Page 10 of Bedroom Therapy

Chapter Three

“Just what the hell do you think you’re doing?” Amanda demanded, her gaze shooting daggers at the man casually invading her privacy. He had absolutely no right to be pawing through her personal stuff, yet there he was, big as life.

At least when Zachary Grant whirled to face her, she saw embarrassment spreading across his face.

“What are you doing?”

“Investigating a murder.”

The matter-of-fact answer went right by her. She was too focused on her own outrage. In back of him, her junk drawer stood open. The drawer where she shoved all kinds of things she didn’t know what to do with. Even in the short time she’d been in St. Stephens, a lot of stupid stuff had accumulated—like grocery store coupons, the tube of cream she’d gotten in case she came down with another vaginal infection, the plastic cards she had stopped carrying in her wallet.

“Get out of here!” she almost shouted.

“Sorry,” he muttered, shoving his hands into his pockets so that he looked like a little kid who’d been caught with a porn magazine.

But he wasn’t a little kid. He was a man—who could be dangerous, she realized belatedly.

“Sorry doesn’t cut it,” she answered, struggling to keep her voice from quivering. Probably she should leave well enough alone, but she heard herself asking, “What are you, some kind of pervert or something?”

He gave her a long look, a look that made her want to take a step back. But she held her ground.

“No,” he answered, his voice low and measured. “I’m a private detective. Like I said, I’m investigating a murder.”

She stared at him as she tried to wrap her mind around that statement, because now that she’d finally focused on what he was saying, it was the last thing she’d expected to hear. “But . . . but . . . you said you were a reporter,” she stammered, wondering how she’d gotten it all wrong.

“No, you said it.”

She thought about how she’d come to what was apparently a false conclusion. “Beth said you were coming here to interview me. Naturally I assumed it was for an article.” She glared at him. “And that’s what you let me think.” Then a sick thought struck her. Had Harmons College sent him? And he was still lying to her to cover up his real purpose. She wanted to order him out of her house. But she needed to find out what was really going on. Raising her chin, she demanded, “What murder? What are you doing investigating me?”

“There are some questions about Esther Knight’s death. I’m interviewing everyone who knew her well. Naturally, you’re on the list.”

She felt a surge of relief. This had nothing to do with the damn college. Immediately, she felt guilty. Poor Esther was dead, and now someone thought it might be murder?

To hide her own discomfort, she pinned Mr. Zachary Grant with some pointed questions. “That’s how you work? By pretending to be someone you’re not? And poking in my dresser drawers?”

“I was going to tell you I was a PI”

“When? After you searched my bedroom?”

He had the grace to look embarrassed.

Her eyes flicked to the bed, and she was vastly relieved that at least the vibrator was hidden under the pillow.

Or had he found it and shoved it back?

She shifted her weight from one foot to the other, thinking she could be in a lot of trouble now. She’d let this guy into her house under obviously false pretenses. And she was alone with him. The only thing that made her feel the least little bit okay with the situation was that he’d won over Beth. Well, she was going to have a nice little chat with her as soon as she got rid of Mr. Snoop.

“Please leave,” she said again.

To her relief, he said, “Okay.”

She let out a breath, just as he brushed past her to get to the door.

His arm briefly touched her breast, and she made a startled sound in reaction.

She saw the set of his shoulders tighten as he marched down the hall. She was hoping he’d head out the front door. But he stopped in the living room.

“I’m sorry we got off on the wrong foot,” he said.

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