Rita Herron - Up in Flames

The realization sent a flush to her face. In the next second, that flare of coldness settled back into his eyes, and she had the sudden urge to run from his scrutiny.

If he made her feel so rattled in her sleep, how would she react if he ever really touched her? And if he could turn cold in seconds flat, what would happen if he knew the truth about her?

BRADFORD STARED into Rosanna’s sleepy gaze, his body hard from watching her sleep and hearing those tiny moans she’d elicited. When she’d first begun to sigh and claw at the covers, he’d thought she was having a nightmare about the fire. Reasonably so and expected.

Then that glass of water had tipped over, and spilled and he’d wondered what the hell had happened. She hadn’t touched it and neither had he.

She must have bumped the table when she was twisting in the bed.

When he’d looked back at her, a slow smile had curved that delicate, pouty mouth, and she’d run her hands over her breasts and thighs. He’d realized then that her dreams were more gratuitous. Sexual maybe.

And those moans…they whispered of pleasure. Satisfaction. Arousal.

Which had excited the hell out of him.

Irritated at his body’s traitorous response, he stifled a growl, shifting to hide the painful erection pressing against the fly of his jeans. Dammit. He was here to interrogate her, not drool over her body.

A very voluptuous, sexy body, he noted, thanks to that damn hospital gown coming untied and riding down her shoulder to reveal the delicious curve of one breast.

She cleared her throat, looking shaken. “Detective, how long have you been there?”

Long enough to know she was having sexy dreams. Who had been her lover?

Mentally shaking himself for wondering, he bit the inside of his cheek to keep from asking. He’d had no rest the night before. And seeing her, realizing how attracted to her he was, wasn’t helping his mood.

He had no time for his libido. Not now.

Not with her.

“A few minutes,” he said quietly, a little too gruffly for comfort. Then unable to help himself, he asked, “Were you having a nightmare?”

She jerked her gaze from his, but guilt and some other emotion he couldn’t define colored her face. Had he not been so affected by her, he would have laughed.

He knew better than to play this game.

She seemed to notice that her gown had slipped then, and retied it, then yanked the sheet up to her chin. “I did earlier,” she admitted in a somber voice.

The pain in her eyes sucker-punched him.

“I dreamed Natalie was calling me for help, but I was too late.”

He clasped his hands together to keep from reaching for her. “There was nothing you could do.”

Her soft sigh tore at him.

“If I’d only convinced her not to go to the club, she would be alive.”

“So it was her idea to go?”

She nodded. “I’m not really into the club scene, but she begged me to accompany her. I thought she’d be safer if she didn’t go alone. Has her family been notified?”

He nodded. “They’re on their way. Can you talk about what happened?”

She swallowed as if gathering courage. “We both went in, ordered drinks. Natalie met a guy and they went to dance.” She hesitated. “I watched from a corner table.”

“Anybody with you?”

She shook her head. “I turned down a couple of drunk guys then went to the bathroom. Like I told you before, the fire started while I was inside the ladies’ room.”

He twisted his mouth in thought. “Did you know the guys who asked you to dance?”

She shrugged. “No. And they certainly weren’t upset enough to get violent. I assume they moved onto the next girl.”

Something in her tone sounded self-deprecating, but he decided not to explore it. “What about Natalie? Did she have a boyfriend who might have seen her with this other man and gotten jealous?”

She shook her head again. “No boyfriend. She just moved back here a few weeks ago.”

“Where did she work?”

“She was interning at a design studio and taking classes at the Savannah College of Art & Design.”

“What about you?”

She clamped her teeth over her lower lip for a minute. “I own a shop called Mystique. We sell specialty gifts, New Age books, stories of local folklore and ghost legends, candles, voodoo kits and dolls.”

He frowned, still mesmerized by her eyes but disturbed by her answer. So she was into that New Age crap. Probably believed in the supernatural and local ghost legends.

“How did you and Natalie meet?”

She hesitated again, this time looked away as if she didn’t want to answer.

“She visited the store,” she finally said quietly.

He waited, wondering, testing to see if she’d fill the silence and volunteer more information. Instead tension vibrated between them. She didn’t fit the profile of an arsonist, and didn’t seem like the vindictive type to set a fire to hurt anyone. But it still struck him as odd that she’d been present at both scenes.

Although she’d given him no reason to think she or Natalie had been targets or that she knew the arsonist, he definitely wanted to find out more about Rosanna Redhill. What made her tick, what made her so intriguing, what made him want to hold her when they had nothing in common.

Why he wanted to ask if she had a boyfriend or any lovers when it probably had nothing to do with the case.

Why he sensed she was hiding secrets, that she wasn’t at all the innocent angel she appeared to be.

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