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“You have an overactive imagination,” he said, shrugging.
She stared at him for a second longer, then let out her breath in a long sigh. “Thank you for your offer. I’ll just rest for a little while, and then I can get myself back to the hotel.”
He shut her in the bedroom before she could change her mind, hoping she didn’t notice that he hadn’t agreed. Then he strolled back to the kitchen and picked up the telephone. She wasn’t going anywhere.
When she woke, it was twilight. Twilight! Momentarily panicked, not recognizing the quietly attractive room around her, she sprang out of the bed—
And had to sit back down quickly when the room spun around her.
As she sat waiting for the alarming vertigo to abate, memory sneaked back. A second glance around the room confirmed her recall. This wasn’t a hotel room. She was in a guest bedroom at Rafe Thorton’s home.
She glanced at her watch and was appalled to see it was after six. She’d slept the entire afternoon away!
There was a telephone on the table beside the bed and she decided she’d better use it while she had the chance. Fishing the paper with Sam Flynn’s number on it out of her bag, she quickly punched the buttons.
It was an office number, she realized when an answering machine picked up. And as she listened to the message, her heart sank. Mr. Flynn would be out of town on business for several days. Emergency calls were referred to another number.
Somehow, she didn’t think another person could help her. She’d just have to wait until Sam was back again.
A spacious bath off the bedroom afforded her the opportunity to freshen up before she twisted the doorknob and stepped into the hall. She had to resist the urge to tiptoe as she walked into the comfortably decorated family room.
Rafe was nowhere in sight. A pass-through counter at one side of the room connected it with the kitchen so she walked through the nearby doorway. She had to admit, his taste was impeccable. Done in a blond wood that complemented the muted tones echoed in the family room, Rafe’s kitchen was sleek and modern yet still warm and inviting.
Wide French doors at one end led to a covered terrace, beyond which lay a glistening blue pool. And in the pool, she could see a dark head and powerful arms that were rhythmically slicing through the water. Rafe.
The muscles in her stomach contracted involuntarily, and her breasts felt as if they tightened as well, drawing her flesh taut and smooth as if waiting to welcome him.
No! How dumb could one woman be? How pathetic? He’d made it more than plain that he didn’t want her. Stupid as it had been, she’d come here hoping, maybe even expecting him to greet her with…affection. Warmth. She’d dreamed of his delight at learning she carried his child and of how he’d cuddle and coddle her through the rest of the pregnancy.
Well, she wasn’t dreaming anymore. And the ache that seemed to have settled permanently around her heart was only because her child was going to grow up without the traditional family she’d believed was possible.
Opening one of the doors, she stepped through onto the terrace.
Immediately Rafe altered his pattern, cutting through the pool to the side nearest her. “Welcome back,” he said, a grin lighting his chiseled features and giving him the handsome, roguish look she remembered so well. “I thought maybe you’d sleep straight through ’til tomorrow.”
“Hardly.” She kept her voice low and expressionless. “I wanted to thank you for your hospitality. I’ll be leaving as soon as I can get a cab out here.”
“Elizabeth…” He said her name in a hesitant manner at odds with his usual imperiousness.
“Yes?”
“You’re going to have a hard time getting a cab out here.”
“Not if I make the deal sweet enough.” She spoke with the confidence born of growing up with money and seeing its tiresomely predictable effect on people.
“The thing is…” He let his voice trail off as he put both hands on the side of the pool and smoothly lifted himself from the water, the powerful muscles in his back and shoulders flexing and bulging and sliding over each other in a way that made her mouth go dry and her heart thump in her breast.
He straightened, taking the single step that brought him to her side. His wet bathing trunks molded steely thighs, defining well-remembered muscle. Little drops of water caught in his eyelashes, his beard stubble, clung to hi
s wide shoulders. The water caught in the curls springing from his chest succumbed to gravity’s pull and began a steady trickle downward to his navel and below.
She had to force herself not to let her gaze follow the droplets’ path. Instead, she repeated, “The thing is…?”
“The thing is,” he said again, “you don’t have a room to return to anymore.”
“I don’t—what? What do you mean?”
Rafe crossed his arms. Part of her instinctively recognized the defensive posture and her own body tensed in response.
