entered and stared around at the small but comfortable room. “Are you sure you live here?”
“Yes, of course. Why?” He closed the door behind him and glanced around, trying to see the room through her eyes.
“It’s...too...” she waved a hand at the room “...clean.”
Quentin shrugged and stepped past her. “Not all men are slobs.”
“Yeah, but this is almost sterile. I feel like I have to take off my shoes before I step inside.” She toed the back of her shoe. “Actually, that’s not a bad idea, considering where they’ve been.” Barefoot, she walked through the living room and peered into one of the bedrooms.
“That’s mine. You can sleep there or in the other room. Your choice. There’s only one bathroom, shared between the two bedrooms.” He unbuttoned his shirt as he walked into the small kitchen. “You can have the first shower, while I open a bottle of wine.”
“Thanks. I’ll take you up on both offers.” She headed straight for the spare bedroom, entering the bathroom from there. Before she closed the door, she called out, “I’ll try to save you some hot water.” Without looking back, she closed the door.
A moment later, Quentin heard the snick of the door being closed on the other side of the Jack-and-Jill bathroom—the door leading into his bedroom. Then he heard the sound of the shower spray.
Quentin had the bottle out of the cabinet and two glasses on the counter when he realized Becca didn’t have clothes to change into.
He entered his room and riffled through his dresser for a soft T-shirt for her to sleep in. He’d offer her pajama bottoms to go with it but he didn’t own a pair. Instead, he grabbed a pair of clean running shorts with an adjustable drawstring. With the clothing in hand, he knocked on the bathroom door.
“I’m not done yet,” Becca called out.
Quentin tried the bathroom doorknob in the guest bedroom, surprised to find it unlocked. He twisted the knob and pushed it open a crack.
Becca poked her head around the shower curtain. “What are you doing?”
“I brought clothes for you, unless you prefer to sleep in the buff.”
She frowned at his offering and then nodded. “Thanks. You can leave them on the counter.” The curtain whipped back in place.
Quentin set the shirt and shorts on the counter and turned. Though he couldn’t see through the shower curtain, he could clearly see the outline of Becca’s naked body.
His heart skipped several beats and his blood raced south, tightening his groin. Yeah, she had all the right curves in all the right places.
A sopping wet rag flew over the top of the curtain rod and smacked him in the side of his head.
“Out!” Becca demanded.
“Going.” Quentin left the bathroom and returned to the kitchen where he poured a large glass of wine and called in an order for pizza to be delivered. He had no intention of going back out and he didn’t have much in the way of food in his refrigerator, having emptied it prior to the planned two-week vacation in Mexico, which had been cut short by all that had happened.
As he drank his wine, his gaze fixed on the bathroom door, his mind conjuring the silhouette of Becca standing behind the shower curtain. He had to have her. A thousand seduction scenarios ran through his head, many of which had been successful in the past with other women. But Becca was different.
The woman wanted nothing to do with him.
She’d be a challenge, but one worthy of the effort to win.
* * *
BECCA SCRUBBED THE swamp smell out of her hair and grabbed the soap, working up a good lather. As she smoothed it over her body, she was entirely too aware of the man on the other side of the door. As a physical specimen, he was perfect, and he wasn’t a slob like most men she knew.
If she wasn’t searching for her father’s murderer, she might be open to flirting with Quentin. Maybe even sleeping with him. At the thought of her father, her chest tightened and her hand stilled. He’d been her only family.
Becca prided herself on her independence, but she’d always had the safety net of her father. He’d said if she needed him, he’d be there for her. Well, he wasn’t anymore.
Tears welled in her eyes and she dashed them away. Agents didn’t cry.
She turned the heat down on the shower, and rinsed the soap from her hair and body, reminding herself why she was there and what she had to do.
Becca stepped out of the shower, toweled herself dry and finger-combed her hair into some semblance of order. Then she reached for the clothes Quentin had thoughtfully provided. The soft-white T-shirt smelled clean and freshly laundered, unlike the clothes she’d left piled on the floor, destined for the washer.
She pulled the T-shirt over her head and let it slide down her body, imagining how differently it would fit over Quentin’s broad, muscular chest. On her, it draped loosely over her breasts and down to mid-thigh. She could wear it as a nightgown, all by itself. But Quentin had provided shorts, as well.
She pulled them up over her hips and cinched the drawstring around her waist to keep them from falling off. Completely covered, Becca still felt somewhat exposed. She didn’t have panties or a clean bra beneath the shirt and shorts. The thought of stepping out of the bathroom into the living room where Quentin was made her nipples tighten under the soft cotton fabric.
Great. He’ll think I’m turned on by him. She had to admit she was attracted to the man, but he didn’t need to know that. He’d probably press the advantage and sooner or later, she’d cave to his dogged determination to get her into his bed.
Becca pressed her hands over her breasts, hoping to warm them and make them quit puckering. But the more she touched them, the more she imagined Quentin’s hands there and the tighter her nipples beaded.
Giving up, she plucked the shirt away from her chest and curved her shoulders inward, hoping to hide the telltale sign of her awareness of the man. Twisting the towel around her hair, turban-style, she straightened—clean, refreshed and ready to face the world and Quentin.
She gathered her soiled clothing in one arm, sucked in a breath and opened the door. Despite her determination to face Quentin head-on, she felt more vulnerable than she had in the alligator-infested swamp as she walked barefooted through the bedroom and out into the living room.
Quentin emerged from the small kitchen, carrying two glasses of wine, one of which was halfway gone. He’d shed his shirt, displaying a wide expanse of a tanned muscular chest. “Feel better?”
“Much.” She took the goblet he proffered and focused her attention on the liquid in the glass, trying, but not succeeding in avoiding looking at Quentin’s gorgeous body. The red wine warmed her insides enough she lifted her head. “You don’t happen to have a washer and dryer in your apartment, do you?”
“I do. In the back of the kitchen. There’s detergent and fabric softener in the cabinet over the washer. Help yourself.”
“Thanks. If you throw your clothes out of the bathroom, I’ll put them in with mine.” Becca crossed to the kitchen and set her glass on the counter.
“I’ll only be a minute in the shower,” Quentin said on his way to the bathroom. He paused with his hand on the doorknob. “I called for pizza, I hope that’s okay with you. Sorry, we don’t have any other food delivery service in the backwaters of Mississippi.”
She smiled. “I love pizza as long as it has pepperoni.”
“Good, because that’s what I got.” He nodded toward the kitchen bar. “There’s money on the counter. I don’t have to tell you to look before you open the door. With all that’s happened, you can’t be too cautious.”
She