her eyelids fluttered, then closed.
God, this was getting intense again. He dropped his hand.
When she opened her eyes, instead of answering his teasing question, she focused on the wife part. “I’m not married.”
“Me neither. Not even involved.”
She murmured something that sounded like good.
“So, what’s your name? Why are you here?” she asked.
“The name’s easy.” He almost gave himself away by laughing as he attempted a James Bond accent. Connery, of course—the classic Bond. Moore had been a caricature, Brosnan was merely okay. And he couldn’t even remember the name of that other guy. “The name is Stone. Miles Stone.”
She didn’t even seem to notice the hideously bad joke his cousin had foisted on him with the name: milestone.
“I’m Gwen Compton.”
He gave her a half smile. “Nice to meet you, Gwen.”
Her lips curled up at the corners and her amber eyes twinkled in the muted light. “It’s nice to be met.”
Though Jared Winchester—the private, introspective author—would probably have then propelled the conversation along more normal lines, he decided to keep playing the game. He’d use this mystery scenario to be more outrageous, more provocative than he might normally be with a woman he’d just met.
Miles Stone answered, not Jared Winchester. “As for the second part of your question…what am I doing here?”
He stepped close again, until he felt her calf brushing against his pants. She licked her lips, but didn’t step away.
“Yes?”
He reached up and touched her throat, sliding his finger up to caress her earlobe as he leaned closer, until their mouths were a breath apart. Then he filled that miniscule space with a whisper. “I’m afraid if I told you that, I’d have to kill you.”
3
IF I TOLD YOU THATI’d have to kiss you.
Only, he hadn’t said kiss, had he? No, surely he’d said kill. But Gwen didn’t care. Kiss was what flashed in her mind. Kiss was what echoed in her brain, tempting her to be outrageous. A kiss might be daring enough to test that sexiness, that womanliness, that had eluded her since her failed engagement.
So, kiss she did. When the possible ax murderer who’d just threatened her life leaned close until their breaths mingled, she grabbed his face and proceeded to kiss the lips off him.
Of course, she’d known he was joking with the killing part. In spite of the aura of danger, she’d felt sure from the moment they’d started speaking that he was no threat to her. At least not physically. Mentally? Well, in that respect, she wasn’t so sure. Her libido had been on high alert all night. An unusual occurrence for a woman who hadn’t had sex in over a year.
But she was entitled. She hadn’t done a single daring thing today. Besides, it wasn’t like she was getting engaged to a cheating bastard—again. She was just stealing a kiss. One kiss.
Twining her fingers in his hair, she tugged him closer until their lips could meet fully. He tasted dangerous and delicious. She didn’t get too serious, just slid her lips against his, letting them part the tiniest bit, but no further. His body was close, a thin aura of awareness the only thing separating them. He made no effort to pull her tighter, letting her take what she wanted.
So she took. Without thought, without common sense, with only a bit of Halloween-and-moonlight-inspired madness.
Finally, after what could have been five seconds or five minutes, she pulled her mouth away. She felt no embarrassment. She’d kissed a stranger. Not a big deal in the scheme of things, right? She hadn’t robbed a bank, or fled from the police or been around during a shootout. Unlike some members of her family.
“Okay,” she said with a soft sigh.
“Okay?” he asked, looking surprised—but not displeased.
“Yes. That was my one impulsive act for the day.”
“That was it, huh?”
She nodded. “Yep. One a day’s my quota.”
He frowned. “Too bad.” Reaching up, he traced the line of her jaw with the tip of his finger. “But, you know, it’s only an hour until midnight. Wanna stick around and see
