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As Megan continued to turn in front of him, he found his heartbeat increasing and his palms growing damp. He'd never imagined she could be more lovely, but he'd been wrong.
The elegant gown clung to her breasts, leaving most of her cleavage exposed. He swallowed hard. Rose-colored flowers perched in the deep vee, the soft petals providing the only hint of decency. From the top of her intricately done hair, to her silk-covered shoes, she was a female designed to reduce a man to incoherence. He was far from immune.
"I'm trying to decide if your silence is a good one or a bad one."
He cleared his throat. "You look perfect."
She arched her delicate eyebrows. "Perfection. That's exactly what I'm trying to leave behind. Still, it will have to do. Perhaps we can work on something else, privately."
She winked slowly. Suggestively. His blood boiled, coursing through his body, raging through his chest and exploding into his groin. He was hard and hungry in less than a heartbeat.
Who was this woman?
She tossed him a quick smile, then turned toward the front desk. Newt stood there, his mouth hanging open. When her gaze lingered on him, he blushed.
4 * Hello, Newt," she said in a sultry whisper.
' * Ma' am." His voice cracked.
" What room is Sheriff Kincaid staying in?"
"Two-twelve. Miss Bonnie's next door in two-eleven."
"Thank you." She moved toward the wide curved staircase that circled down to the ground floor.
"Ma'am, Miss Bartlett, you can't go up there."
She paused and looked at the clerk. "Why not?"
He got redder. "It ain't, ah, isn't right."
"Oh, is that all?"
"Megan?" Justin said, still not sure what she was after.
She looked at him. "Come now, Justin. We have things to talk about."
His gaze narrowed. He took in the fancy gown, the faintly suggestive tone in her voice, the unexpected cleavage. It was hard to think straight when every time she looked at him all he could stare at were her pale white breasts.
Two men entered the hotel. Their conversation came to an abrupt halt when they spotted her. Justin didn't bother turning around. He didn't care who they were. All that mattered was Megan. His gaze drifted down her bare arm to her hand holding onto the banister railing. She was gripping the wood as if she was terrified of falling. Or just plain terrified.
The fog in his brain lifted and he could think again. He looked at her other hand. She was holding on to her bag just as tightly. He could detect a faint tremor in her body. She was out to prove something. But what? Why this way?
"Are you sure?" he asked quietly.
Their eyes met. The hazel irises had faded to gray, but he didn't know what emotion had caused the change. Fear? Anticipation? Determination? He could read all of them there.
She nodded. "For the first time in a long time, I'm very sure."
She started up the stairs. With three long strides, he was beside her. He offered her his arm. When she took it, he
could feel her shaking. At the curve of the staircase, he paused, bringing her to a halt. "There's still time," he said, motioning to the men openly watching them from the lobby. "You've flaunted yourself, but you haven't come to my room yet. You could go back. ,,
"I'm never going back." She straightened her shoulders, and walked calmly to his hotel-room door.
He fumbled with the key. Her closeness was making him as nervous as he'd been his first time. Not that anything was going to happen between them. He didn't know what her game was, but it didn't matter. He wasn't going to play.
"Nothing's going to happen between us," he said as the key finally slipped into the slot and he opened the door.
She glanced up at him and smiled. Her hazel-gray eyes met his, then skittered away. "I'm sure I don't know what you're talking about."
"Yeah, I'm sure, too." He followed her into the room.
He thought about not closing the door behind them. That would give them the illusion of convention, if nothing else. He shook his head. Who was he kidding? Megan Bartlett had just walked into his hotel room. Half the town already knew about it and the other half would know within the hour.
He shut the door behind him, then stood beside it with his arms folded over his chest. She circled the large bedroom, glancing at the armoire, at the wing-back chairs by the fireplace, then moving over to the bay window and leaning over the window seat to look out.
