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“What are you doing out here?” He let his hand fall away from her mouth.
“About to crack a few of your ribs. Don’t grab me like that. I might hurt you.” She pulled free of his loose hold, her arm brushing against naked flesh, and with a sharp jolt of electricity she realized he wore only a pair of unsnapped jeans. Wow. Where were her handcuffs? Covering abs like his definitely constituted criminal activity.
Rob chuckled at her warning, obviously not taking her seriously, although he should have. She could easily bring down a man twice his size and trained other women to do the same in the safety courses she routinely taught.
He opened the door behind him and motioned for her to step inside. Light from his room illuminated his golden skin. Her gaze raked over his bare chest and the wispy smattering of hair that disappeared into his faded, snug but not too tight jeans. Maybe someone should handcuff her before she discovered first hand where that fine tracing of hair led. Uh-oh. She was in trouble. In more ways than one.
“Where were you coming back from?”
Did he know she’d broken into the studio? She stalled by looking around the suite similar to her own from its lush historic décor to the pleasant citrus scent. The suite next to her own. So that’s where that locked door in her room went. “Why is there a connecting door between our rooms?”
“Because it was me, JP, one of the crew, or one of the bachelors. Guess I’m just lucky that way.” He sounded as if he didn’t consider the privilege an honor. Had he been assigned to baby-sit? Or spy, maybe?
“And you were wandering around the castle because?” he prompted, sliding one hand into his jeans pocket. Had that unsnapped gap just widened to reveal more of his muscular six-pack? She wasn’t going to look. She was not going to look.
She looked.
Was the sweat on her neck from fear of getting caught or thoughts of peeling Rob’s jeans right off his pin-up poster body? Gulping down the lump in her throat, she tore her gaze from his exposed flesh and met his amused expression.
“I couldn’t sleep?” Now, why had her words come out sounding like a question? She’d been making a comment, damn it. And she hadn’t been staring at his hard abs. Uh-huh. No way.
“And needed a drink of water?” Mischief danced in his golden eyes.
“Water?” She blinked. “Oh! Water. Yes. I was thirsty.”
He grinned, and she had no doubt he was on to her. Ugh. She was a trained police officer. Posing as Mafia Max’s girlfriend hadn’t made her this nervous. Why was she coming across as a total moron?
He nodded at a high-backed settee and chair with fine-stitched velvet padding. “Have a seat.”
Not able to answer her own questions about why he affected her so intensely, Jill sat in the chair.
“Did you quench your thirst?” his deep timbre pulled her gaze back to his six-foot plus frame.
“I, uh, never made it to the kitchen.” But looking at him did make her thirsty. Desperately so. His smooth golden chest and abs were cut like the proverbial washboard--and she had a sudden longing to do laundry. Heat flushed her face—as well as other, more hidden parts of her body.
He walked over to a small refrigerator cleverly disguised to blend with the room’s antiques and authentic atmosphere yet with modern day conveniences. He took out a bottle of water and tossed it to her. She twisted off the lid and swallowed a long sip of the cold liquid hoping to cool down her body and thoughts.
Sinking onto the settee, Rob drank some of his water. Lucky water.
After a long moment, he spoke. “Want to tell me what you were really doing in the hallway at two in the morning?”
“What were you doing out in the hallway?” she challenged, having regained some of her usual aplomb and having learned long ago the best defense was to go on the offensive.
“I heard a noise and came to investigate.” The corner of his mouth lifted, and she was pretty sure her stomach had taken up skydiving because it raised and plummeted with his sexy grin. “Have to admit, I wasn’t expecting to find you.”
“Really? What were you expecting? Ghosts?” she asked hoping to distract both him and her sex drive. Those dark hallways had been a bit spooky, but she’d rather be beaten than admit that out loud.
“Not hardly.” He shook his head. “Actually, you’re not what I was expecting, period.”
Now he’d distracted her. She leaned forward. “What do you mean?”
“You seem more real than the type of woman I’d have thought would audition to play Jane.” His gaze bored into her.
“More real,” she laughed, relaxing a little. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”
“I meant it as one.”
She swallowed. If she poured the rest of her water over her head, she doubted it would douse the fire he’d started. An attraction to the producer could only lead to trouble, but how did one explain this to a body that, for the first time ever, seemed to be on sexual hyper-drive?
