life complications.
She turned back toward the painting, drew along the gold frame with a finger. The woman was beautiful, yet the crease between her brows seemed to mar her perfection. This was more than a frown. She appeared pained in her ecstasy.
Another creak echoed down the hallway.
Having smoothed the cloth into place over the canvas, she folded the brown paper closed and left the painting on the counter.
Inside her room, she leaned along the door and tried to erase fantasy images of Luke touching her, surrendering to her like the men in the painting. She could only dream. If she kept this up, she’d be in a world of trouble.
She unleashed a resigned breath. A hot shower would make her feel better. If Luke decided he wanted to pay her to stand guard while he slept, this job would be a piece of cake—she hoped.
Peeling off her socks, she hissed through her teeth. The blisters on her feet from last night were raw.
As Luke had carried her through Rome’s streets, she’d savored the intimacy of the act. He’d made her feel small and feminine.
After folding her fitted shirt and khaki pants on the bed, she reached behind and undid the clasp of her bra, shimmied out of the rose lace garment and tossed it next to her clothes.
“Who hurt you?” Luke’s voice startled her.
She clasped an arm over her breasts and fumbled with the folded shirt before turning to face him. She hadn’t heard him open the door, hadn’t realized he was awake. “What are you doing? Please leave, I’m going to shower.” Probably not an ideal tone to take with her boss but considering her half-naked state, she wasn’t ready to invite him for tea.
He shoved off the doorframe and stepped closer as if she hadn’t ordered him out of her room. “Answer my question first. Who hurt you?”
What did it matter to him? She made an effort not to tremble beneath the intensity of his stare. “If you haven’t noticed, I’m not exactly dressed for a conversation right now.”
The lines of his face tightened as the skin along his jaw stretched. “I have seen women in a state of undress. I give you my word I will not hurt you, but I want to know who cut you.” He tilted his head. “It is not a knife wound. Something sharp and jagged ripped through your skin. It healed irregularly here.” He ran a finger down the side of her ribs.
She sucked in a breath as her skin heated beneath his touch. The instinct to move away froze within her. His voice hypnotized, pushing her beyond reason. She had no interest in talking about her scars or remembering the accident and yet couldn’t ignore him.
“Glass,” she said. “Glass cut me.” In hopes of shaking the fog over her mind, she squeezed her eyes shut. Why was he in her room? She clasped the shirt tighter to her chest. “I’m going to shower.” Her voice sounded drone-like.
Luke stepped closer. His dark gaze bored into hers, trailed down over her neck, shoulders and arms. “I did not ask what gave you such scars.” His breath tingled along her cheek. “I asked who hurt you.”
She couldn’t handle this, not undressed and frozen in place, but what could she do? The words she wanted to say stuck to her tongue. Taking a deep breath, she lifted her chin. “I did this to myself. Is that what you wanted to hear? No more mystery to solve regarding Savannah’s hideous jigsaw puzzle skin.” She exhaled a harsh breath. “No need for you to act a white knight.”
He closed a hand around her trembling arm and pulled her to face him. A firm but gentle grip. “I have no illusions of being a white knight and quite frankly, mysteries bore me.” Frowning, he traced the pale, raised skin over her collarbone then detoured off the scars and down the slope of her chest. “And you are wrong on another account. Not hideous.” He hesitated. “Quite unique, beautiful.”
Air expanded through her chest and shuddered through her. What was he playing at? A sarcastic laugh bubbled up in her throat and
She turned back toward the painting, drew along the gold frame with a finger. The woman was beautiful, yet the crease between her brows seemed to mar her perfection. This was more than a frown. She appeared pained in her ecstasy.
Another creak echoed down the hallway.
Having smoothed the cloth into place over the canvas, she folded the brown paper closed and left the painting on the counter.
Inside her room, she leaned along the door and tried to erase fantasy images of Luke touching her, surrendering to her like the men in the painting. She could only dream. If she kept this up, she’d be in a world of trouble.
She unleashed a resigned breath. A hot shower would make her feel better. If Luke decided he wanted to pay her to stand guard while he slept, this job would be a piece of cake—she hoped.
Peeling off her socks, she hissed through her teeth. The blisters on her feet from last night were raw.
As Luke had carried her through Rome’s streets, she’d savored the intimacy of the act. He’d made her feel small and feminine.
After folding her fitted shirt and khaki pants on the bed, she reached behind and undid the clasp of her bra, shimmied out of the rose lace garment and tossed it next to her clothes.
“Who hurt you?” Luke’s voice startled her.
She clasped an arm over her breasts and fumbled with the folded shirt before turning to face him. She hadn’t heard him open the door, hadn’t realized he was awake. “What are you doing? Please leave, I’m going to shower.” Probably not an ideal tone to take with her boss but considering her half-naked state, she wasn’t ready to invite him for tea.
He shoved off the doorframe and stepped closer as if she hadn’t ordered him out of her room. “Answer my question first. Who hurt you?”
What did it matter to him? She made an effort not to tremble beneath the intensity of his stare. “If you haven’t noticed, I’m not exactly dressed for a conversation right now.”
The lines of his face tightened as the skin along his jaw stretched. “I have seen women in a state of undress. I give you my word I will not hurt you, but I want to know who cut you.” He tilted his head. “It is not a knife wound. Something sharp and jagged ripped through your skin. It healed irregularly here.” He ran a finger down the side of her ribs.
She sucked in a breath as her skin heated beneath his touch. The instinct to move away froze within her. His voice hypnotized, pushing her beyond reason. She had no interest in talking about her scars or remembering the accident and yet couldn’t ignore him.
“Glass,” she said. “Glass cut me.” In hopes of shaking the fog over her mind, she squeezed her eyes shut. Why was he in her room? She clasped the shirt tighter to her chest. “I’m going to shower.” Her voice sounded drone-like.
Luke stepped closer. His dark gaze bored into hers, trailed down over her neck, shoulders and arms. “I did not ask what gave you such scars.” His breath tingled along her cheek. “I asked who hurt you.”
She couldn’t handle this, not undressed and frozen in place, but what could she do? The words she wanted to say stuck to her tongue. Taking a deep breath, she lifted her chin. “I did this to myself. Is that what you wanted to hear? No more mystery to solve regarding Savannah’s hideous jigsaw puzzle skin.” She exhaled a harsh breath. “No need for you to act a white knight.”
He closed a hand around her trembling arm and pulled her to face him. A firm but gentle grip. “I have no illusions of being a white knight and quite frankly, mysteries bore me.” Frowning, he traced the pale, raised skin over her collarbone then detoured off the scars and down the slope of her chest. “And you are wrong on another account. Not hideous.” He hesitated. “Quite unique, beautiful.”
Air expanded through her chest and shuddered through her. What was he playing at? A sarcastic laugh bubbled up in her throat and
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