Laura Wright - Sleeping With Beauty

She shrugged. “It’s a nice enough name. And far better than the P word.”

Dan refused to delve into the princess thing. Tomorrow, hopefully, he wouldn’t be calling her anything at all. But for tonight, there needed to be something. And Beatrice didn’t suit her. Actually, he wasn’t sure what suited her. Mystery woman. Innocent one minute, full of fire the next.

“How about Angel?”

A slow, soft smile broke on her face. “You think I’m an angel?”

Her smile gripped him low in the gut. Match struck rough surface and he lost himself, lost his mind and his control for a moment. “I think you got the face of an angel. I’m not sure about the rest of you…”

His traitorous gaze traveled the length of her as his foolish mouth uttered, “Yet.”

What the hell was he thinking playing this game with her? Dan admonished himself seconds later. A game that would be over before it even had a chance to begin.

That was an easy one. He wasn’t thinking.

He watched her lips part, hoped she was going to scold him with that sweet brogue of hers, tell him to get out and go straight to hell.

But she didn’t. She licked her lower lip, slow and seductive and totally unguarded.

He snatched open the shower curtain. Hot steam poured into the tiny bathroom. “Let’s go. Clothes off, Angel. Time to get wet.”

Hot water pelted her aching muscles. She closed her eyes and tilted her head back, allowing the water to cleanse her wound and her spirit. The fresh citrus scent of shampoo drifted from her hair, while the soapy suds slid down her back, over her buttocks, thighs and calves.

All anxiety slipped down the drain with the bubbles and the day’s dirt.

“How’s it going in there?”

Her pulse kicked and her skin tightened at the gruff query.

So much for relaxation.

Dan stood guard outside the sway of a shower curtain, the outline of his exceptional frame a mere inches from her naked body—strangely, a body and a face she’d hardly recognized when she’d spied herself in the mirror earlier. The strangeness of this entire situation was staggering, from the blank canvas that was her mind to the thrilling shots of awareness she felt whenever her rescuer was near.

But there was nothing for it. She was going to stay here tonight, in his cabin in the woods, feel an overwhelming surge of need and try like hell to keep her wits about her.

Actually, step one of that strategy had gone off without a hitch. Before she’d removed her clothing and stepped under the spray, she’d removed Dan. When she was safely behind the blue curtain, she’d told him he could return, as per their agreement.

And they’d had to make an agreement. The man was incredibly stubborn and protective and arrogant and handsome and—

“Angel?” The pet name glided over her heated skin like the soft, cotton washcloth in her hand.

“Yes?”

“I asked how it’s going in there.”

“Everything’s fine. Just fine. Thank you. No worries. Or problems.” Except for the fact that she was rambling on like an idiot.

“You sure you don’t need any help?”

“Positive. Except…”

“Except for what?”

“Well, there is one thing—soap.”

“You don’t like it?”

“There is none.”

“Oh. Sorry about that. I must’ve used up the last of it this morning.”

“Perhaps I could use the shampoo as a—”

“No, no, I’ll get you another bar.”

Over the thrashing water, she heard a cabinet door open, then the sound of paper being torn. And before she could even think, blink or gasp, a hand—Dan’s hand—shot through one side of the curtain.

“Here you go.”

She mumbled a quick, “Thank you,” but didn’t take the soap from his hand. In fact, she didn’t move at all.

She felt incredibly exposed as she stared at his hand, at his long, tapered fingers wrapped around that pale-blue cake of soap. Shudders of electricity began in her stomach, then dropped lower as her mind conjured images of that hand cupping something else…cupping her, her face, her hip, her breast.

“It’s the manly scented stuff, but it gets the job done.”

Clearing her throat, she managed to say, “I’m sure that it does.”

All she had to do was take the bloody bar. What was wrong with her? When she’d fallen and hit her head, had she unleashed some lusty side of her that had gone unchecked? Because, Lord, she felt as though she’d never had thoughts like this.

“Aren’t you going to take it, Angel?”

With an unsteady hand, she reached out. Her fingers wrapped around his, eased the bar from his hand.

Soft and wet met dry and rough.

Her breath came out in a rush. Her fingers lingered.

So did his.

“Angel?”

She snatched her hand back. The soap slipped, dropped into the tub with a thud. She stared at it, unable to go near it. “I’m almost done in here,” she called out. “I just have to rinse off. You can go. Really. I can dress myself.”

He was silent for a moment, then, “You sure?”

“Quite sure.” Her tone excessively firm, she added, “Now, please go. I’m fine. I’ll be dressed and out in a few moments.”

“All right. But careful getting out. It’s slippery.”

When he left, she snatched up the notorious bar of soap and leaned against the shower wall, tried to regain her composure. Around her, the steam moved, breathed, like a living being.

Suddenly, a memory tugged at her mind. She’d been here, or in some place like this, surrounded by some kind of white haze, before. And more than once.

She tried to claim more of the impression, but the vision evaporated and she was left with only current memories, ones that made her skin tighten with a frightening sense of excitement she didn’t recognize but was tempted to explore.

She stood directly under the shower’s spray, hoping to rid herself of such thoughts and feelings. But as soon as she touched the fragrant bar of soap to her skin, she was lost.

For, just moments ago, it had been in his hand.

Nothing fancy. But it’ll do.

Dan scooped up some of the warmed, canned spaghetti into two bowls, placed a few slices of buttered bread on a plate and brought it all to the table. He was no cook. Too much career, too little time for anything else.

“May I help?”

Dan turned at the silky-sounding offer, watched the woman walk out of the bathroom, rosy-cheeked, hair down and damp. “Nope. It’s all set.”

She was wearing his clothes. Big and baggy clothes. But that didn’t stop his imagination from running wild. Just as it had during her shower.

He’d stood there, back to the curtain, trying to stop himself from thinking, from breaking the zipper on his jeans, and from sliding open the curtain and joining her. And now, here she stood, dressed in his gray sweats. Her skin, her thighs, the backs of her knees, her breasts, all brushing against the fabric.

Dan forced himself to get back under control, back to the hard-nosed lawman he was. Maybe the boys down at the office were playing a trick on him. Maybe his superiors had sent this sexy creature up here to make him nuts, make him cave, make him so desperate for the world of the living that he’d admit he was wrong for messing up the perp responsible for killing his fiancée.

“Everything looks wonderful,” she remarked, glancing around the table.

It sure as hell did… “Clothes fit all right?”

She lifted the sweatshirt just enough for him to see the waistband and one blessed inch of flat stomach. “These pants are a tad large. I have to hold them up with one hand, but I don’t mind.”

Heat pounded him in the groin. This was too much. He stalked into the kitchen, fumbling around in a drawer, grabbed a piece of rope and came back.