Read Online Kiss in the Dark by Jenna Mills - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Jenna Mills
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reason.”
“Nothing has changed for far longer than just last night,” he said in a deceptively quiet voice. “But that doesn’t mean I’m going to stand by and watch you suffer.”
The fierce words curled through her like a warm mist, giving birth to a temptation she knew better than indulging. Yes, fire burned. But first, it warmed.
And she so very desperately wanted to be warm.
“Why not?” she asked. “You’re a St. Croix. The fam ily prince is dead and the cops can’t wait to sink their teeth into me. You’re the last person I should turn to.”
“But I’m also the only one here.” The words were soft, devastating. He gestured toward the plate of scrambled eggs and thick strips of bacon. “Quit looking for hidden agendas and nasty motives. Just eat. Please.”
Her stomach roiled. “Eating’s not a good idea right now,” she said, drawing a hand to her mouth. Just the sight of all that rich food, the warring scents, almost did her in.
Dylan looked at her like she’d suddenly turned ten shades of green. “Are you okay?” In three long strides he was by her side. “Is it your head? Do you need a doctor?”
She drew a hand to her stomach, but the fight drained out of her. She was tired of pretending, of fighting. Because no, she wasn’t okay. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw Lance on the living room floor. And every time she opened them, she saw her bloodstained fingers curled around the fire poker.
“I’ve always been able to pull myself out of a nightmare before the knife touched my throat or the water got too deep, but this time…” She hesitated. “I can’t make this one end.”
Dylan lifted a hand to her face and smoothed the hair behind her ear. “Because you never even went to sleep, did you?”
His touch, the gentle question, sent the room spinning. She reached toward the wall, hoping Dylan wouldn’t notice. The vertigo was getting worse. She’d been battling it all morning, a strange, disconnected feeling, like she’d been yanked from her life and could only watch it happen.
“It shows?” she asked, and immediately regretted.
His gaze dipped from her face down her chest, where her robe gaped. He lingered a moment, then continued his perusal to the sash at her waist, on down to where terry cloth gave way to calves and bare feet.
Unwanted sensation whispered through her, as though Dylan skimmed a feather along her flesh, and not just his gaze. For a moment there, a dangerous, insane moment, she forgot what she had seen in the mirror a little over an hour before—the dull tangled hair, the pale skin and dark rings under her eyes, the chapped lips. The faded, jagged line along her hairline. For a moment, the look on Dylan’s face made her feel beautiful. Desirable.
It had been a long time.
“Most people wouldn’t notice,” he said.
An emotion she didn’t understand jammed into her throat. “What?”
“You asked if your sleeplessness showed—I said most people wouldn’t notice.”
But he did.
“You look beautiful even when you’re ready to drop,” he added, tracing a finger down her face, dangerously close to the scar that served as a reminder of that long-ago night.
This time Bethany did back away. Turned away, too. She didn’t need to hear words like that. Didn’t want to. Not from him. Not now. With anger and sarcasm the man was dangerous.
With tenderness, he destroyed.
“A good investigator draws conclusions from multiple sources,” he continued, and she could tell he was moving from her. “And even if I couldn’t see through you, I’d still know.”
She turned to find him by the king-size bed.
“It hasn’t been slept in,” he said, running a hand over the pillow. “You haven’t even laid down.”
Hadn’t sat either. She’d stood at the window for a long, long time, before taking a shower until the water ran cold. Then she’d returned to the window.
“Sleeping didn’t seem appropriate.”
“Maybe not appropriate, but
“Nothing has changed for far longer than just last night,” he said in a deceptively quiet voice. “But that doesn’t mean I’m going to stand by and watch you suffer.”
The fierce words curled through her like a warm mist, giving birth to a temptation she knew better than indulging. Yes, fire burned. But first, it warmed.
And she so very desperately wanted to be warm.
“Why not?” she asked. “You’re a St. Croix. The fam ily prince is dead and the cops can’t wait to sink their teeth into me. You’re the last person I should turn to.”
“But I’m also the only one here.” The words were soft, devastating. He gestured toward the plate of scrambled eggs and thick strips of bacon. “Quit looking for hidden agendas and nasty motives. Just eat. Please.”
Her stomach roiled. “Eating’s not a good idea right now,” she said, drawing a hand to her mouth. Just the sight of all that rich food, the warring scents, almost did her in.
Dylan looked at her like she’d suddenly turned ten shades of green. “Are you okay?” In three long strides he was by her side. “Is it your head? Do you need a doctor?”
She drew a hand to her stomach, but the fight drained out of her. She was tired of pretending, of fighting. Because no, she wasn’t okay. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw Lance on the living room floor. And every time she opened them, she saw her bloodstained fingers curled around the fire poker.
“I’ve always been able to pull myself out of a nightmare before the knife touched my throat or the water got too deep, but this time…” She hesitated. “I can’t make this one end.”
Dylan lifted a hand to her face and smoothed the hair behind her ear. “Because you never even went to sleep, did you?”
His touch, the gentle question, sent the room spinning. She reached toward the wall, hoping Dylan wouldn’t notice. The vertigo was getting worse. She’d been battling it all morning, a strange, disconnected feeling, like she’d been yanked from her life and could only watch it happen.
“It shows?” she asked, and immediately regretted.
His gaze dipped from her face down her chest, where her robe gaped. He lingered a moment, then continued his perusal to the sash at her waist, on down to where terry cloth gave way to calves and bare feet.
Unwanted sensation whispered through her, as though Dylan skimmed a feather along her flesh, and not just his gaze. For a moment there, a dangerous, insane moment, she forgot what she had seen in the mirror a little over an hour before—the dull tangled hair, the pale skin and dark rings under her eyes, the chapped lips. The faded, jagged line along her hairline. For a moment, the look on Dylan’s face made her feel beautiful. Desirable.
It had been a long time.
“Most people wouldn’t notice,” he said.
An emotion she didn’t understand jammed into her throat. “What?”
“You asked if your sleeplessness showed—I said most people wouldn’t notice.”
But he did.
“You look beautiful even when you’re ready to drop,” he added, tracing a finger down her face, dangerously close to the scar that served as a reminder of that long-ago night.
This time Bethany did back away. Turned away, too. She didn’t need to hear words like that. Didn’t want to. Not from him. Not now. With anger and sarcasm the man was dangerous.
With tenderness, he destroyed.
“A good investigator draws conclusions from multiple sources,” he continued, and she could tell he was moving from her. “And even if I couldn’t see through you, I’d still know.”
She turned to find him by the king-size bed.
“It hasn’t been slept in,” he said, running a hand over the pillow. “You haven’t even laid down.”
Hadn’t sat either. She’d stood at the window for a long, long time, before taking a shower until the water ran cold. Then she’d returned to the window.
“Sleeping didn’t seem appropriate.”
“Maybe not appropriate, but
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