Sleeping Beauty Suspect

“Go away,” was already on his lips when he found himself drowning in an unexpected pair of silvery blue eyes.

“You!”

Sleeping Beauty was awake and standing on his doorstep.

WHITNEY CHARLES stumbled back a hasty step and the wracking cough started up again. Her hand reached for the iron railing leading to the front door as the spasms doubled her over. She wasn’t sure what she’d expected when she decided to come here, but she hadn’t been prepared for a half-naked man.

“Easy. Take it easy.”

She struggled for breath as he reached toward her.

“I’m not going to hurt you.”

She wasn’t afraid. She just couldn’t stop coughing long enough to tell him so. She waved him back, trying hard to calm lungs that felt as though every breath was being pressed from them. The sun rode low on the horizon, but as she inadvertently looked up, she discovered it was still bright enough to make her squint. She turned away, trying to catch her breath.

“Mistake,” she managed to gasp out.

“What’s a mistake?”

“I’ll…come…back.” When she could talk and not look like a fool.

“You won’t make it down to the sidewalk coughing like that. You should be in the hospital, but since you’re here, come in and sit until you catch your breath.”

She considered ignoring him, but he was probably right. She couldn’t stop coughing. He held the door wide so she could step inside past him. The scent of an herbal soap and shampoo were unmistakable as she brushed up against him. So were the telltale droplets of water on those nicely sculpted shoulders, one discolored by an ugly bruise.

Inside the small house, shadows were gathering in the corners of the surprisingly open room. Someone in the not so distant past had given this old rambler a major renovation. Most of the interior walls had been knocked down to open what had no doubt been several cramped rooms into one large great room including a contemporary kitchen set apart by a counter with stools. The ceiling had been raised to give the house an airy, open feeling despite its size and age.

While far from upscale, the house suited the man quite well. The furnishings were mostly well-worn family rejects. Exactly the sort of thing a bachelor might be content to have around. Was he?

She got her coughing under control and nearly tripped over his shoes. He hurried to pick up the shoes and a neglected banana sitting nearby, partly peeled.

Before she could stop herself, her gaze skimmed over his nicely formed chest and came to a halt on the snug jeans riding low on his hips. He hadn’t snapped them. Only a fragile zipper held them in place.

A spark of heat sent her eyes back to his face. “Sorry. I’ll come back another time.” Her voice had taken on a husky edge from all the coughing.

“Hey, no problem. You’re here now.”

He blocked her path when she would have turned back to the door. “It’s the banana peel, isn’t it?”

“What?”

“Yeah. I don’t blame you for what you’re thinking, but I’m not really a slob. I sat down to eat it and fell asleep. I don’t even remember kicking my shoes off.”

What she was thinking was that he was gorgeous, and endearing. She liked that he was embarrassed by the banana. She definitely liked the way he looked and the way he smelled, and she was fascinated by the way the damp strands of his thick, dark hair curled about strong, open features. What she didn’t like was the avid curiosity in those open gray eyes. She should leave.

“I should go. You aren’t dressed.”

“I was working on it when you rang the bell. Apparently, I slept the afternoon away. I woke up a few minutes ago and took a quick shower.”

“Feel free to finish the job.”

He smiled. The man had a killer smile.

“I figured you’d be another pesky reporter.”

Her stomach lurched. He’d talked to reporters? What had he told them?

“I didn’t really care about the impression I’d make on one of them. Look, have a seat. I’ll be right back.”

He turned and limped down the hall without waiting to see what she’d do. Undecided, she stared after him. The man was built like a Hollywood hero. Handsome without being too handsome. In fact, pretty much perfect if you didn’t count the limp and the bruises. She didn’t. Still, this had been a bad idea. What had she expected to accomplish by coming here?

HALF AFRAID she would go, Flynn hurried. He desperately wanted some answers from a wide-awake Sleeping Beauty. Who was she? What had she been doing in that abandoned house? Why had she run from the hospital? And what was she doing here of all places?

Dressed in a fitted pair of white linen slacks and a crisp, pink blouse, her hair gleaming with restored color even though it hung untidily about her face and down her back, she was a far cry from the dirty waif he’d spoken to in the hospital. Obviously she’d showered as well. She was slender and petite with nicely rounded curves in all the right places. In a word, beautiful. What was she doing here?

Listening for the front door, he snatched a navy T-shirt from the dresser drawer and skimmed it over his head. The door didn’t open and he relaxed when he heard her coughing again. There wasn’t much point bothering with underwear now. She’d never know and the shirt covered his chest and most of the ugly bruise. He grinned as he decided to skip socks as well. The shirt was enough for decency.

Obviously, she knew he was the one who’d pulled her from the fire, but how had she known who he was or where he lived? She must have come here to thank him.

Flynn snapped his jeans and left the room. He found her still standing, and much closer to the front door. She was staring at the line of picture frames on top of the bookcase that displayed his family.

Her head jerked up at his approach.

“Why don’t we start over?” he suggested. “I’m Flynn O’Shay. And you are…?”

“I’d rather not say.”

That stopped him for a full second. “Why? Is it a secret?”

She began to cough again. He flipped on the recessed lights overhead and turned back toward the kitchen to pull a glass from the cupboard next to the sink. “Is that why you skipped out of the hospital this morning? So you wouldn’t have to leave your name?”

Filling the glass with cold water from the jug in the refrigerator, he carried it over to her. She leaned weakly against the wall as the painful coughing wracked her.

“You do realize you shouldn’t be running around after all that smoke you swallowed. You need to give your lungs a chance to heal.”

She accepted the glass and managed a few sips before trying to speak again. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. Why don’t you sit down? You didn’t come all this way just to cough at me.”

She handed him the glass and their fingers touched. Soft skin, beautifully manicured nails without polish and still no ring. He was strangely pleased by the latter. She drew her hand back quickly. There was a tint of color in her cheeks.

While her outfit was casual, he had a feeling it had cost more than most of the contents in his house. There was something classy about her that said, I’m not from your part of town. Too bad she was out of his league because she intrigued him.

“What happened to me?”

Her abrupt question rocked him back. He ran a hand over his jaw in a bid for time to think, and rediscovered the bristles. No wonder she looked wary enough to bolt. He was not making a great first impression here. Flynn tried for a light approach.

“Okay, you got me. What happened to you?”