You're Still the One (17 page)

              The thin beige shower curtain clung to her body like plastic wrap, revealing the vague impression of a nipple, the flare of a hip, the slope of a lean thigh. This mouth went dry.

              Apprehension flashed across her features, and she reached up to turn off the shower. In the ensuing quiet, she said, "Tell me."

              "When I came up, there was a man standing in front of your door."

              Her body went rigid. "A man?"

              "A short, bald man." He crossed his arms against the urge to gather her to him when her eyes widened with fear.

              "He was in here?"

              "I don't think so. I've checked your room and nothing looks disturbed. I think I interrupted him before he could get in."

              She gripped the curtain so tight it strained at the shower rings. "I thought that guy was in front of us. You've been watching for his car ever since we left home. Where did he come from?"

              "I wish I knew," he said, thinking it probably wouldn't hurt if he just touched her cheek.

              She was fine, he told himself. He didn't need to put his hands on her. Hurting with the effort, he turned away.

              "Rick?" Her voice trembled slightly.

              That was to be expected. He'd burst in and scared her to death. "I'm an idiot. I'm sorry I scared you. I saw that car and went down to check it out. Which gave Ape Boy a perfect opportunity."

              "How could you know he'd come up here?" she asked. He heard the slide and click of shower curtain rings, felt her move behind him.

              "He's never approached us before. If he's the one who put that bug in my house, he did it while I was gone." She sounded close.

              He turned, saw she stool only a foot away. She wore that same berry-red gown she'd worn last night at his house. Hunger twisted in his belly. He ached to pull her to him, slide his hands over flesh that was probably still warm and damp from her shower, feel her heart beating next to his.

              She must've read something in his face. Moving to the bed, she reached into the small suitcase that lay open on top and pulled out a robe to match the gown, belting it around her slender waist.

              The satin clung to her in all the places he was trying to avoid looking.

              "Why didn't you use all those locks?" he growled, packing to the far side of the room. He had to put some distance between them before he touched her.

              "I wouldn't locked them all before I went to bed," she said defensively. "Besides, you should be glad I didn't. Otherwise you couldn't have charged in here like the Lone Ranger."

              He braced his hands on his hips, staring blankly at a bland pastel watercolor on the wall. His pulse still wheeled; his heart still pounded in his throat. "I thought - I saw him standing in front of your door. I couldn't tell if he'd been in here or not. As soon as he saw me, he took off."

              "Did you catch him?"

              He turned. "I wanted to check on you first."

              Her eyes went liquid, which flashed an immediate danger signal to his brain. But his body was deaf to all except the flirty soap scent of her, the sleek curves silhouetted in red satin.

              Frustration and lingering panic had his hands curling into fists. He would not do something stupid like haul her to him and kiss her until he drowned in her. "The night manager said he saw someone run out of the hotel about that time. I'll call him in a few minutes."

              He moved around her and prowled the room, cataloguing details. Her shoes were placed beside the closet. Her travel bag, full of neatly arranged cosmetics and a hair dryer, lay open next to the small suitcase on the bed. The comforter, done in a southwest motif, showed a small indentation where she'd sat. Nothing had been disturbed.

              At the foot of the bed, he stopped and bent his head. What if something had happened to her? He would never have forgiven himself. How, when had Henderson's goon found their trail again? "He won't come back, Katie. He won't want us to get another look at him and he knows we'll be waiting."

              "Rick?" Her palm flattened against the small of his back as she stepped beside him. "I'm okay. Really."

              "No thanks to me."

              "There's no way you could've known that guy would show up." She came around to face him. "We thought he headed out of Winfield after Grace and Tommy. Maybe he lost them. Or maybe he planned to follow only us all along. We've been watching. There's been no sign of him or anyone else."

              Words welled up, apologies, pleas. He tried to rein in his seething emotions. "I won't let anything happen to you, Katie."

              "I know that." Her gaze buried into his like smoky sapphires. "I've always known that."

              There was such confidence in her eyes, such trust. Something dark and sharp twisted deep inside him. "You're really okay?"

              "Yes." Her gaze drifted over his face; she smiled.

              He couldn't help it. He reached out, stroked one finger down her velvety cheek. It surprised him to see that his hand was shaking. She was alive and fine.

              She caught his hand, held it in both of hers. But it wasn't enough.

              He didn't give a damn if he was an idiot. He had to feel her, all of her. Soft and sleek and warm up against him.

              He slid his free arm around her, pulled her to him. And just held her. Breathed in her freshly showered scent, savored the cool wetness of her hair against his cheek, felt her heartbeat thudding against his.

              He closed his eyes, emotions he'd corralled so tightly pushing at his weakening restraint. "I'm staying in here tonight," he said gruffly.

              She pulled back to look at him, and he thought he saw a flicker of panic. "You don't have to. I'm fine."

              "I'm not letting you out of my sight until this thing is wrapped up."

              She still held his hand cradled in both of hers, pressed between her breasts. Her gaze, uncertain and dark, searched his face. For a minute, he thought she might argue.

              Then she smiled, a sweet, teasing smile. "Okay, but you're not getting the bed."

              He grinned even as his arm tightened around her. After a moment, she laid her head on his chest again, relaxing into him.

