Asking for Trouble - Leslie Kelly [16]
Remember that research thing I mentioned?
“You can’t expect me to honor a reservation when this place isn’t even in business,” he said, yanking the paper out of my hand and giving it a cursory glance. “Besides, this isn’t even in your name.”
I snatched it back from between his fingers. “It’s my professor’s name. He made the reservation six months ago when he arranged with your uncle for me to come and do some research on Seaton House.”
He cocked a disbelieving eyebrow. “And you got in a car and drove nine hours, without even checking on a reservation made six months ago?”
He had a point. I’d meant to do that, honestly. But with all the stuff I had to do to get ready to leave, including getting my other professors to agree to my time off, arranging for my sister-in-law Rachel to take care of my cat, packing, doing research to prepare for my research…well, I’d just forgotten. “It was all arranged,” I mumbled, knowing I didn’t sound very persuasive.
“By this professor, and my uncle.”
I nodded. Wondering if a little more ammunition would help, I reached for my overnight bag. “I have copies of their correspondence. Professor Tyler and Mr. Denton agreed it would be fine for me to come this semester, after midterms. Your uncle said I could have full access to the house, as well as any records, books and correspondence I could find in the library and storage rooms.”
He spared a glance at the letters, flinched, then closed his eyes briefly at the sight of the spidery handwriting on the outside of one of the bulky envelopes I retrieved. It was apparently in his uncle’s handwriting, and I suddenly felt very mean. “I’m sorry, I know I’m being incredibly pushy,” I said, lowering the letters back into the bag.
“Yes, you are.”
Dropping my arms to my sides, I felt my shoulders slump. “I just really don’t want to get back in that car and drive off into the storm again.” Swallowing, I quietly added, “Please.”
I didn’t continue, didn’t beg or harass him. I simply let him see my weariness and genuine concern about trying to navigate back down this mountain on such a wild night.
He said nothing, just stared into my face. I held the stare, suddenly feeling a bit light-headed as I lost myself in his eyes. They were so piercing…so deep and secretive. Angry. Stormy. Intense.
Why, then, wasn’t I afraid of him? But I wasn’t. In fact, his angry facade attracted more than it than repelled me.
Because he was incredibly sexy, perhaps. Because of the way his body had felt pressed against mine earlier. Because of the aura of excitement oozing from his every pore. Because of the scars on his body that told a story. Because of the hints of dry wit that had come out of his mouth.
Because he was here in this house alone and quite obviously dealing with something that had left him angry and hurt, and he seemed determined to keep it that way.
Just as determined as I was to stay. At least for tonight.
And after tonight…well, we’d see.
He broke the stare first. “All right,” he finally said, his voice low and throaty. “You can stay for one night. But you leave first thing tomorrow morning. Understand?”
AN HOUR LATER, tucking my cold body between the cold sheets in a cold room on the third floor, I was beginning to regret my persistence. Did I mention it was cold?
“It’s your own fault,” I whispered as I tugged the old, faded bedspread and thin, worn blankets tightly under my chin. I curled up in a ball and rolled to my side, trying to provide my own body heat by bringing my knees to my chest.
Yes, it was my own fault. Not only for insisting I stay here, but also because I hadn’t taken my less-than-gracious host up on his grudging offer to go try to fire up what