Page 34 of A Treasure Worth Seeking

“Is that so unusual?” He quirked an eyebrow quizzically.

“For you it is. You rarely smile, you know,” she chided gently.

He smiled then, but his eyes were serious. “You make me smile,” he whispered.

“Do I?”

“Yes. You do.” He kissed her deeply. When her tongue darted past his and sought the interior of his mouth, he pushed away from her. “Erin, stop that or I won’t be able to. And you’re supposed to be sick.” He got up from the bed and began to dress. “What kind of a cad do you take me for, to insinuate myself on a helpless, weak woman? Besides all that, I’m on duty. Government business.” His grin was decidedly wicked. “But this has been one helluva coffee break.”

Erin giggled. “You’re improving. You even made a joke.”

He pulled on a pair of brief blue underwear. She sighed in the pleasure of watching him dress. “Somehow you never struck me as the type to wear such sexy underwear. You look almost as good in it as you do out of it,” she said impishly.

He cast a look at her that was mockingly stern. Then he broke into a wide smile. “I bet you say that to all the boys,” he said coyly. She laughed again.

When he was dressed, he came back to the bed and leaned over her. “Are you really all right? I didn’t intend to be so greedy, but, Erin, you…” He couldn’t finish without kissing her again. “Did I hurt you?” There was no mistaking the concern in his voice.

“Yes, Lance, I’m all right. And no, you didn’t hurt me any more than I wanted to be hurt.” She smiled lovingly as she brushed back errant strands of hair from his forehead. “It was beautiful and I’m wonderful.”

He sat down on the edge of the bed and took both her hands in his. “Erin,” he said slowly. His thumb was drawing a circle in her palm and he stared at it fixedly. Then he lifted his eyes to meet hers. “There are so many unanswered questions, but I didn’t want to talk about other men when I was in bed with you.”

“No. I understand.”

He bent over her and kissed her once on the soft curve of her breast, then tenderly on her mouth. “Can I see you later?” he asked, raking her with his eyes and lending a double meaning to his words.

“Um-hum,” she said lazily. It was a promise.

“Get some rest.” He kissed her lightly on the forehead and left the room.

Chapter Eight

Several hours later she was coming out of the bathroom rubbing her wet hair with a towel when someone knocked on the bedroom door. She was securely wrapped in a terrycloth robe, so she said, “Come in.”

Mike stuck his head around the opened door. “Miss O’Shea, you have a call from Bart something or other. Do you want to take it?”

Bart! In startled reaction she pressed her fingers against compressed lips. Mike looked at her curiously and she stammered, “Y—yes, I’ll take it. Ask him to wait a moment, please.”

“Just pick up the telephone in Mrs. Lyman’s room and you won’t have to come downstairs.”

“Thank you, Mike.”

He was almost out the door when he turned around and said, “By the way, I’m glad you’re feeling better.” Before she had time to respond, he had ducked his head shyly and scooted out the door. Compared to Mike’s usual terseness, the speech was elocutionary.

Erin returned the damp towel to the bathroom and mercilessly raked a comb through her wet curls. She was buying time. What could she say to Bart? She didn’t want to talk to him so soon after having made love to Lance.

She’d fallen asleep after he left her and hadn’t had time to properly cherish her reactions to their shared intimacy. The enormity of what had happened was still too new, too private, too sacred. She wanted to ponder this momentous occasion, restructure the scene, relive each sensation, listen as her mind played back each stirring word Lance had said.

But if she didn’t talk to Bart, no telling what he might do. He might jump to a wrong—or right—conclusion and do something impulsive.

She sighed as she left her room and went into Melanie’s. It would be better to talk to him now rather than later. Long distance was no way to break an engagement, so she would talk to him normally. As soon as she was able to return to Houston, she would have to tell him she couldn’t marry him.

Especially now.

“Hello,” Erin said into the receiver.

“Well it’s about time, sugar. What in the hell took so long? I’ve been hangin’ on this damn phone for five minutes. You okay, baby?”

Had Bart ever called her by name? she thought crossly. She was instantly sorry for her vexation and said as cheerfully as she could, “I’m fine, Bart. I’m sorry for the delay.” She offered no explanation for it.

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