Asking for Trouble - Leslie Kelly [9]
But something had changed. Because the creamy-skinned, dark-haired woman was now backing away from him with horror in her eyes. Stepping closer to the edge of the porch.
A roaring began to build in Simon’s head and his whole body grew tense as another image replaced this one. Another woman, another patio. A scream. A plunge.
“Please, stop,” he said, forcing the words out of his thick, tight throat as he thrust off the memories and focused on the here and now.
She slid back a little more, until the high heels of her boots moved perilously close to the edge. Though they were only a few feet off the ground—not eleven stories, like he’d been in June when he’d watched a woman fall away—he simply couldn’t let it happen. Not this time. So, without warning, he lunged out and grabbed her arm, clamping his hand around her wrist in an iron grip.
She fought, flailing her arms, trying to twist away. “Let go of me.”
Her struggle put her on the precipice of the step and he wrapped an arm around her waist to pull her away from it. “You’re about to fall.” Dropping a hand to the small of her back, he held her with gentle firmness, waiting for her to calm down. He thrust off the pleasure he felt at having her in his arms again, and fought the wicked impulse to drop his hand and cup her ass to keep her from wiggling. Or to keep her exactly where she was. He honestly wasn’t sure which.
“Would you relax and tell me who you are and what it is you want?”
She finally stopped squirming, which was a good thing. Because her curvaceous form—though wet and tense—still felt much too good when pressed against his.
Once he was sure she’d relaxed, Simon released her and stepped back, holding his hands up, palms out, in a non-threatening way. The rain still pounded, and a vicious bolt of lightning exploded across the sky, brightening everything around them for a few seconds before plunging them back into near darkness. But that quick glimpse—along with the view he’d had inside, when she’d been in his arms—convinced him of one thing.
The woman was glorious.
All that thick, dark hair hanging like a wet drape around her face only emphasized the creaminess of her skin, the exotic way her dark eyes tilted up slightly at the corners. She had full lips that were trembling either from nervousness or from the cold. High cheekbones, a slim jaw. And a graceful, delicate throat. Beautiful.
But frightened.
Now, however, she seemed to calm down a little. She’d stared at him just as intently during the lightning strike, and whatever she’d seen had made her stop fidgeting.
“Yeah,” she whispered. “I think I’ve regained my sanity.”
“What were you afraid of?” he asked, trying to keep his voice low and soothing. “Is someone chasing you?”
She shook her head.
“The storm?”
Another shake. Then, finally, she whispered, “I’m sorry, I was afraid of you for a second.”
Stiffening, he realized he should have figured as much. Wasn’t the whole damn town afraid of him? At least, afraid of the man they whispered about—the one who didn’t bear much resemblance to the real Simon. The gossipers had everything wrong.
Well, practically everything. The rumors that he’d killed someone were more accurate than he’d like to admit.
“I didn’t get a good look at you until just now when the lightning flashed,” she added.
That made two of them. Although, she’d seemed perfectly willing to feel her way around getting to know him. Not that he blamed her, since he’d had exactly the same reaction to her surprise stumble into his arms.
“You’re not…oh, wow, this is going to sound so stupid but for a second, I thought you were…someone else. The dark hair and eyes were all I saw and I overreacted.” She laughed softly and even from a couple of feet away, he reacted to that husky sound. “Of course, you don’t have that awful handlebar mustache.”
He barked a laugh. “Uh, no, definitely not.”
“And you’re much scruffier, a lot tougher looking.”
He didn’t know whether to be offended or not. But he supposed she was right. He was scruffy. He hadn’t shaved in a few days