Guilt held her in the doorway; desire kept her watching him.
She knew he hadn’t slept much the night before and yet she’d insisted on a movie. Thoughtless. Going forward, she’d try not to do things like that. After weeks of concentrating only on herself and what she needed to survive, it would actually be nice to consider someone else for a change.
His disheveled, dark hair looked a little more mussed, as if he’d run a hand through it. With his inky lashes resting on high cheekbones, she couldn’t see the intensity of his light blue eyes, but she’d never forget them. Loosely, his hands rested over his firm abdomen, legs stretched out, his knees relaxed.
Deep inside her, a hot yearning unfurled and spread into every corner of her awareness. Breathing faster, she inched toward him...
Lazily, his voice deep, he said, “You’re not drawing me again, are you?”
Cat jumped. How had he known she was there? Hand to her heart, she accused, “Playing possum?”
He turned his head to see her, looked her over, then met her gaze.
“Better?” she asked.
After his own inspiring stretch, he sat forward. “At this point, nothing is going to be perfect. But yeah, at least you’re better covered.”
With her heart beating a little too fast, she stayed near the door. “Describe perfect?”
“Drab enough that I can keep my thoughts off inappropriate things.”
Happiness mixed with desire in a potent combination. “Thank you for admitting that you’re interested too.”
His level gaze never left hers. “I don’t recall ever denying it.”
No, he hadn’t. He’d just denied her. “I’m ready to keep my promises if you’re ready to go to bed.”
“I thought you wanted to watch a movie.”
She wanted him, but she’d take what she could get. “I’m sleepier than I realized.” And so was he. Holding out a hand, she said, “Come on. We’re both tuckered out.”
After the slightest of hesitations, Leese stood and took her hand, walking silently with her to the bedroom. Once inside, he released her and said, “I need ten minutes. Go ahead and get settled in. And, Cat?”
“Yes?”
“Don’t even think about trying to sneak off.”
Ha! All she could think about was cuddling up to Leese in that big comfy bed.
Deliberately, she patted back a yawn. “No worries. I’m too exhausted for shenanigans.”
He touched her cheek. “Good.” After running two fingers along a lock of her hair, he turned away and went into the connecting bathroom.
Cat released the breath she’d held. Heaven help her, behaving would be tough, especially when he was so gentle and attentive.
The shower came on, but she knew Leese wouldn’t linger. Leaving on only one small light, she turned back the covers on the bed, plumped the pillows, then crawled in.
Damn it, she felt like a virgin all over again and sex wasn’t even on the agenda.
But truth be told, the idea of sleeping up close and personal with Leese was more exciting than sex had been with other men. She thought about that kiss he’d given her earlier, and her toes curled.
She was a mass of taut nerves and anticipation when Leese stepped out of the bathroom wearing only his boxers.
Why hadn’t she left on more lights?
He set his neatly folded clothes on a chair. Put a gun and a few other things she didn’t recognize on the nightstand and, after turning off the bedside lamp, he got into bed.
The mattress dipped, making her body turn toward his, but she didn’t get a chance to take advantage of that because Leese’s arm came around her, drawing her against him.
“Is this how you sleep?” he asked. “On your back, the blankets in a death grip?”
Sounding strangled—with lust—she said, “No.”
“So what do you prefer?”
Being under you. Or over you. She scolded herself for making things worse. Get a grip, Catalina.
“Usually on my side.” And she still sounded strangled.
“Left or right?”
How could he be so damn friendly about everything? “Right.”
“Okay, so how’s this?” He settled on his back, then with one muscled arm behind her head, tucked her in close so that her head rested on his shoulder, her arm draped over his lower chest and her feet brushed his hairy calves.
Cat barely bit back the moan of excitement. “Perfect,” she croaked. For torture.
After a perfunctory kiss on her forehead, he let out a deep breath. “Great. Let’s get some sleep.”
Oh sure. That’d be easy. Not. Heat radiated off him, intoxicating her with his unique scent. It took all her willpower not to brush her nose against him, to resist taking a small bite of his sleek skin and to still her twitchy fingers from exploring his body.
To distract her hormones, she said, “You were going to tell me what happened to Scott and his girlfriend.”
“It’s a long story.”
“I need something, damn it!” Feeling more than a little irascible, she said, “Think of it as a bedtime story.” The words no sooner left her mouth than she gasped at her own insensitivity. “I didn’t mean that the way it sounded,” she promised. “I just thought talking a little would help to redirect my thoughts.” From sex. From Leese. Feeling like an ass, she sighed. “Okay?”
Leese gave her another one-arm hug and agreed.
Hopefully he needed the distraction too, because she wasn’t into suffering alone.
“Like I said, I don’t know all the details. But my understanding is that they were out on Scott’s yacht. Something happened—no one is sure what—but they found the yacht floating at sea, blood everywhere, but no bodies.”
Okay, so definitely not a bedtime story. With her heart breaking for Sahara, Cat closed her eyes. “Scott’s blood?”
“Both of theirs. It’s believed they were attacked and their bodies thrown overboard. Sahara did an extensive search, but was never able to find anything. She hasn’t given up though. She’s kept a PI on retainer ever since then.”
“How awful for her.”
“Yeah. Not knowing for sure what happened makes the loss even harder to take. When her brother went missing, she stepped in to run things. After he was declared dead, she inherited the business. She loves it, but she’d hand it back over in a heartbeat if Scott reappeared.”
Wondering if there was any hope of that, Cat asked, “You think he might?”
“No.”
So tragic. She understood well the awfulness of not knowing. “Thank you for telling me.”
“No problem.”
In her own case, if she knew she’d be on the run for a year, or even five years, she could deal with it better than wondering when, if, it’d ever end. With no light at the end of the tunnel, she couldn’t plan, couldn’t organize.
Couldn’t reclaim her life.