Read Online Confer, Lorelei - Deadly Deception (Siren Publishing Classic) by Lorelei Confer - Free Book Online
Authors: Lorelei Confer
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turned on. He hadn’t heard the water running for a while nor had he seen or heard her come down the stairs. He decided it was time to investigate her whereabouts on his own.
Tiptoeing up the stairs, he walked into his bedroom and came to an abrupt halt. The moonlight streaming in through the open French doors illuminated the room, spreading its light across the bed, spotlighting where she lay. The sight took his breath away, her appearance ethereal, chaste, and virtuous.
She lay on her back with her arms flung aside. She had put on his robe after her shower and it had ridden up, showing her beautiful, shapely legs. He could see her soft feminine curls between her legs where the robe had slid open. She was beautiful, and with her tussled dark hair a contrast on the white pillow case, and her soft, now-clean milky skin she reverberated sexy. He wanted to touch her, to kiss her, to do so much more: he simply wanted her. He couldn’t believe the feelings coming to the surface, feelings he hadn’t had in too long, feelings only a man can feel for a woman he desired, feelings he couldn’t and didn’t want to hide.
Trying not to disturb her, he gently lay down on the bed beside her. She shifted onto her side toward him and put her hand on his chest. Expecting a response, he lifted his head to look at her, but her eyes remained closed in sleep. He stared at her fingers splayed across his chest, it felt good, somehow right. He laid his head back down, put his hand on top of hers, and slowly drifted off to sleep.
Chapter 12
The effectiveness of the aroma of coffee permeating the bedroom roused Isabella from her sleep. Before opening her eyes she languished in the comfort of the bed, thinking she had spent the night at her mom’s, planning to spend a leisurely day shopping and girl-talking. She heard the birds chirping as a cool breeze drifted across her bare legs. It must be a windy day for so much air to be coming in the small opening of my bedroom window.
She stretched her arms over her head, groaning from the aches in her sore leg muscles. She half opened her tired eyes and peered around the room. Finding it barely light outside, she was surprised to see the open French doors. She looked out onto the pretty landscaped yard and caught her breath. All the memories of the past few days or weeks came rushing back. Her heart stuck in her throat, strangling her. How could this be happening to me?
Sitting up and glancing around the room, she noticed the indentation in the top of the pillow beside her, which suggested Wyatt must have come to bed sometime during the night.
As she heard footsteps on the stairs nearing the bedroom door, she pulled the bed covers up to her neck just as Wyatt walked into the room carrying two cups of steaming coffee.
His presence filled the room. She couldn’t take her eyes off his bare chest, the hardened muscles rippling as he moved, the V-shaped chest hair leading to a point below the waistband of his well-worn jeans that fit his butt perfectly. She tightened her hold on the covers as he moved toward the bed.
“Wasn’t sure what you took in your coffee so I brought one with cream and sugar and one black,” he said with a smile as he held them both out to her.
She looked at him in awe wondering if he were real. If I were in his shoes, I don’t think I’d be treating a stranger to coffee in bed.
“Th-th-thanks, cream and sugar, please,” she managed to say as she accepted the mug he offered her. She took a careful sip. It tasted good.
She watched Wyatt’s powerful, corded muscles as he walked to the open French doors and stood, drinking his coffee. He appeared in deep thought. She became speechless. After a few more sips of her coffee, she set her cup on the table beside the bed, crossed her arms over her chest, and waited for the deluge of questions she knew would be coming.
With her eyes, she followed Wyatt as he walked back and forth in front of the French doors. He stopped
Tiptoeing up the stairs, he walked into his bedroom and came to an abrupt halt. The moonlight streaming in through the open French doors illuminated the room, spreading its light across the bed, spotlighting where she lay. The sight took his breath away, her appearance ethereal, chaste, and virtuous.
She lay on her back with her arms flung aside. She had put on his robe after her shower and it had ridden up, showing her beautiful, shapely legs. He could see her soft feminine curls between her legs where the robe had slid open. She was beautiful, and with her tussled dark hair a contrast on the white pillow case, and her soft, now-clean milky skin she reverberated sexy. He wanted to touch her, to kiss her, to do so much more: he simply wanted her. He couldn’t believe the feelings coming to the surface, feelings he hadn’t had in too long, feelings only a man can feel for a woman he desired, feelings he couldn’t and didn’t want to hide.
Trying not to disturb her, he gently lay down on the bed beside her. She shifted onto her side toward him and put her hand on his chest. Expecting a response, he lifted his head to look at her, but her eyes remained closed in sleep. He stared at her fingers splayed across his chest, it felt good, somehow right. He laid his head back down, put his hand on top of hers, and slowly drifted off to sleep.
Chapter 12
The effectiveness of the aroma of coffee permeating the bedroom roused Isabella from her sleep. Before opening her eyes she languished in the comfort of the bed, thinking she had spent the night at her mom’s, planning to spend a leisurely day shopping and girl-talking. She heard the birds chirping as a cool breeze drifted across her bare legs. It must be a windy day for so much air to be coming in the small opening of my bedroom window.
She stretched her arms over her head, groaning from the aches in her sore leg muscles. She half opened her tired eyes and peered around the room. Finding it barely light outside, she was surprised to see the open French doors. She looked out onto the pretty landscaped yard and caught her breath. All the memories of the past few days or weeks came rushing back. Her heart stuck in her throat, strangling her. How could this be happening to me?
Sitting up and glancing around the room, she noticed the indentation in the top of the pillow beside her, which suggested Wyatt must have come to bed sometime during the night.
As she heard footsteps on the stairs nearing the bedroom door, she pulled the bed covers up to her neck just as Wyatt walked into the room carrying two cups of steaming coffee.
His presence filled the room. She couldn’t take her eyes off his bare chest, the hardened muscles rippling as he moved, the V-shaped chest hair leading to a point below the waistband of his well-worn jeans that fit his butt perfectly. She tightened her hold on the covers as he moved toward the bed.
“Wasn’t sure what you took in your coffee so I brought one with cream and sugar and one black,” he said with a smile as he held them both out to her.
She looked at him in awe wondering if he were real. If I were in his shoes, I don’t think I’d be treating a stranger to coffee in bed.
“Th-th-thanks, cream and sugar, please,” she managed to say as she accepted the mug he offered her. She took a careful sip. It tasted good.
She watched Wyatt’s powerful, corded muscles as he walked to the open French doors and stood, drinking his coffee. He appeared in deep thought. She became speechless. After a few more sips of her coffee, she set her cup on the table beside the bed, crossed her arms over her chest, and waited for the deluge of questions she knew would be coming.
With her eyes, she followed Wyatt as he walked back and forth in front of the French doors. He stopped
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