Sharon Mignerey - Too Close For Comfort

A wave of red pulsed through her cheeks, the color nearly as intense as the hot-pink of her T-shirt, and she averted her gaze. He waited. After an uncomfortable moment of silence, she cleared her throat and nodded.

He managed a smile, though he figured she was lying. ‘‘Sleep would be good, but not until I’ve had a shower.’’

‘‘There’s a bathroom upstairs, too,’’ she responded. ‘‘Clean towels are in the closet next to the sink.’’

He gave her another long stare, sure she wanted him out of the way so she could do whatever she wanted without his interference. Even so, now was as good a chance to get some rest as he was going to have—especially if she was right and they’d managed to arrive without being seen. Except, since this was their destination, sooner or later, somebody would be around to check. Ian could only hope for later.

He headed in the direction she had pointed, pausing at the doorway. ‘‘Promise you won’t leave while I’m asleep. Or take Annmarie away.’’

‘‘Now, what makes you think I’d do something like that?’’ Rosie demanded.

He shrugged, offering her another of his practiced smiles. ‘‘Simple. You don’t trust me.’’

She wanted to deny the truth of that, but she couldn’t. He held her gaze another long moment and she realized he wouldn’t be going anywhere until she promised.

‘‘Okay.’’

‘‘Promise?’’

Damn the man. ‘‘Yes.’’

His deadly serious expression vanished, and he winked. ‘‘Thank you.’’ His gaze searched her face an instant longer as though he somehow knew her promises were not lightly given. He turned away, and a scant second later she heard him climb the stairs.

‘‘You’ve got your hands full with that one,’’ Hilda commented, refilling her coffee cup and holding the pot toward Rosie in a silent offer. ‘‘For what it’s worth, I think he’s on the up and up.’’

Rosie agreed with her friend. She crossed the room and picked up her mug from the counter, allowing Hilda to refill the cup, mostly because she needed to keep her hands busy.

‘‘That, my children, is a fine-looking man,’’ Mama Sarah murmured.

‘‘Mama!’’ Hilda scolded, her wide smile at odds with her shocked tone.

Mama Sarah shrugged. ‘‘I’m not dead, and a woman would have to be not to notice.’’ She cocked an eyebrow at Rosie. ‘‘You’re sure you don’t want to take him with you to Petersburg?’’

‘‘Positive. I don’t need him. He can go back to San Jose.’’ She wasn’t dead, and the fact that her own assessment of Ian’s attributes mirrored Mama Sarah’s annoyed her to no end. Just what she didn’t need or want. A fine looking man on the ‘‘up and up.’’

‘‘The man couldn’t keep his eyes off you,’’ Mama Sarah said.

‘‘All the more reason to get rid of him.’’ Rosie had been all too aware of the way he looked at her. His eyes dark and warm. She hadn’t wanted to notice, but she had. And, damn, she had liked it. She recognized the warm, prickly sensation melting through her veins—the first stage of desire.

Nothing could have frightened her more.

Mama Sarah seemed unable—or unwilling—to let go of the topic. ‘‘Now, if I was a year or two younger—’’

‘‘A decade or two,’’ Hilda interrupted, with a dry chuckle.

The older woman laughed. ‘‘You’re grounded, my daughter.’’

‘‘By last count, until I’m about 199.’’

Above their heads Rosie heard the shower come on in the upstairs bathroom.

‘‘I’d better leave you some ointment for that wound,’’ Hilda commented. ‘‘An infection’s the last thing he needs.’’

Rosie shuddered, remembering how raw it had looked when she had finally loosened his shirt away from it. The bruising at the base of the wound had looked remarkably like the heel of her hiking boot. Of course, that wasn’t likely to be the only place he was bruised. Unwanted images of him standing naked in the shower filled her mind. She had seen his chest and arms. A scar bisected his chest, stark against a dark mat of hair, testimony of a major injury. Tanned skin stretched over well defined muscles and tendons. The veins on the back of his hands and his arms were equally well defined. Completely masculine. Completely fascinating.

And she was completely out of her mind.

Abruptly she set her mug down and pushed herself away from the counter, glancing at Hilda. ‘‘If that man calls you looking for Annmarie, what are you going to tell him?’’

‘‘That I haven’t seen her.’’

Rosie smiled. ‘‘So far, that’s the truth.’’

‘‘And he’s not answering the number he left for me, so I figure I’ve got a few questions for him the next time he calls. Preferably questions he can answer in person.’’

‘‘I don’t know whether to hope he shows or not.’’

‘‘We’d all be better off if we knew where he was,’’ Hilda said. ‘‘Your going away for a few days, that’s a good idea. There’s just tonight to deal with. I could take the two of them back to town.’’

‘‘If nobody saw them, we’re better off here.’’ Rosie shook her head and managed a smile. ‘‘They can hide in my wine cellar.’’ It was the name she had given to the bomb shelter hidden beneath the den, complete with an exterior entrance hidden a hundred feet away from the house, partway down the hill.

Hilda grinned. ‘‘Finally. A use for that room, never mind the cold war has been over for years.’’

Rosie smiled back. The old man who had built the house had poured a fortune into his insecurities. Never once had she imagined she would use the room for anything other than storage—certainly not for an escape that sounded like something out of a movie.

‘‘We’ll be okay,’’ she said. ‘‘I’ve got work to do to get ready.’’

‘‘You know we’ll keep an eye on things,’’ Hilda said. ‘‘I don’t want you worrying while you’re gone.’’

‘‘I know you will.’’ Unexpected emotion welled within Rosie, and she gave Hilda a quick hug.

The next few hours passed all too quickly. There were a hundred things to be done beginning with a call to her folks to let them know why she was bringing Annmarie for a visit and ending with a long list of the scheduled shipments of seedlings that needed to go out over the next three weeks, not that she intended to be gone that long. But just in case, she wanted to be prepared.

Hilda and Mama Sarah, bless them, provided the extra hands she needed to get everything in the greenhouse organized.

Rosie checked on Annmarie several times, who slept deeply, as though she had been kept awake for days. Each time she checked on the child, Sly sat up and watched her with inquisitive eyes as if expecting to be released from his command of ‘‘guard.’’ That he didn’t move from the room when she left gave Rosie a small measure of reassurance.

The upstairs was equally quiet, so much so that Rosie crept softly up the stairs to check on Ian. He slept sprawled on his stomach across the double bed, his feet and one arm hanging over the edge. His feet stuck out from the sheet, which had come untucked. His ankle bones were sharply protruding on either side of the Achilles tendon, the ankle itself looking oddly fragile in comparison to the rest of his musculature.

Unexpected memories swamped her, making her brace a hand against the doorjamb. Powerful…sweet feelings she hadn’t experienced in years. The whisper of a man’s breath against her cheek, the sweep of his hand against the inside of her thigh, his weight pressed against her.

She watched a long moment, her mouth dry. There had been a time when she was normal, seeking and enjoying the physical completion that came with being so close to a man. Once, a whole lifetime ago, she had imagined that she would one day have the kind of terrific marriage Lily and John had.