“They’re pretty old-fashioned. They know what I’m doing and why, and they’re okay with it, but seeing me up there almost naked . . . I’d just rather they didn’t.”
He cocked an eyebrow. “You know, Valerie, the show wasn’t what I thought it was going to be. It wasn’t sleazy. It was entertaining. You did a great job.”
She shrugged. “Maybe. On the other hand, how would you feel if your girlfriend was up there strutting around in nothing but skimpy lingerie?”
There was no point in lying. He was who he was. “You want the truth? I wouldn’t want my woman doing it. I’m a selfish bastard when it comes to a lady I’m involved with. I’d want her all to myself.”
Her eyes searched his face. “So I guess you’re a little old-fashioned yourself.”
“Maybe . . . yeah, in some ways I guess I am.”
Val glanced away. Walking to the front door, she pulled it open, letting in a rush of cold night air. “Thanks, Ethan. I really appreciate everything you’ve done. I’ll see you at the airport on Tuesday.”
He’d been putting off this moment. He had a feeling this wasn’t going to go well. He walked over and closed the door. “Obviously, you still don’t get it. I’m not going anywhere. Not until they find the bastard who killed Delilah Larsen.”
Her dark blond eyebrows drew together. “What are you talking about? I’m exhausted. I need to get some sleep. You checked the house. There’s no one in here. Now it’s time for you to leave.”
He just shook his head. “I’ll take the sofa. If it makes you feel any better, there are five other women under personal protection tonight in Seattle, including your friend Megan.”
“Megan?”
“That’s right. I don’t mind the couch, but I could really use a pillow.”
She cocked her head, eyeing him with suspicion. “Who’s with Megan?”
“Dirk Reynolds. She’s in very good hands.”
“‘Good hands?’”She glanced down at the big hand he’d jammed into the pocket of his jeans and he couldn’t help thinking how good he could make her feel if only he could touch her. When the corner of his mouth kicked up, her shoulders stiffened. “Are you telling me I don’t have any say in this?”
“Not if you want to keep your job.”
“I need this job and you know it.”
“A lightweight blanket would be nice, too.”
She made a huffing sound and flounced away, and Ethan couldn’t stop a smile. She was going to be even less happy when he told her she’d have to leave the bedroom door open. He was a very light sleeper, so any little sound and he’d be wide awake.
On the other hand, considering the skillful way the killer had entered Delilah Larsen’s condo, Ethan was giving her a break not insisting he sleep in her room.
Val returned with a pillow and a blanket, tossed them on the couch, which looked comfortable but about six inches too short. With a sideways glance, she turned and marched back down the hall. The sound of her bedroom door slamming shut made him grin with anticipation for the coming confrontation.
Ethan couldn’t remember the last time a woman had made him grin.
Chapter Twelve
Val overslept Sunday morning. Maybe it was staying up into the early hours last night. Maybe it was the pressure of her first-ever fashion show, one being televised across the country. Maybe it was being questioned by the police about a murder.
Whatever it was, she rolled out of bed at ten fifteen, feeling nearly as tired as she’d been when she’d finally closed her eyes. As she grabbed her robe and pulled it on, then walked out into the hall, it took a moment to remember that Ethan Brodie had spent the night on the sofa.
When she saw him standing in the kitchen with his phone against his ear, bare-chested, barefoot, and wearing only his jeans, the shock hit her like a hot flash twenty years too early.
Oh my God! She knew she shouldn’t be staring at all those beautiful muscles, at a chest carved in granite and a set of bulging biceps that made her mouth water, but she couldn’t force herself to look away.
“You’re up earlier than I expected.” He reached for the pot of coffee sitting on the counter and poured her a cup. When she didn’t walk over to get it, he carried the cup into the living room and pressed it into her hand.
Fascinated, Val turned as he walked past her and watched the view from behind, the broad back and slim hips, the long, jeans-clad legs and big, manly feet. She didn’t look away as he pulled a clean dark blue T-shirt out of an orange canvas duffel and dragged it on over his head, making all those gorgeous muscles flex and tighten as he moved.
Once he was covered, she seemed to regain her wits enough to take a drink from the steaming cup in her hand.
