window. She hummed thoughtfully under her breath. “That was not the impression I got.”
Her silly heart did a cartwheel. “Oh?”
“There was definitely something else at work there,” Trudy said consideringly. “His eyes seemed magnetized to your body…as were his hands. He did a thorough search.”
Heat flared in her belly and her head whipped around to where Trudy sat. “What?”
“Not to worry,” Trudy chuckled. “He didn’t molest you…but I wouldn’t mind him checking me over for broken bones.” She gave a misty sigh. “It was very romantic.”
So he’d felt her up and she didn’t even have the pleasure of remembering it? Faith thought, unreasonably disappointed. Well, wasn’t that just par for the course? A great-looking guy had his hands all over her, swept her into his arms and carried her to safety—a truly heroic moment, probably the only one she’d ever have in her life—and she had absolutely no recall of it whatsoever.
Damn.
Trudy slid her a sly glance. “He wasn’t the only one who seemed intrigued. You, for instance, couldn’t keep your eyes off him.”
Faith knew she should offer some token protest, but couldn’t muster the effort. What was the point? Her gaze had been glued to him like flypaper, as the rest of her would have been if she’d let herself. She’d been utterly fascinated by him. Hadn’t been able to help herself. She shot her friend a slightly embarrassed look. “I know,” she admitted. “But doesn’t he remind you of someone?”
Surely she wasn’t the only one who saw it, Faith thought. The resemblance was so strong that anyone who was familiar with her work should be able to spot it. Trudy most definitely should.
Her friend seemed to consider the question for a moment, then to Faith’s astonishment, she shook her head. “No, I can’t say that he does.”
“Think, Trudy,” Faith pressed, rolling over onto her side. “Black hair, blue eyes, scar at the temple. Sound familiar?”
Trudy gave her a blank look. “Should it?”
Annoyed, she sat up. Good grief. Trudy critiqued for her, proofread. How could she not know? “Yes,” Faith said, thoroughly exasperated.
Trudy offered a small shrug. “Sorry, honey. I’m lost.”
If she wasn’t reading her books any closer than that, she might be fired, Faith thought ominously. “Trudy,” she said with exaggerated patience. “He looks like Nash.”
Trudy’s perplexed expression was not comforting. “Nash?”
“Yes, Nash.”
She gave her head a small shake. “No, he doesn’t.”
“Yes, he does,” Faith insisted. “Black hair, blue eyes, and the scar. He’s tall, dark and handsome. He’s Nash,” she insisted.
“Well, he’s not how I pictured Nash,” Trudy said skeptically. “Not how I pictured him at all.”
Faith blinked. “He’s not?”
“No.” She chuckled under her breath, cocked her head and assessed her with an annoyingly shrewd gleam that made Faith want to alternately scream and squirm. “But it’s funny that you think he does, isn’t it?”
Funny? Faith thought. No, it was many things…but funny wasn’t one of them. Disconcerting, unsettling, angst-inspiring, a wee bit thrilling and possibly disastrous. But funny?
Nuh-uh.
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