Daring Time

h curiosity nonetheless. What were the mechanics of the porcelain bowl in the bathroom that had taken the place of the water closet? What awesome scientific advancements had allowed them to so perfectly distill the scent of strawberries in the cleanser she used to wash her hair or make the toilet paper so cushy and soft she almost felt guilty about using it for its purpose?

She wanted to ask Ryan all these things, but he was taking his turn in the bathroom.

Meanwhile, her eyelids uncooperatively grew heavier and heavier with each passing second.

She nodded and jerked into wakefulness when she heard the sound of the bedroom door open. Even though she'd been gifted

with the sight of Ryan's bare chest for the better part of the night, her eyes widened in amazement presently as though she were seeing him for the first time all over again.

His damp hair hadn't been combed and stuck up adorably at odd angles. She longed to run her fingers through the damp hair on his chest and feel the warm, dense muscle beneath. She noticed that something beige-colored stuck to his forehead, covering the cut on his brow.

"What is that?"

He crinkled his forehead in confusion when she pointed to his head. He reached up and touched his brow.

"It's a bandage. What are you doing sitting there? Why don't you lie down? You're about to fall over." He turned out the overhead light and walked over to pull the drapes on the windows.

"I have so many questions to ask you about the bathroom," she mumbled almost incoherently. It seemed that her lips had grown as heavy and unresponsive as her eyelids.

"The bathroom?'"

She nodded. Ryan waggled his finger at the pillows. Hope scooted onto the bed—her very own brass bed—and sighed when her cheek touched the pillowcase. Ryan's scent wafted up to her appreciative nose. It smelled like the soap she'd found in a dish by the bathtub but with other odors mixed in—spices, musk, a hint of peppermint and some other scent that she associated singularly with Ryan. She struggled to keep her eyes open when Ryan came down on the bed next to her.

"What about the bathroom?"

"Can't 'member," Hope slurred. She smiled at the sound of his low chuckle. She wanted to purr when he opened his hand over her waist, lazily stroking her. He suddenly went still when he moved up over her ribs.

"What do you have on under this T-shirt?"

Hope cocked open one eye. T-shirt? Was that what one called the enormous, buttonless cotton shirt Ryan had given her to put on after her bath along with an equally gigantic pair of cotton pants with a drawstring?

"What do you mean?" she asked.

Ryan scowled before he rolled her onto her back and jerked up the hem of the T-shirt. He glanced up at her a second later, his handsome face full of laughter.

"Why are you wearing your corset?" She squawked in protest when he matter-of-factly lowered the pants before he flipped them back up to her waist. "Honey, if you were going to leave on your pantaloons, there was no need to put on the sweatpants."

"You don't expect me to wear these clothes without any underwear, do you?" she asked, scandalized.

He opened his mouth to say something, then closed it. The crooked grin he wore was unlike any smile she'd yet seen on his face. He shook his head, pulled her into his arms and planted a kiss on the top of her head.

"The only thing I expect at the moment, witch, is for you to get some sleep. Something tells me you're really going to need the rest."

Despite her contentment at being in Ryan's arms and her profound fatigue, Hope found that sleep didn't come as easily as she'd thought it would.

"Ryan, do you think that man—Mario—might have hurt my father or anyone else in the household?"

"No." He opened his palm over the back of her head, cradling it in a gesture that struck her as cherishing. Or perhaps she just wished that were true? She wondered sluggishly if it was uncomfortable for him to have her damp hair on his bare chest but found she was too content and tired to move.

"Why do you say that with so much confidence?"

"Because Jack kidnapped you in order to blackmail your father. He tried to get him on his payroll, but your father refused and went along with his own agenda. Jack wanted to control your father, not harm him and cast suspicion upon himself. Jack sent Mario to come to your house tonight to reclaim you—and likely to kill me— for a reason beyond the original plan, though."

"What reason?" Hope whispered. She felt his muscles flex as he shrugged.

"Payback. For having defied Jack's all-encompassing authority. The guy's a megalomaniac."

Something occurred to her and she jerked her head off his chest. "What of Mel? What if Mario stopped her from getting back to Addie? Do you think Mario saw her? Harmed her?"