Bedroom Secrets

Her cousin Ray had wanted her to take care of him, too. In an altogether different way, she thought with a shudder of disgust. She wondered how long he’d spent sprawled and unconscious on the kitchen floor. And what his reaction had been when he’d realized she was gone. The memory of his meaty hands groping her, his rank breath on her face, turned her stomach.

That was all behind her now. She would find her father and start a new life somewhere. Maybe right here in Chapel.

She found the thermostat and cranked the heat up to a balmy seventy-five degrees. By the time she finished showering it was warm enough in the house to walk around in only a T-shirt. She threw what few clothes she had in the washing machine in the basement and settled into one of the bedrooms. She shut the light off and, using her backpack as a pillow, stretched out on the carpet. Her entire body sighed with fatigue. She couldn’t have lain there for more than five minutes before she was sound asleep.

Until she heard something.

She bolted upright, heart pounding, disoriented in the dark. She wasn’t even sure what had woken her, but she knew something wasn’t right. After years of caring for her elderly aunt, she’d trained herself to sleep lightly, to wake at the slightest hint of trouble, the faintest sound. She groped for the watch hooked on her backpack and lit the tiny face. Almost midnight. Then she heard it again. Footsteps.

Someone was in the house.

For a second she was frozen with fear, then instinct snapped in and she scrambled up, grabbed her backpack and headed for the closet. She pulled the door closed and it shut with a loud snap. She cursed silently, hoping the intruder hadn’t heard. It wouldn’t take them long to realize the house was empty and there was nothing to steal. Unless stealing wasn’t what they had in mind. Maybe someone had seen her enter earlier and knew she was here alone and defenseless. Had she even locked the door before she’d fallen asleep?

Heart sinking, hands trembling, she dug through the pack for her pepper spray. She closed her fingers around the small canister and flattened herself against the back wall. Through the cracks around the door, she could see the light come on and her heart seized, then restarted triple-time. She stood frozen with fear, finger on the trigger, ready to fire. The footsteps were closer, and a shadow fell over the door, then the door swung open—

Tina closed her eyes tight and shoved her finger down on the trigger, letting the pepper spray rip.

“Son of a—!”

Uh-oh. She recognized that voice.

She opened her eyes and the pepper spray dropped from her hand.

Spitting out a stream of curses, Tyler Douglas stood in the middle of the room wrestling a black leather jacket off his arms. He flung it to the carpet and clawed at his shirt. Buttons flew in all directions as he ripped it open and tore it off. The skin underneath was beet-red. That’s when she realized she must have sprayed him not in the face, but in the chest. Not surprising, considering he was at least a foot taller than her and she’d never thought to aim up.

“Damn, that burns,” he groaned.

She could see he was in agony, and snapped out of her shocked state when she saw him lifting his hands to his eyes. “Don’t touch your face! It’s pepper spray.”

“Pepper spray? What the hell—”

“The bathroom,” she said, leaping from the closet and grabbing his arm. “We have to wash it off you!”

She dragged him down the hall to the bathroom. Flinging back the shower curtain, she turned the cold water on full-blast and shoved him under it—clothes and all.

Ty gasped as the icy water nailed him in the chest, but at least it eased the burning sensation on his skin and the constricting ache in his lungs. His eyes were beginning to burn so he stuck his face under, too, filling his mouth with water and spitting it back out. He’d never been sprayed before, but he knew the logical thing to do was to wash as much of it off as possible.

When he looked out at Tina, she was staring at her hands, eyes wide, the color leached from her face. “It burns.”

Aw, hell. He grabbed her arm and pulled her into the tub with him. When the first blast of cold water hit her she squealed and tried to break free, but he held on. He hugged her against his chest, tucking her head snugly under his chin. “Hold still.”

“Cold,” she gasped.

No kidding. He was soaked to the bone and shivering, but it sure as hell beat that agonizing burn. If he wasn’t so concerned about her welfare, he’d be ripping her a new one right now.

She stopped struggling and went very still in his arms. A moment later she said softly, “I feel better. You think maybe you could, um, let me go now?”

He looked down and realized his hand was cupped over her generous left breast. He abruptly let go and backed away from her. How in the hell had he gone from not being able to be in the same room with Tina, to groping her in the shower?

Excruciating pain maybe?

She bent over and shut the water off, then turned to face him. Her dark hair hung in damp ringlets around her face. Her T-shirt was dripping and hung heavy against her full breasts, outlining everything down to the finest detail, and considering the frigid water temperature, there was a lot of detail. And hey, she wasn’t wearing pants. Could this get any better?

At least she was wearing panties—skimpy pink panties with what looked like kittens on them. Jesus.

She looked damned appealing standing there. So why wasn’t his heart racing? Why wasn’t he sweating and short of breath?

Because he was blood-boiling, spitting mad, he realized. Despite the fact that he had a near-naked, soaking-wet, sexy-as-hell woman less than three feet away, this was the least arousing situation he’d been in his whole damned life.

Hallelujah, he was cured.

“I am so sorry,” she said, her lower lip trembling. It could have been from the cold, or fear. Frankly he didn’t care which.

He wiped away the water that was leaking off his hair and dripping into his eyes. “Is that so?”

“I can explain everything.”

“Good. Explain to me what the hell you’re doing in my house.”

Three

“C-could I dry off f-first?” Tina asked, her voice quivering. Not only were her lips trembling, they were turning blue.

“Yeah, sorry.” Ty stepped out of the tub, his tennis shoes squishing on the tile. He was pretty cold himself. But when he looked around for something to dry off with, he remembered the house was empty. There were no towels.

Great.

“P-paper towels in the kitchen,” she said, hugging herself.

Better than nothing.

His shoes making a loud sucking noise against his feet, he walked out to the kitchen and grabbed two rolls. Back in the bathroom he ripped one package open and tossed it to her, then opened the other for himself.

He pulled a handful of towels loose and dried his chest and arms. “Where are your clothes?” he asked.

She bit her lip. “In the washing machine.”

He closed his eyes and cursed under his breath. “Tell me they’re not wet.”

“They’re wet. I was going to put them in the dryer but I forgot.”

“Wonderful. You don’t have anything that’s dry?”

She shook her head.

“I have a gym bag in my truck. There’s probably something in there you could wear. While I’m getting it, do me a favor and put your clothes in the dryer. Okay?”

She nodded.