As if she had been up all night, enjoying wickedly carnal sex…
She headed for the shower. Maybe after that she would feel revived enough to manage some food.
Or was she pathetically desperate to go to bed? To dream?
The water was deliciously hot, and she stood under it for a very long time. Emerging in a state that could only be described as squeaky clean, she crawled into her nightgown, turned on the television and realized ruefully that it was all of eight-thirty. She was going to bed very early. Pathetically early.
The better to dream, my dear.
No wonder Brad thought she needed to get a life. And in fact, she agreed with him. Right after this dig.
Right after she came to terms with this house and Matt’s death.
She wandered over to the window to look out onto the street.
Her heart seemed to stutter to a halt.
He was there again.
Matt?
No, that was impossible.
But there was a man standing beneath the streetlight.
Surely she was imagining him; her eyes must be playing tricks.
No. He was there.
She wasn’t going to lose him this time.
She pushed away from the window as if she were a swimmer gaining impetus for a lap and went flying across the room, grabbing her robe in passing and flinging it on as she raced down the stairs. She hurried to the door, looking through the peephole as she fumbled with the alarm and the lock.
Dismay filled her heart. He was gone.
She threw the door open, ready to race out into the street, anyway.
Instead, she slammed against something rock hard. Flesh and blood. A wall of muscle. She looked up.
Matt!
No, this man was real. Breathing. Hot. Vital. Alive.
“Matt?” She couldn’t keep from whispering the name.
“Not exactly,” the man said.
Matt’s voice. Matt’s arms reaching out to steady her as she tried to speak. Opened her mouth.
Passed out cold.
6
Shit.
The woman was slim, but even “slim” made for considerable dead weight in Joe’s arms. He lifted her, hoping she had disarmed the alarm so that a dozen cops wouldn’t come bearing down on him any second.
Thankfully, there was lots of light as he carried her into the foyer. He strode straight to the daybed that flanked one wall and set her down on it. Luckily he’d been in the house before, when he’d come himself to examine the scene of the explosion, so he knew his way around. Once he’d set her down, he headed straight for the kitchen and a damp towel. A quick examination of the cupboards produced no sign of anything remotely alcoholic, so he poured a glass of water and hurried back with that and the towel. He knew he stood no chance of finding an ammonia pellet, so he hoped it was just the shock of seeing him that had made her faint, and that she would spring back quickly.
She did. Her face, beautiful and delicate, scrunched into a frown when the towel touched her forehead.
She opened her dazzling eyes wide as she stared at him, her sense of alarm returning. She braced her hands on the mattress as she strained away from him, her entire posture wary. “Matt?” she asked hesitantly, disbelievingly.
“Sorry, no,” he said as soothingly as he could. “I’m not Matt, I’m Joe. We never met, but maybe you’ve heard of me? I’m Joe Connolly, Matt’s cousin.”
He couldn’t identify the surge of emotion that washed through those glorious eyes as she stared at him. Finally a rueful smile curved her lips; rich, thick lashes fell over her eyes, and she managed a shaky laugh.
“My God. I’m so sorry. I’m not…I don’t usually run around passing out or…I’m sorry.” She produced a hand, and he took it. She had a firm grip. “I’m Leslie MacIntyre, and of course Matt talked about you all the time. I feel so foolish, but…the family resemblance is…amazing.”
“Not really,” he assured her. “Matt was…cuter,” he offered with a grin. “Seriously, he had lighter hair. My eyes are green, his were blue. But I guess…we were about the same height. Both built like my grandfather…good old Irish brawn, I suppose. I don’t think we were descended from the aristocracy. We were probably potato farmers.” He was talking too much, something he didn’t usually do, but she seemed in need of reassurance, no matter how quickly she appeared to be bouncing back.
At least she wasn’t pretending not to stare at him.
She smiled, looking rueful once again. “I really am sorry.”
“No, I’m sorry. I guess I forgot about the family resemblance. Matt and I never saw it much, anyway.” He stared back at her and grew serious. “A mutual friend, Robert Adair, told me you were staying here.”
“Did he? He might have warned me about you,” she said with a laugh.
“Well, he’s known me forever, knew Matt forever…he probably doesn’t really see the resemblance anymore.”
She nodded. “Well, it’s really great to meet you. At last.”