Page 18 of A Treasure Worth Seeking

She mustn’t lie here and dwell on it any longer. It would be better to face him with an aloof attitude. It had been nothing more to him than a naughty game in the dark. She wouldn’t let him know that it had meant more than that to her. Getting off the couch, she realized her breasts were still bare. She found her T-shirt behind the sofa after a frantic search.

She crept on silent feet toward the door. Listening thoroughly, she couldn’t hear anyone else in the house stirring. She left the study and went into the tiny bathroom she had used the night before. She shuddered with embarrassment when she remembered Lance catching her in that awkward position with her shirt raised. In fact, any thought of Lance Barrett brought on a wave of hot sensations.

“Oh, there you are,” Melanie said as Erin came out of the bathroom. Her sister-in-law was standing in the doorway of the study.

“Good morning,” Erin mumbled, hoping Melanie wouldn’t detect some sign of guilt.

She was behaving like a moron! After all, what had actually happened? A little heavy necking; that’s all. People did it all the time. She wasn’t a candidate for a scarlet letter. Yet.

“I’ve come to rescue you,” Melanie said mysteriously. “I’ve persuaded Mike to let you come upstairs and take a long bath. Then you and I will have breakfast together.”

“What about General Barrett? Don’t you think he’ll consider me AWOL?”

“Maybe he won’t find out,” Melanie trilled. “He’s not here. Come on.”

Melanie allowed Erin only enough time to pick up her suitcases in the bathroom, offering to carry the larger one herself, before virtually dragging her upstairs and showing her to the small, but comfortable, guest bedroom.

It was furnished in white wicker which contrasted nicely with the apple green walls. The bedspread and curtains were gaily scattered with a daisy pattern. A green and white striped easy chair was placed at an angle in a corner.

“The bathroom’s through that door,” Melanie said. “I checked everything, but if I’ve missed something you need, just call me.”

“Thank you, Melanie. It’s lovely. Really. I’ll be down as quickly as I can.”

“Don’t hurry on my account,” Melanie said.

“I’m not. I’m hurrying on Mr. Barrett’s account.”

Melanie only giggled before she closed the door and left Erin alone.

The bath was heavenly and she reveled in the hot, bubbly, scented water. She convinced herself that she took no special pains with her appearance this morning, but the results of her efforts made it seem otherwise.

She blew-dry her hair, skillfully wielding the hairbrush to produce a style of artful disarray for her dark curls. She chose a khaki skirt and a cotton plaid blouse in muted shades of blue and burgundy. Her Beene Bag shoes were navy kid with stack wood heels. Her only jewelry besides a tailored gold wristwatch and Bart’s diamond ring was a pair of small gold loops in her ears. She looked cool, confident, and in perfect control.

That control slipped when she heard Lance Barrett’s voice coming from the kitchen as she was descending the stairs. Her heart jumped to her throat and she gripped the banister reflexively when her footsteps faltered.

“Hey, Lance, is that you?” She recognized Mike’s voice.

“Yeah.”

“Charlie Higgins is holding on the line for you.”

“Be right there.”

Erin could hear hurried footsteps as Lance journeyed through the house toward the living room. What would he say to her this morning? What would she say to him? Not for one minute did she believe that he could have forgotten what they had shared in the inky darkness despite his commission for her to do so. How could she ever forget those few precious minutes when she experienced total bliss from a man’s embrace? She still felt the impact of his lovemaking like rippling aftershocks to an internal earthquake.

She had to face him sometime, so it might just as well be now. She took the last few steps down the stairs and then stood poised on the bottom stair where she could see into the living room. Lance held the telephone in the crook between his clefted chin and his shoulder. He was jotting down notes on a tablet.

She had expected him to look like he had the day before—gray slacks, dark tie, white shirt, the uniform of all government officials. That was hardly the sight that greeted her eyes.

Lance was clad only in a brief pair of blue running shorts and a pair of running shoes. Nothing else. As he leaned over the desk, writing on the paper that was becoming soggy from the sweat on his hand, he grew impatient with the glasses that continued to slide down his perspiration-beaded nose. In exasperation, he reached up and jerked them off, tossing them onto the desk as he continued to write furiously.

For how long she stood there and stared at him, Erin didn’t ever remember, so mesmerized was she by the symmetrical perfection of his physique. Now she knew why he was in such superior physical condition. If he ran like this every morning—and by the looks of him, it had been no small distance—his secret to that well-honed body was out.

His legs and arms were hard and sinewy. His shoulders were broad and topped an impres

sive chest that was matted with light brown hair now curled into wet ringlets. Erin’s eyes shamelessly followed the growth pattern of that hair over a corded rib cage and a flat, taut stomach into the elastic waistband of his shorts. It was disconcerting that his deep tan showed no lines of demarcation. Even more unsettling was the full evidence of his sex beneath the tight, damp shorts.

“No, I think that should do it,” he was saying crisply. “If I need anything else, I’ll call. Thanks, Charlie. I owe you one.”

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