“The things people are willing to do with their bodies,” murmured Daniel, a man who had come close to breaking bones multiple times by somersaulting backward off walls, leaping between rooftops, and crashing through windows in order to catch criminals (or just get to his destination more quickly).
“The captain and Miss Pettifer,” he said—then paused. He rubbed his forehead again. “They were laughing at me, not you. No one could be surprised at any man wanting to marry y—” He paused again, frowning so darkly at something across the room that Alice turned to see what it was. But unless some threat resided in a painting of an oaktree, she could not understand his concern. Perhaps he was angry at the pirate and witch.
“Would you like me to assassinate them?” she asked.
He looked back at her with an astonishment she had not thought him capable of. “What? No. Thank you, but I am familiar with their style of wit.”
“You were undercover a long time in O’Riley’s house. I imagine you formed a significant connection to each other.”
His expression shut down, shoved a series of deadbolts into place, and set a stone atop itself. “It’s late. We should go to sleep in preparation for... God only knows what tomorrow.”
Alice could not argue against that. Taking her duffel bag into the washroom, she performed the usual ablutions and changed into a nightgown. She then paused for a series of deep, calming breaths.
Forget tigers and terrifying pirates—in a moment she would have to get into bed with Daniel Bixby. While she had earlier felt entirely untroubled by this, the stresses of the day—not to mention Daniel having kissed her, a kiss she could still feel, as if it had seared right through her tranquil layers to the very core of her being—made the prospect of sleeping next to him rather daunting.
She breathed in, breathed out.I am a professional woman, she reminded herself.Besides, lying next to a man in bed is the same as standing next to him in a public room, only horizontal.
And alone.
And significantly less dressed.
Finally, becoming dizzy from all the calm breathing, she re-entered the bedroom.
And halted so fast, her heart reverberated.
Daniel stood with his back to her, folding clothes. He appeared to be wearing some species of undervest that clung to his body and lefthis arms exposed to view. Not that Alice was viewing him. As a lady, she did not do such things. As a lady, she stared determinedly into the middle distance. The tiny brown specks in her vision must have been dust motes and not the freckles on his shapely bicep. Fiddlesticks!
Then he turned toward her, and the bold contour of his groin beneath long, tight underwear took her fiddlesticks, snapped them into pieces, and made of them a roaring bonfire.
Daniel had sensed Alice enter the room and had taken longer than usual folding his shirt, so as to ensure the aforementioned contour did not develop too steep an angle. Never mind her prettiness—the veryauraof her, so determinedly tranquil, lured him out of cool professionalism and into the fires of lust. He’d been struggling ever since kissing her in the parlor, a kiss that had left his lips feeling bereft and his body murderous. To be alone with her now was proving harder than he’d expected—in more ways than one.
There was really no point in him wanting the woman. A.U.N.T. would never let him have her. They would see him almost self-destruct rather than allow him to fulfill any personal desires that might intrude upon his effectiveness as their agent. And although lust had always before been about scratching an itch, nothing more, in this case he feared it might take him somewhere deeper, somewhere painfully impossible. So he would just—not—want. Simple as that.
Getting his body to understand proved less simple.
Finally, by dint of careful breathing, ruthless self-control, and envisioning Mrs. Kew in a fluffy pink bed jacket, he was able to turn and look at Alice.
And hastily allowed the shirt in his hands to unfold, its length falling like a protective shield, since his body considered the idea of self-control for all of two seconds before rejecting it utterly.
Alice was dressed in a voluminous white nightgown even the most censorious observer would deem puritanical. But it was Daniel’s job to be highly observant, and he needed only one glance to appreciate that the nightgown was not so much puritanical asoh damn, sinfully tempting. White roses embroidered on the bodice seemed to flutter and sway against the gentle swell of her breasts as she breathed. And the heavy drape of linen did not prevent him from being all too aware of what lay beneath, or how easily it might be accessed, one hand reaching under the loose garment while his other plucked the roses...
“Ahem,” he said, urgently breaking his train of thought.
“Ahem,” Alice happened to say at the same moment.
Their eyes met, then looked away, leaving Daniel feeling blistered.
“I—um—I think I will sleep on the sofa tonight,” he said, staring at that item of furniture as if it was a holy statue of the Virgin Mary. With Baby Jesus in her arms. And the pope frowning solemnly over her shoulder. “Just to be safe.”
“Perhaps that is wise,” Alice conceded. “However, I will be the one to sleep on the sofa. I am shorter, smaller, less muscular—” She stopped abruptly.
Daniel glanced at her. She had plaited her hair, and he wanted to untie the ribbon holding it together and slip his fingers between the twisted strands, feeling the braid come apart for him...
Hastily, silently, he recited several mathematical theories until his blood cooled. Then he ran a weary hand over his head and down to the nape of his neck, massaging the taut muscles there.
Alice, staring at his bicep, reiterated firmly, “I will sleep on the sofa.”
“I am the gentleman,” he reminded her.
