She didn’t think about her underwear until she was standing in the Victorian bathroom with its highly polished walnut floor, its claw-feet tub, pedestal washbowl, and plush pale yellow Egyptian towels with small flowers on them. She’d stripped down to her bra and panties, turned and seen herself in the mirror and stared. He’d picked out the softest peach silk set she owned. What had he thought when he picked them out
of he drawer? Without thinking, she ran her hand over her belly, the silk smooth and slithery against her palm. What had he thought?
No, she wouldn’t think about that. They were just a bra and drawers, no matter how exquisite.
How potentially sexy. He probably hadn’t even thought a thing just grabbed them up. She loved pretty underwear This set she’d bought herself for her last birthday. So expensive. Soft and flimsy and wicked. She took off the bra and rubbed the smooth lace against her cheek. She hadn’t worn it in months. Dillon had picked it out.
“Sherlock.”
23
SHE QUICKLYWRAPPED A towel around herself and looked around the bathroom door. He was standing in the middle of the bedroom, a suitcase in his hand.
“On the bed, please, Dillon.”
He thought she looked beyond tired. He probably should have left her at the hospital, tied to the hospital bed. He looked again. He’d never before realized a towel could look so sexy wrapped around someone. “You need any help?”
That made her smile. “No, sir. I can brush my teeth without you holding my arm up.”
“Then I’ll see you in the morning. There’s no reason for you to wake up early. Just sleep in. When you wake up, just holler, and I’ll bring you breakfast. Don’t forget, Sherlock, you promised to stay put.”
She hadn’t, but she nodded. “Thank you, Dillon.”
“Oh, another thing. I need to run a couple of errands tomorrow morning. While I’m gone, I want you to leave the doors locked and don’t open up for anybody, I don’t care who anyone says they are. There’s lots of food, even some pesto left over for you. You don’t need to go out. You open it only for me, you got that?”
“I got that.”
“Your SIG-Sauer is downstairs in my office. Your Lady Colt is in the drawer by your bed. Now, just let me decide what we’ll do about this mess. I’ll tell you tomorrow.”
“What are your errands?”
He frowned at her. “Not your business. I won’t be gone more than a couple of hours.”
“Would you sing me a couple of lines before you go?”
“You want something down-home?”
“Yeah, real down-home.”
His rich deep baritone filled the room, sounding really twangy this time. “She ain ‘t Rose but she ain ‘t bad. She am’t easy, but she can be had. So am I when she whispers in my ear. She ain’t Rose, and Rose ain’t here.”
“Who’s Rose?”
He grinned at her, gave her a salute, then left, closing her bedroom door behind him.
It was dawn when he shot straight up in his bed. He hit the floor running when another scream rent the silence.
She was wheezing, her arms wrapped around herself. She struggled to sit up in bed.
“Sherlock. You’re awake? What’s wrong?”
She was still sucking air into her lungs. It was as if someone had tried to suffocate her. He sat down beside her and pulled her against him. He began rubbing her back. “It’s all right now. Did you have a nightmare?”
Slowly, so very slowly, her breathing began to steady, but it still hurt to breathe, as if someone had clouted her in the ribs. She couldn’t talk yet, didn’t want to talk. “That’s it, just relax. I’m here. Nothing’s going to hurt you, nothing.”
Her face was buried in his shoulder, her arms limp at her sides. Then, suddenly, she put her arms around his back and held on tight.
“Yeah, I’m real and I’m solid and I’m mean. No one’s going to hurt you. It’s okay.”
He could feel her harsh breathing against his flesh, then she said, “Yes, I know. I’m all right now.”
He tried to pull away from her but she still held on tight. He could feel her shivering. “It’s really okay, Sherlock,” he said again. “I’m not going anywhere. You can let go now.”