Only a Whisper by Gayle Wilson

Author:Gayle Wilson
Language: eng
Format: azw3, epub
Tags: Romance, Suspense, Contemporary, Fiction
ISBN: 9780373470549
Publisher: Harlequin
Published: 2006-02-14T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Eight

“You said you set a trap. What kind of trap?” Diego asked.

“A very simple one. Baited with a great deal of money. Money is obviously what our friend is interested in,” his master said, smiling.

“And if he takes the bait?”

“Then he comes to pick up his money. Which should be extremely interesting.”

“Here?” Diego asked in disbelief.

“Of course. You don’t sound very hospitable, Diego.”

“What about the woman?”

“He won’t see her. It shouldn’t be a problem.”

“Who is he?” Diego asked carefully, trying to read past the amusement.

“He hasn’t told me his name. I have the impression he doesn’t trust me,” he said. “Not a very trusting individual at all. Perhaps he’s dealt with treachery too long.”

“But you know who he is?” Diego asked and then realized the obvious.

“Of course,” his master said simply, and smiling, he laid the dark red rose, still misted with dew, beside her plate.

Diego’s knock on her door awakened her, and Rae knew by the light from the shaded window that the morning was well advanced. She almost gave him permission to enter before she realized she was naked. She finally found her T-shirt at the bottom of the bed. She pulled the soft cotton over her head and stacked the pillows behind her shoulders. She could still smell his body on the one she had been clutching when she’d awakened.

She straightened the top sheet, and although she realized Diego must know what had happened between them, she was embarrassed to have him see the evidence so clearly revealed in the disordered bed. She ran her fingers through her tangled hair, pulling it back from her face as she attempted to compose herself. Diego knocked again, and she knew she couldn’t deny him entry any longer.

“Come in,” she called, making one more smoothing motion at the sheet that lay over her body.

When he entered, the aromas from the tray he carried were not those of Diego’s gray-yolked eggs. She closed her eyes, savoring the fragrances of real coffee and Canadian bacon, of eggs scrambled delicately in butter, and muffins.

“The cook’s back!”

“Yes.” And unbelievably Diego smiled at her. “But he spent so long with you last night I thought I wasn’t going to be able to get him up in time to prepare breakfast for you.”

“He spent so long…He’s the cook? He’s the one—”

“It doesn’t make him any less a man,” Diego interrupted, studying her face as he voiced the last assurance, lest she mistake his culinary talents as something less than masculine.

Her mind flashed back to the hard body that had mastered both her senses and her physical responses last night, and she was not even aware of the soft smile that Diego correctly interpreted as more than an acknowledgment of his master’s essential maleness. Aware finally of the silence that had grown as Diego watched her, Rae glanced up, finding some emotion in the dark eyes she didn’t understand.

“Don’t let it get cold,” she commanded, trying to hide her embarrassment, and reached for the tray. Diego brought it to the bed and placed it across her lap.

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