“No. She only mentioned him when she talked about the microwave. Do you think she’s afraid of him?”
“A little. After what she told me about their last date, I don’t want him coming anywhere near her.”
“Since you’ve got me and Brooke for backup during the day, he won’t. Not on our watch anyway.”
“Thanks.” Clay did feel better knowing both his sisters would be with Shelby. “Where is she?”
“Putting on her clothes.”
He started down the long hallway, passing the guest room on his left. The door leading into the light, airy space done in red, blue and yellow plaid was closed.
He figured Shelby was in there getting dressed, just as his sister had said. Before he could stop himself, he recalled holding her. Felt the press of her breasts against him, the soft skin of her neck beneath his hand.
He shook his head. Whatever had happened with Shelby last week hadn’t occurred again. And wouldn’t, Clay told himself. That unexpected, unfamiliar awareness he’d had of her body must’ve been some weird fluke. Things were back to normal between them and he was glad. The uneasiness nagging him now was due to the microwave explosion yesterday and learning about Tyner’s presence there just before it happened.
Clay felt much better knowing Shelby was at his house. They had spoken to Paula last night after she’d returned from her buying trip, and the older woman agreed that Shelby should stay with him. As did Clay’s dad, a cop who’d retired and started a private security company in Presley.
Clay walked into his room and pushed the door shut. As he moved toward the heavy king-size bed and matching chest of drawers, he pulled his gray Presley PD T-shirt over his head and dropped it on the floor. He toed off his tennis shoes, turning with his hand on the top button of his jeans just as the door to his bathroom opened.
Shelby stepped out, her eyes rounding in surprise. “Oh.”
Sweet son of a—
His breath backed up in a painful knot.
Her short hair was dry except for a few strands that curled onto her nape. Steam from the bathroom glossed her neck, the curve of her shoulder. She wore only a bra and panties, and she looked damn good. The sight of all that bare golden skin had Clay’s entire body going rigid.
“Erin’s using the other bathroom or I wouldn’t have—”
“It’s fine.” His throat was so tight it hurt to talk. A subtle feminine scent drifted to him. Something light and frothy and Shelby. It made his mouth water. He told himself to move, to look away, but he couldn’t. His pulse hammered hard.
Her underwear wasn’t sheer. It wasn’t even a sexy color. Just serviceable white. But the plunging lacy bra and high-cut panties were enough to make his chest ache.
Who the hell knew she wore underwear like that? His gaze moved over the swell of her breasts, the sleek line of her belly to her lean legs, then drifted back to her breasts. His gut clenched when her nipples tightened against the silk.
She gave a nervous laugh. “Why are you looking at me that way? I mean, you’ve seen me in a bikini that shows more than this.”
Jerking his attention to her face, he struggled to keep his voice even. “What way?”
“Like…I don’t know,” she said slowly, her left foot rubbing the top of her right.
Tension swelled between them. Her smile faded, replaced by confusion.
Trying to ease the moment, Clay went with the first thing that came to mind. “Where is that darn tattoo?”
Uncertainty flashed across her gamine features, then she arched a brow. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”
Hell, yes. He’d like to find it with his hands, his mouth. It took everything he had to pretend that raw, primal need wasn’t clawing through him. “You know I’m going to find it one of these days.”
He saw her take a deep breath and struggled to keep his gaze on her face. Not that it mattered. The sight of her half-naked would be carved into his brain for the rest of his life.
Of course he’d noticed her before. She was right—he’d seen her plenty of times in a bathing suit. She was a good-looking woman with a great body. But he’d never felt like this when he’d noticed. Never been so aware of the powder-fine texture of her skin, the tempting fullness of her breasts, her taut waist. She wasn’t as tall as either of his sisters, but her legs were leanly muscled and strong. The image of those legs wrapped around him exploded on his brain. Startled at his thoughts, he slammed on the mental brakes.
It was too late. The confusion he’d seen earlier in her blue eyes was now panic. She moved toward him, keeping a healthy distance. “I didn’t know you were coming home.”
“Finished my call and thought I’d come back to clean up.” The heated rush of his blood took him off guard.
She stood nearly even with him now, close enough to touch. And he wanted to.
Slanting one arm across her middle, she curled her palm around the side of her neck in a self-conscious motion. “I’m going to go get dressed,” she said huskily.
It was only then that Clay realized her gaze had dropped to his bare chest. Her lips parted slightly and she stared with a feminine appreciation he couldn’t remember ever seeing. At least, not when she looked at him. His heart thudded hard.
She looked up suddenly, and her gaze crashed into his. Something flickered in her eyes. Was it just his imagination, or had the air in the room turned electric? A strange sensation traveled up his arms.
Whatever was going on had him off balance and from the look on her face, he wasn’t alone. He thought about tossing her a robe, but he didn’t have one. She looked dazed. And nervous. She moved toward the door.
He started for the bathroom, trying to sound normal, as if lust weren’t boiling him from the inside out. “I’ll be out in a minute,” he said gruffly. “Meet me in the living room.”
She nodded, turning quickly to leave. As he stepped into the bathroom, he heard her shut the door in the bedroom. Bracing an arm against the door frame over his head, he cursed. He was turned on as hell right now, but he’d seen her face. She hadn’t been afraid; she’d been wary, guarded. With him. He didn’t blame her. There had been nothing friend-like in the way he’d looked at her.
After telling himself for days that the previous instance had been a fluke, that his body’s response to hers hadn’t meant anything, Clay was forced to admit he’d been dead wrong.
Until now, no woman had affected him since Megan’s death. Not physically, not emotionally. Why did Shelby have to be the one? She’d seen his reaction and hadn’t bought his lame explanation about why he was practically drooling over her. For a split second, he’d seen an answering heat in her eyes. Before the nerves set in.
He knew how she was about romantic relationships. Still, he couldn’t deny that he wanted her. Wanted her with more ache than he could ever remember feeling, even for his late wife.
He didn’t know what these feelings were or what they meant. He had told himself that he could ignore what had happened before, that he could make the lust, this increasing physical awareness of Shelby, go away. The cold hard truth was he couldn’t. What the hell was he going to do?
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