Barbara McCauley - Midnight Bride

“Sarah, Judy is eighty-four years old and has no teeth.” He made an effort to look serious, but it was a weak one. “Are you really that embarrassed I saw you naked?”

She nearly choked. How could he be so blas&e2; about this? “Showering with a strange woman may be an everyday occurrence for you, but I assure you it most certainly is not for me!”

He smiled. “I find that extremely encouraging.”

Flustered, she drew in a sharp breath and glared at him. “You know what I mean. I don’t shower with strange men.”

His smile slowly faded. “Well, you can’t really be sure about that now, can you? Unless you remember something and you’re holding out on me.”

It was back. That look of mistrust. An imperceptible tightening of his voice and mouth. And his eyes. A cold flash of wariness and doubt. She had the inexplicable feeling that anyone who might cross this man would find themselves in serious danger.

“I don’t remember anything, Caleb. I wish to God I did. I could be a beautician or a grape picker for all I know. But whatever I am, I’m not like that, I mean, I’m not a, uh, I’m not—”

“Loose?” he supplied.

She blushed furiously. “Yes.”

Caleb sighed. “Just my luck. A beautiful, sexy woman falls into my arms, and I can’t do anything about it.”

Sarah straightened in her chair and stared at the food on her plate. “Don’t tease me like that,” she said quietly.

“Like what?”

“I’m not beautiful, and I’m certainly not sexy.”

She had to be kidding, Caleb thought, watching Sarah push her green beans into a little mountain. Her blond hair fell in natural waves around her heart-shaped face, and wisps of the silken strands framed her wide, soft blue eyes. He knew women who would kill for the long thick lashes and smooth skin she had. Why would she possibly think she wasn’t attractive? Even in an oversize man’s shirt and loose-fitting thermal pants she was one of the most alluring women he’d ever seen.

He took a bite of pasta and studied her carefully for a moment. She held her shoulders stiff, her eyes carefully averted from his. Her cheeks were bright red. Strange, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d been around a woman who blushed.

“So what do you think?” he asked, leaning back in his chair. “What kind of a person do you think you were—are?”

She looked up at him, and he saw the distress in her eyes. “I don’t know.”

“A secretary, maybe? Having an affair with the boss, who tries to off you before his wife found out?”

Her eyes flashed blue fire. “Certainly not! I would never have an affair with a married man.”

“A housewife, then?” he went on. “With six children, married to a double-dealing drug lord whose rivals want to make an example out of you.”

Her lips pressed tightly together. “I don’t have a husband or children.”

“And how do you know?”

“I just know.”

Did she? he wondered. Was she holding something back on him? Or was the whole thing a lie? She looked so damn innocent. If she was an agent and this was an act, she was very, very good.

And if she was lying, he resolved—about anything—he’d find out. That was one thing he was sure about.

“Okay.” He pushed his plate away and let his gaze roam over her. “So what do we know about you, then?”

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