              She was really all right. And she would continue to be, he told himself. No matter what he had to do.

              His reflection stared back at him from a gold-framed wall mirror set over the room's desk. It wasn't just that he wanted her; it was that he still felt something for her. There was no denying the paralyzing panic hat had squeezed his chest when he'd thought something had happened to her. And it told him that all the emotions he'd dismissed and stuffed into a tight corner of his heart had now erupted. Not just searing lust, but fear and need and regret.

              He didn't think he could let her walk away this time. And he had no idea in hell if he had the guts to give her the one thing that might stop her - his heart.

              An hour later, Katie lay on her side in bed, staring into the darkness with her back to Rick. She could hear him breathing, smell the woodsy hint of him. And while it reassured her to have him stretched out in that overstuffed chair at the foot of the bed, her nerves flickered like tiny, secret flames.

              She'd been frightened earlier, that split second when he'd burst into her room and then again for a moment when he'd told her about Henderson's man outside her room. That man could very well have been the one to run Grace off the road. He had been spotted at Billy Edwards' before the murder.             

              Even so, right now she felt perfectly safe. Rick had said he would never let anything happen to her, and she believed him completely. What had her stomach dancing was what she wanted to happen...with him.

              After missing Grace this morning in Winfield, Katie had known it was a double-edged sword that her time with Rick had been prolonged. As difficult as it was to be near him, she was glad for the extra time. And because of that, an urgency pushed at her, tried to wash over her conscience.

              He'd told her where he stood, where they stood, but she wanted him. It was as simple and as complicated as that.

              After seeing the panic in his eyes turn to relief when he'd found she was all right, she knew he still felt something for her. Things weren't really over between them. They couldn't be. Not when just the thought of leaving him again blasted a cold in her that made it nearly impossible to breathe. She would do whatever it took to keep him in her life this time.

              She'd been kidding about taking the whole bed, but he'd firmly declined her offer to share. He spent several long minutes on the phone with the night manager and then the local police to report the incident. He'd given them a description of the man and the car and asked them to be on the lookout.

              After pulling the wide overstuffed chair to the foot of her bed, he'd slouched down where he would have a full visual of the door in case anyone tried to come in. Beside him, on a round, glass-topped table, lay his gun.

              She didn't have to turn over to know that he was finally asleep. She heard his breathing go deep and even, felt the subtle shift in her pulse from steady to standby. His familiar scent clung to her from their earlier embrace and plucked at the tension ticking against her nerves.

              Each breath she took pushed her breasts against the satin of her gown and made her long to feel his hands there. An insistent ache built between her legs.

              When he'd burst in on her in the shower, she'd seen something more than concern in his face, something she couldn't dismiss. Vulnerability and need, the same need that whispered through her. She couldn't forget it. Certainly couldn't sleep.

              Every time she closed her eyes, she saw his go dark with relief upon seeing that she was all right, recalled how the hunger in the black depths had quickly cooled with caution.

              Rolling to her other side, she studied his shadowed silhouette. Small silvers of light peeked around the ends of the curtains. His dark head tipped back on the chair; his chest rose and fell steadily. He angled into the chair, which was almost too narrow for his broad shoulders.

              An invisible cord seemed to connect the pulse in her throat to the soft throb between her legs. Her skin tingled; a fine heat inched under her skin, urging, promising.

              She couldn't forget that hunger in his eyes, couldn't forget the way he'd simply held her as if he would never let her go.

              She pushed back the covers, slipped out of bed and walked to him, her toes bumping against his boots. One touch. That was all she wanted. He'd made it clear where they stood, where he wanted things to stop. She wanted to touch him while he slept, just once without seeing that wariness in his eyes, being reminded of the line he'd drawn between them at the creek.

              Hazy light filtered over him, defining a slash of brow, the carved cheekbones, the angled plane of his jaw. Lips that could be both generous and cruel.

              She'd walked away from him, broken his trust.

              She swallowed against the ache in her throat. Imagined having the freedom to touch him as she wanted, her hands curving over his shoulders, sliding across the buckled muscles of his abdomen, kissing him and having him kiss her back with no thought to the past or anything except the white fire that had always been between them.

              How she'd wanted to kiss him earlier when he'd taken her in his arms and simply held her. She'd come close to doing just that, nearly pressing a kiss to the underside of his jaw, but she hadn't. Now she wished she had, wished she had risked him pushing her away again.

              They were here, they were together. In the silent darkness, Katie wanted to believe they could stay that way. She wanted him to believe it. To believe in her again. With a shaking hand, she reached out to stroke his thick, raven hair.

              She never saw him move. Strong fingers clamped around her wrist, tugged hard. She cried out and tumbled onto his lap, against his hard, deep chest. She stared into eyes black and sultry enough to tempt a man-hater. Katie didn't stand a chance.

              "What are you doing?"

              His breath washed against her lips. Her pulse skipped into a harsh staccato.

              Her legs dangled over the edge of the chair. Her hip was wedged into the V of his thighs. Licking suddenly dry lips, she stared into his eyes, mesmerized. "I was just...touching you."

              His eyes narrowed slightly. "It's not a good idea to sneak up on me."

              His neat surrounded her. Had her body ever tingled like this, from her scalp to her toes? "I thought you were asleep."