“We aren’t taking any chances.”
She agreed with a nod. “Who were you talking to?”
“Nick,” he answered. He picked up his shaving kit and headed to the bathroom. “I’ll fill you in after I shower. And Isabel...”
“Yes?”
“Put some damn clothes on.”
She looked down at herself. Her clothes hadn’t disappeared.
Closing her eyes, she folded her hands in her lap and tilted her head back to rest on the headboard, trying to clear her mind of everything but happy thoughts. That proved impossible because Michael kept getting in the way. She could hear the shower running and naturally pictured him naked with warm water cascading down his muscular shoulders and arms. She wondered what he would do if she stepped into the shower with him. Probably let her seduce him again. She tried to erase the image from her mind, but it was impossible. Thankfully, the shower ended.
She had the discipline of a nymphomaniac. She told herself to think about tomorrow and what she wanted to accomplish. She came up with a few ideas, but then Michael walked out of the bathroom, and every thought in her head vanished. He was wearing a white towel around his waist and nothing else. She could barely catch her breath.
“Put some damn clothes on,” she demanded.
His reaction wasn’t what she expected. He laughed.
How could she be coherent with him looking that good? This wasn’t fair. And it didn’t get any easier when he dropped the towel, pulled out a pair of boxer briefs, and put them on. Was that supposed to squelch her lust? She took a long deep breath and slowly let it out before she could talk again.
“Are we both sleeping in this bed?” she asked.
“Yes, we are.”
“It’s a small bed.”
“Yes, it is.”
“We could ask if they would bring up a cot,” she said. Her voice sounded as though she had laryngitis.
“No.”
She wasn’t sure why he was being so stubborn. In an effort to get along, she decided to acquiesce, knowing it was going to be a long, tense, sleepless night for her. “Okay, then. We’ll share the same bed.”
“Damn right.”
“You’re in a mood, aren’t you?”
He didn’t answer her. Changing the subject seemed the prudent course of action because she didn’t want to get into an argument. “I’m glad we had the chance to talk to some people today, but we didn’t really find out very much about Glen MacKenna. I think we should head west tomorrow, like you said. I’m ready. I’ve had time to calm down. I’m still angry, but I think that’s a good thing because it will keep me on edge.”
Michael walked over with the paper bag from the store. She couldn’t stop staring at his chest. All muscle, she knew from kissing and touching him. And the heat radiating from him... the way the dark hair tapered at his navel...
He had to move her legs out of the way so he could sit down next to her. “I know you want to take some time to get information about Glen MacKenna, so okay, we’ll do that. We’ll just have to be careful.” He gestured toward her arm. “Okay, let’s get those stitches out.”
She shook herself out of her stupor. “What did you say?”
“I said it’s time to take out your stitches.”
Michael dabbed alcohol on her arm and gently clipped and removed the stitches. She grimaced a couple of times.
“It stings.”
“I like that you don’t hide what you’re feeling.”
“Why would I? I don’t need to be tough with you.”
“No, you don’t,” he agreed. “Okay, all finished. The surgeon did a good job. Remember what he called you?”