Asking for Trouble - Leslie Kelly [35]
“Why the hell would she care?” he muttered as he jogged back into the house. He quickened his pace as he headed up the two long flights of stairs, mentally acknowledging that Lottie owed him nothing. He had no business being so damned worried about her just because he hadn’t found her right away. He needed to get past this. To stop overreacting to this kind of situation. Even if he explained it to her—about his uncle and about what had happened in Charleston, when he’d watched a woman plunge to her death—he didn’t think she’d understand.
How could anyone understand? Even Simon, himself, couldn’t make sense of the crazy twists and turns his mind took these days. From half believing the house was haunted, to immediately fearing his beautiful young houseguest was in danger, he’d gone from having the creative mentality of an analytical nonfiction writer to a Stephen King wannabe.
When he reached the third floor corridor, he heard her pounding from the far end. He also heard some rather choice language coming out of her beautiful mouth and couldn’t prevent a half smile. Damn but the woman was feisty. Dramatic. She brought life and light into this drafty, shadowy old house and he could barely stand the thought of how dark and empty it would be when she left it.
He liked her. He liked having her here. Too much.
If he didn’t like her, it probably would have made things simpler. Because there was no doubt he was attracted to her. And if attraction had been all he felt, he could have just taken her to bed and been done with it.
Everyone kept telling him he had to get back in the saddle. That he couldn’t let what had happened the last time he’d picked up a woman make him swear off sex for life.
He wasn’t ready to swear off sex—hell, no. But he would never again do something as stupid as pick up a stranger in a bar and bring her back to his room.
He didn’t know if anything he’d ever experienced could have prepared him for that—for an attractive woman practically wrapping herself around him in a public place, begging him to take her upstairs. Then, when he did, letting a male partner in behind them.
When they’d both pulled weapons and demanded his money, he’d given it to them. Simon wasn’t stupid.
That should have been the end of it. Why hadn’t that been the end of it? Why hadn’t they taken his cash and credit cards and gotten the hell out?
Why did things have to get so bloody?
He’d learned a lesson. A valuable one, which made him again question his decision to let Lottie stay here. She wasn’t quite a stranger—the paperwork and letters from his uncle proved her identity, and her mission, at least. But she wasn’t exactly someone he knew very well, either. “Yet she’s still sleeping under my roof,” he muttered, knowing he was playing devil’s advocate to pump up his own reservations.
There was no more time to consider it, though. Reaching the attic door, he dug the old-fashioned keyring out of his pocket. He had no idea how she’d managed to get in and lock the door behind her without the key. “Hold on, I’m here. You’ll be out in a second.”
“Thank God,” she exclaimed.
He grabbed the knob to hold the door steady while he inserted the key. But strangely, the knob twisted in his hand. The door opened, and Lottie Santori, red-faced and furious-looking, practically fell out.
She landed, as was becoming her habit, right in his arms. “Thank you, thank you, thank you,” she muttered, pressing a couple of quick kisses on his cheek, as if she couldn’t restrain the impulse. Her body pressed against his from shoulder to thigh and he couldn’t resist dropping his hands to her waist, cupping her and holding her still.
The woman definitely knew how to express her appreciation. Her soft curves molded against him and her arms encircled his neck. Her thick, dark hair brushed his face. And his relief that she was okay simply overwhelmed him. Unable to resist, he bent and covered her mouth with his.
She instantly melted into him. Tasting her tongue, Simon heard her tiny groan of pleasure