Hell on the Heart by Nancy Brophy Page B

which was hilarious because instead of warming her, it brought a shiver.
    “You left early.”
    “Couldn’t sleep.” She didn’t think she was wrong to think of John as a precise man who performed every aspect of his life with purposeful resolve. So when she heard the careless slapping of his footsteps on the hardwood floors, she clamped her teeth together and forced herself to look at him.
    Her morning had been arduous, but his hadn’t been any easier. He wore maroon sweatpants, two inches too short, a blue tailored shirt, and a blue and gold tie. Beige bedroom slippers flopped as he walked across the floor. Every piece of self-restraint she possessed was required to keep from laughing.
    His annoyed scowl told her he knew precisely what she thought. “No stores are open yet. I had to borrow pants and shoes to come to work. Why didn’t you wake me?”
    Cause she wanted to be alone. “I, uh, left early.” Even to her own ears, her lie failed to convince.
    “How early?”
    “Around two-thirty.”
    “We didn’t go to bed till after midnight.” He had the temerity to glare at her as though accusing her of the crime of sneaking out.
    It was none of his business. “I don’t sleep much.”
    “Got your inhaler?”
    She nodded and patted her pocket. Tenderness flooded her chest. He thought to ask about her inhaler. She smiled, but was put off when his response was to frown. Apparently, they’d hit his Mr. Nice Guy image and he didn’t want her to expect it.
    “I have to use your computer. Do you have a color printer?”
    She gestured toward the aging monitor sitting on the desk in the far corner. “Help yourself.”
    His eyes took in her appearance from head to toe and found something lacking. Because he made a wider-than-needed circle to avoid any possible contact as he moved to sit behind the monitor. Granted she was in shorts and camisole, but they were clean.
    “What’s wrong with what I have on?”
    “Not a thing,” he snapped. His tone had her raising an eyebrow. How dare he be annoyed at her? She was one with cause to be mad.
    Stomping over to the desk, she placed both hands palms down on the table and leaned over the ancient monitor.
    “I know what ‘swing a cat’ means. It’s a spanking reference. What is it with you men and spanking threats?”
    Slowly he raised his eyes, pausing midway for a long look at her breasts, then her lips. By the time his magnetic eyes met hers, a shock of electricity rattled her body. Her tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth.
    “If you keep flashing those perky little nipples at me, it’s going to be more than a threat.”
    Cezi jumped as quickly as if the desk had burst into flame. “I am not.”
    For good measure she covered her breasts with her hands. The hard points beneath her jersey top alerted her to what he’d seen. Of course, she was braless. A bra was designed to support something, but judging by the low tenor of his voice and the fire in his eyes he wasn’t looking for bodacious. A look of pure male satisfaction crossed his face.
    “Several women came to visit your father today. They practically stood in line wanting to warn you about me.”
    His change of subject surprised her, but she went along with it. Although she wanted another shower to wash away the tingling that tortured her. “All bringing food?” she managed to ask as she wrestled to rein her body into line.
    “Yeah.”
    “Those women,” she scoffed as though the word was an insult, “don’t care about me.”
    “Nope. Nicholae’s playing a dangerous game. Having three women on the string is difficult for anyone, but three women who know each other screams someone’s going to die young and leave a good-looking corpse.”
    “He’s not sleeping with them.”
    At that comment, he raised his head. She hated that amused look. Right now, she really hated it, because her nipples pebbled even harder as though finding his charming face oh-so-delightful.
    A rueful smile kicked up one