Accessory to Marriage by Ann Voss Peterson

Author:Ann Voss Peterson
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Harlequin
Published: 2013-12-15T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Eight

Tension coiling in his muscles, Trent paced the length of his hotel room and tried to ignore the hiss of the shower behind the closed bathroom door. He’d reported his progress to Donatelli as soon as he and Rees had returned. He’d been over and over the interviews with Duane Levens and Farrentina Hamilton. And he’d thumbed through copies of the reports on Dixie’s car and Risa’s house that had been delivered to the hotel room. Tomorrow he would confront Wiley, follow up on the three guards Farrentina had paid off and meet with Warden Hanson.

He ran a hand over his face and through his hair. He had a killer on the loose, an unknown person helping that killer and a mind-boggling amount of work to do. And he still couldn’t manage to keep his thoughts off the sounds coming from behind that bathroom door.

He should have known better than to insist Rees stay in his hotel room tonight. But every time he’d convinced himself to call the front desk and get her another room, thoughts of Kane’s past “artwork” invaded his mind, and he couldn’t bear the idea of her even one door away.

The hiss of the shower stopped. A rustle filtered through the paper-thin door, undoubtedly the curtain sliding open. The soft flap of a bath towel followed.

Picturing terry cloth moving over bare skin, Trent almost groaned out loud. Having her in his room all night—close enough to hear her breathing, smell her scent, see her hair fanned out over the pillow as she slept—was going to be sheer torture. But if he wanted to protect her, if he wanted any semblance of peace of mind, he had no other choice.

He grabbed a pillow and an extra blanket from the closet shelf and threw them into one of the armchairs. Not the choicest sleeping arrangement, but it would have to do. Sleeping in the same bed with Rees was not an option.

He had just placed his Glock 9mm and his cell phone on the table within easy reach of the armchair when another sound rose from behind the door. A soft mew followed by silence.

The sound of crying.

His gut wrenched. Before he could stop himself, he was standing at the bathroom door, hand raised to knock.

Another soft mew drifted through the barrier.

He stilled his fist in midair. What did he think he was going to do? Ride into the bathroom like a white knight? Gather her in his arms? Kiss her tears away?

He’d already established he was no hero. He couldn’t take her hurt away. He wasn’t the man to comfort her. He had only to remember what happened this morning in this very hotel room to know that. The sweet flavor of her lips. The heat of her naked skin pressed to his. The wounded look in her eyes when he finally regained his senses and brought himself under control.

He let his fist fall to his side. The only way he knew to comfort her was to take her in his arms.

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