Page 5 of Forbidden Heat

3

Minefield

I’m finally alone,but despite my fatigue and all that yummy food, I’m not sleepy at all. What an aggravating man.

Eating while he watched me was … interesting. My imagination kept going to inappropriate places. Like how his dedication to taking care of me would play out in the bedroom.

I nixed jumping him after he went all authoritarian on me, but my body has its own ideas. My libido seems to think a dominance sandwich, served between two big slices of bossiness and flavored with control issues, is just fine.

Restless, I climb off the bed. Maybe I can take myself on a tour of the house and start getting acquainted with my new — but temporary, I remind myself, very, very temporary —home.

I crack open the door and hear voices. Mrs. Jameson’s, I’m pretty sure, and Mr. Thorne’s. Slipping out, I go to the railing that overlooks the lower floor and strain to hear.

“I’ll be back in a few hours. No need to wait up.”

“Yes, sir.”

A few seconds later, a door opens, and the sound of the ongoing downpour invades the house for a moment before the door closes again, shutting out the night.

Footsteps sound and I dart back into my room. Collapsing on the bed again, I let myself ponder.

Why on earth would Cameron Thorne need to go out for “a few hours” in the middle of the night? Maybe it’s because of the way he affects me, but my imagination immediately conjures up all sorts of dark possibilities.

He’s gone to a sex club. Or he has a mistress waiting, or a call girl, someone he doesn’t want to be seen with in the light of day. Maybe someone is blackmailing him, and he has to go out at night to do their bidding.

That one makes me snort. Thorne doesn’t do anyone’s bidding, that much I’m certain of. He wouldn’t stand for anyone giving him orders.

Which makes me want to try it, just to see the look on his face.

I jump up and go to the door again. The house has gone dark and silent, so apparently Mrs. Jameson does as she’s told. As no doubt she would, if she wants to keep her job.

Good thing I’m not here as an employee.

After a few moments, my eyes adjust to the dimness. There’s no illumination on this floor, but a faint, soft glow comes from the first floor in the direction of the foyer. A light left on for Mr. Thorne’s return, no doubt.

Afraid I’ll bump into something if I try to navigate in the all-but-total absence of light, I go back into my room and find the penlight in my purse. Once I’ve returned, it shows me that I’ve been quartered at one end of a long hallway. Moving confidently in the penlight’s beam, I step silently along the thick runner that takes up most of the hall, with a few inches of wood flooring visible on either side.

At the other end of the hallway are heavy double doors. My heart kicks up a notch. The master suite?

The knob turns easily under my hand. I bite my lip; I know I shouldn’t go in. It’s not like me at all to snoop. But Cameron Thorne has me more than a little curious.

I’ll just take a quick peek. In and out. No one will ever know.

Not surprisingly, the door opens smoothly and without any noise. No doubt Mr. Thorne keeps everything meticulously maintained, and besides, I can’t imagine anything in this house having the temerity to squeak against his will.

It’s dark inside. I know he’s gone, but still I listen, carefully, for several long seconds. There’s no sound of movement or breathing. Finally, I aim the penlight into the room.

The space is huge, dominated by an enormous bed. The comforter is a rich brown, the sheets a warm bronze, the whole room unstintingly masculine. I’m certain I’ve found his suite.

I flick the penlight around some more, catching sight of a door that most likely leads to a bathroom, and floor-to-ceiling windows covered with heavy drapes that probably lead to a balcony. There’s a fireplace in one corner with a seating arrangement in front of it.

That’s enough. Leave now. But I don’t. What could it hurt if I looked around a little?

Cautiously, as though the room were rigged with motion-sensor alarms, I step inside, my light playing over the area around the bed. It’s on a raised platform, with nightstands on either side. Reading lights are mounted on the wall to either side of the heavy wood four-poster bed frame.

I move slowly forward until I’m standing at the bottom of the bed. It’s so massive it looks like it could withstand an earthquake. The penlight explores the structure until something catches my eye.

Something metallic … the light retraces its path until it comes on a ring set into the wood. A quick exploration reveals several more of them embedded in the frame. They could be merely decorative, but my hindbrain is insisting that they’re not.

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