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Lindsay stared straight ahead and the voices around her faded. What kind of job had Blake done? Whatever it had been, he seemed to be able to find out things about other people and contact police at any given time and in any town or city.
And he’d kissed her. Oh, my goodness, she was thinking of the kiss again. Aargh!
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For the rest of theday, Blake kept busy. When he’d left Bozeman that morning, he’d organized the local mechanic to tow Brooke’s car to his workshop. Hopefully, her car would be ready by the time the women returned for the weekend.
He spent the rest of the day at the dojo so that Jason could have some free time. He’d thrown himself into the classes to try and keep himself from worrying about Lindsay. The Livingston police had phoned earlier. They’d been on the lookout for Taylor’s car, but hadn’t seen the one similar to the one Blake had described.
By eight o’clock in the evening, he parked next to Lindsay’s house. He wanted to pick up his stuff and make sure the house was properly locked before he went back to his own place.
Once inside, he checked all the windows and doors and headed up the stairs to get his bag and leave, but somehow, he ended up in Lindsay’s room. Her scent still lingered in the room, instantly heating his blood.
The space was decorated in soft pink-and-grey colors, clean lines, no frills except for the lace pillows on the bed, and lace curtains in front of the windows. Feminine, alluring, beautiful—like Lindsay.
Taking out his phone, he sat down on her bed. For long minutes he stared at the small screen. He shouldn’t have kissed her that morning, but he’d been out of his mind with worry. To see her getting out of the car, seemingly unscathed, had simply wiped his usual logical mind to the side, and he’d finally given in to the urge to touch her.
It hadn’t been a conscious decision; it had just happened. And since then, he couldn’t think of anything else.
Cussing, he began typing a message. He wanted to make sure she was okay after the morning’s ordeal; that was the only reason he was texting her now.
With his phone in his hand, he lay back on the bed.Mmm, nice mattress.
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By half past nine inthe evening, Lindsay closed the bedroom door behind her. Logan had taken them to lunch earlier and they’d just had a light supper. Logan, his mother, and sister were still chatting, but when Charlie had excused herself, Lindsay had also jumped up.
Since the morning, she hadn’t had a minute alone and she needed to think. She walked to the big windows overlooking the city. Damn Mark Taylor! All through the day, she’d found herself glancing over her shoulder. She hated having to live like this.
And she still felt terrible about scaring Eleanor and Brooke. Fortunately, Connor had been asleep and had no recollection of the incident.
So where was Mark at this very moment? Had he gone back to Alisson? Or had he somehow discovered they were in Seattle and followed her here? Rubbing her temple, she sat down on the bed and took out her phone. Maybe Blake would know.
Before she even opened her phone, she saw his message, sent at around eight. Quickly, she opened it.
Are you okay?
Her heart sighed and she typed a reply.
I’m fine. Have you heard anything from the police?
For minutes she sat staring at the phone before she jumped up. Blake was probably out, or busy.
She unpacked but took her phone with into the bathroom. She was going to take a long, hot bath. Hopefully, it would help her to relax.
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Disoriented, Blakewoke up. He was still in Lindsay’s room—on Lindsay’s bed. Grabbing his phone, he sat up. She’d sent a message, wanted to know what the police said.
And then, he simply had to hear her voice. He phoned. She picked up after one ring.
“Blake?”
Water? Was that what he heard. So it meant she... He inhaled sharply. “Are you in the bath?”
“Uhm...yes.”
Shaking his head, he swore softly. “Do you have any idea what the image of you in a bath does to me?”
