Read Online Snowed by Pamela Burford - Free Book Online Page B

don’t.”
    She didn’t expect him to respond. It was enough that he was there, that she wasn’t alone. The specters of the night fled before the steady rhythm of his heartbeat, the rise and fall of his chest, the exhalations that stirred her hair.
    At last he whispered, “Go to sleep, Leah.”
    Even after her breathing had settled into the slow, regular cadence of sleep, James continued to sit and hold her. He’d been lying awake in his bed, trying to ignore the lingering scent of her perfume on his pillow, when he heard her cry out in terror.
    He’d raced into her room without a second thought. Watching her writhe in the cold clutches of her nightmare had brought out protective instincts he hadn’t known he possessed. His only thought had been to make it better.
    He rubbed his cheek against the silk of her hair, inhaled the scent of her deep into his lungs. Never had he been so baffled by a woman. His first glimpse of her at the party had jolted him with a flash of recognition. She’d reminded him of something
—
or someone. A sensation too elusive to grasp, pulling distantly at memories long buried.
    Somehow, even though he’d known all along that she was hiding something, she’d managed to override his internal alarm system, disable the self-protective mechanism warning him to keep his distance from her. He meant what he’d told her tonight. He didn’t want to hear the reason she’d sought him out
—
or whatever variation of the truth she planned to feed him.
    Finally James lowered Leah to the bed, carefully so as not to wake her. He slid his hands from under her and she stirred, curling closer to him, as if seeking his warmth even in sleep.
    Reluctantly he rose and watched her for a few moments more. She lay on her side, her angel hair in disarray. Her restless movements had caused the neckline of her shirt to pull aside, revealing the creamy fullness of a breast. Or most of it. His fingers itched to give the neckline a gentle tug. Dismayed with the direction of his thoughts, James cursed himself.
    As he turned to leave, he scanned the room, bathed in moonglow and firelight. Leah’s dress and borrowed clothes occupied a chairback and the dresser top. Her shoulder bag slouched on a small round table near the hearth, its clasp open, its contents strewn.
    Firelight winked on an object spilling from the bag, piquing his curiosity. He cast a quick glance at Leah, sound asleep, and crossed to the table. It was a small pocket mirror. “Hair to Stay” was printed on its pink plastic frame, along with an address. Great. Now he knew where to go for a cut and curl in Little Rock. He saw a hairbrush and a cosmetic bag.
    And a small perfume bottle. The word
Muguet
was printed on it in flowing script. He smiled.
    You smell like lilies of the valley. And something else. Ah yes. Eau de Maker’s Mark.
    His smile turned to a scowl as he remembered their bitter exchange in the Gold Room. The woman bewildered him, and he wasn’t used to being bewildered. He should be satisfied at having quickly found out she was some sort of conniver and leave it at that. He intended to send her sweet Dixie butt packing as soon as the roads got plowed.
    Yet here he was, questioning his resolve, sniffing around for clues, anything that would tell him one way or the other why this enigmatic female had come into his life. He was equivocating, trying to candy-coat the situation. And why? Because he had a raging case of the hots for Leah Harmony.
    So much for learning from bitter experience.
    Her red leather wallet lay open on the table, bulging with credit cards, cash, and assorted papers. Lifting it, he plucked out her Arkansas driver’s license and car registration
—
she drove a Mazda Miata.
    He knew how outraged he’d be if someone violated his privacy this way. He’d never tolerate for a moment anyone snooping through his things, prying into his life, threatening to expose his own carefully protected secret.
    This wasn’t the same