He knew what she was talking about. “I’m sorry, Annie. I shouldn’t have spoken to you that way. I was pissed.”
She shook her head. “No. You had every right to say what you did. I was naive, and I should have asked more questions. I’m just sorry that I got you messed up in all this.”
He wasn’t. He should be, but he wasn’t. And that scared the shit out of him.
•••
Soap made lousy makeup remover. Annie stared at her reflection in the bathroom mirror, but it wasn’t the dark circles she was worried about. What was she going to do?
She liked him. She liked him a lot.
Tonight had been nice. Actually it had been better than nice. It had been pretty close to a perfect first date. Which was all the more ironic because it hadn’t been a date at all.
Maybe after what they’d been through, it was understandable that Dan was so easy to talk to and that being with him felt so natural. But that didn’t explain the constant hum and buzz of awareness that made her feel as if there was a magnet drawing them closer and closer together.
The magnet was physical attraction, she told herself. Physical attraction that had gotten a hundred times worse after he walked out of that public toilet earlier.
Someone should have prepared her.
She’d felt as if she’d been hit by the proverbial freight train. Her tough, grizzled longshoreman had turned into a clean-cut, all-American tall drink of gorgeousness. He was every bit as good-looking as she’d feared—maybe more so.
He had a great jawline—strong and masculine but not overly Neanderthal square. And with the beard gone, she could really see his mouth. On anyone less masculine looking it might be sensual, but on him it was just... sexy.
Pretty much everything about him was sexy. And every time she looked at him, her heart stopped a little and sheremembered exactly how it had felt to have him kissing and touching her.
This wasn’t good. Not good at all.
Annie splashed her face with cold water from the tap, but it didn’t help. She still felt flushed.
She knew better than to blame it on the wine. It was him. Her. The blasted awareness between them.
Realizing she’d dawdled in the no-frills but clean little girls’ room long enough to get ready for bed—bed!—she gathered up her discarded clothes and limited toiletries and padded barefoot back down the hall toward the room.
Theirroom.
God, she had to stop thinking like that.
It was a small guest house. Four rooms shared two hall bathrooms—a women’s on one end of the long hall and a men’s on the other. Annie wasn’t sure, but she thought they might be the only people staying here tonight. She hadn’t heard any sounds behind the other three doors she passed to get to room number one, which they’d been given.
It was more like being in someone’s house than a hotel. Although the bathroom had been white utilitarian—stand-up shower, toilet, towel bar, hamper, and small pedestal sink—the rest of the house was an explosion of Victorian. She hadn’t seen so many doilies, flowers, and dark wood since her grandmother died. Even in the hall the decoration was dark maroon carpet and mauve-colored rose wallpaper on the walls.
She stood outside the bedroom door. This was ridiculous. She was being silly. It was the twenty-first century. There was no reason to make such a big deal about this. Two adults could sleep in the same room. She didn’t need to get weird about it. They’d slept in the same room last night.
In separate beds.
They would still be in separate beds, she told herself. The large king bed that dominated the room had given her a moment of panic when she saw it. But then she realized it was actually two twins that could be pulled a few inches apart—apparently a typical setup in this part of the world.
There was only one duvet—they were supposed to bemarried, so they could hardly ask the room to be made up as twins—but it was big enough so that there wouldn’t be any touching. Not that touching was a worry anyway. He’d made it pretty clear last time that he wasn’t interested in pursuing anything.
God, she was being such a girl! Did she have to overthink everything? He probably hadn’t given the sleeping situation more than a passing thought.
Man up, she told herself, and opened the door.
Manning up lasted about as long as it took for him to turn from where he stood at the window and take in her apparel with a glance.
She’d found a three-quarter-sleeve sport-jersey-style nightshirt that went to her knees. It was far more modest than the shorts and tank she’d had on yesterday, but from the way he was looking at her, she felt as if she’d walked in wearing a silk teddy.
Although with the level of heat penetrating from those steely eyes, she probably would have felt naked in one of her grandma’s old flannel nightgowns.
