bills to pay. And if there was one thing she’d learned growing up, money sure as hell didn’t fall out of the sky.
Guy dreamed of double-double hamburgers, hot, greasy French fries and rich, thick chocolate shakes with whipped cream and a big, fat cherry on top. He had the burger in one hand, the shake in the other. On a sigh, he bit into the juicy meat, but suddenly it turned to shredded cardboard in his mouth. He took a gulp of the shake, but that also had the consistency of powdery sawdust.
He woke on a hoarse cough, felt a searing pain in his chest, then blinked hard and remembered where he was. In Holly Douglas’s bedroom.
In her bed.
When she found out who he really was and what he was doing here, no doubt he’d be sleeping on the street.
Rising on an elbow, he reached for the glass of water on the bedstand. For the past two days, every time he’d awakened, there’d been a full glass there. He downed the water, then sank back onto the pillows. His chest burned and his head throbbed, but for the first time in two days, his mind was beginning to clear.
He’d felt, more than actually seen her presence since he’d tumbled into her bed. A soft rustle, a quiet whisper. Once or twice, the cool touch of her fingers on his forehead. And even when she wasn’t in the room, he’d known that she’d been there by the faint smell of strawberries and wild mint, mixed with a scent that belonged to her alone.
He’d slipped in and out of sleep, managed to muster up just enough strength to stumble back and forth to the bathroom on his own, but that was it. He’d given his body the rest that it had needed. But now, ready or not, he was getting out of bed.
And, as the saying went, he was hungry enough to eat a bear.
Since he probably smelled like a bear, though, he thought it best to tackle a shower before food. He swung his legs over the edge of the bed, then dropped his bare feet onto the cool hardwood floor. When the room stopped moving, he rose, tugged on his jeans, grabbed the blue flannel shirt she’d given him to wear and made his way to the bathroom.
Her blue-tiled shower was small, the nozzle too low for a man his height, but the water was hot and the pressure strong. The familiar scent of strawberries filled the bathroom—her shampoo, he realized, and couldn’t help himself from taking a whiff of the bottle sitting on the shower shelf. As much as he enjoyed the smell, he appreciated the unscented shampoo and fresh bar of green deodorant soap she’d left out for him on the sink countertop. A guy couldn’t very well go around smelling like strawberries, after all.
He brushed his teeth, shaved, and except for the fact that every bone in his body ached, he nearly felt human again. Now the most pressing problem was the empty pit in his stomach.
On his way to the kitchen, though, he spotted the phone on the table beside her sofa. He needed to call Flynn and give the man an update on the situation here, but hadn’t had an opportunity since he’d dumped his plane into the lake. With Holly gone, there was no better time than now.
Guy glanced around the quiet apartment. His brain had been muddled when she’d brought him in here that first day, and he hadn’t gotten a good look at the place. The furnishings were simple, but comfortable, a blend of woodsy and feminine, old and new. There were several books on a shelf beside the fireplace. Mysteries, biographies and romance, plus a new Jonathan Kellerman he’d bought himself last week but hadn’t had time to read. There were also several children’s books, which he found curious. From what Flynn had told him, she’d never been married. Of course, that certainly didn’t preclude her from having a child, but it was obvious that none lived here.
He picked up the phone, used his calling card to dial the Texas number, then sat down on the sofa, ignoring the pain that shot through his right leg when he bent his knee.
A deep, familiar voice answered on the third ring.
“Hey, Dog-Man.” From the day Flynn Sinclair had brought Guy’s older sister, Susan, a black labrador, Guy had used the nickname. “What’s up?”
“Dammit, B.W., where the hell have you been?” Flynn growled, using his own nickname for Guy. “You were supposed to call me when you got to Twin Pines.”
“Small problem.” Guy glanced at a stack of opened mail on the table beside the sofa, let his gaze linger longer than anyone would consider polite. A late notice from an insurance company and a bill from a credit card company with overdue fees lay on top. “I’ve been laid up in bed for a couple of days.”
“Yeah?” Flynn snorted. “Knowing you, there’s a female involved. So what’s her name?”
“Holly Douglas.”
There was a pause, then a blast. “What! Dammit, B.W., I sent you there to bring the woman back to Texas to meet her family, not jump into her bed.”
Guy settled back, decided to let Flynn stew for a bit. “I’m only human, pal. Before I could even think to say no, she had me out of my clothes and between the sheets.”
While Flynn went on to rant at him, Guy sort of peeked at the rest of Holly’s mail. An unopened letter with Ryan Fortune’s return address in one corner and another bill from the electric company, also late.
After a couple of minutes, the other end of the line went quiet. “You’re pulling my leg, aren’t you?” Flynn said with a heavy sigh. “And I fell for it.”
“Hook, line and sinker.” Guy grinned, noticed a small, fat pillow on the sofa that said Home Sweet Home. “But I’m actually the one who fell. Out of the sky, into Twin Pines Lake. Miss Douglas graciously pulled me out of my plane before I became fish bait.”
He went on to give details as best he could, including the twist of fate that now had him sleeping in the bed of the woman who had brought him here. And though Flynn argued, Guy told him that he wasn’t leaving Twin Pines until Holly Douglas agreed to come back to Texas with him.
“You better tell her the truth soon,” Flynn said. “As it is, she might ship you back here in little pieces with a bow on top, just to emphasize the point that she wants nothing to do with the Fortune family.”
“I’ll tell her. I just think it’s something I should ease into, rather than jump with both feet.” Guy heard footsteps coming up the stairs. “Gotta, go, pal.”
He had the phone back on the hook and just managed to make it to the kitchen when she walked in the front door. She’d done something different with her thick chestnut hair, he noted, casually piled it on top of her head and secured it with a large tortoise-shell clip. She wore a light blue denim jacket over a snug white top, jeans that hugged her slender hips and black suede lace-up hiking boots.
There wasn’t one item of clothing that by itself would remotely be considered sexy, and still he felt his pulse jump. He couldn’t help but wonder what he might find under all that smooth denim and cotton. More cotton? Lace?
Silk, he decided, watching her close the door behind her. Something in the way she moved. Smooth as silk.
She caught sight of him in the kitchen and hesitated, then narrowed those golden lady-tiger eyes at him.
“You better talk fast, Blackwolf,” she said tightly and advanced on him.
Guy’s gaze dropped to the black leather sports bag she held in her left hand. His bag. He hadn’t needed it before, but she’d obviously retrieved it from the plane. He struggled to remember what he kept packed in there. A couple of T-shirts, fresh pair of jeans, some toiletries. A paperback, but he couldn’t recall which one. Nothing he could think of that would give him away.
She set the bag on the kitchen table and folded her arms. “You’ve got some explaining to do, mister, and it better be good.”
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