chest lifting with rapid breaths and brushing against his, the pulse at her throat pounding against her creamy skin.
Sliding his hand up her arm to her bare shoulder, he gave her a puzzled frown.
“Don’t kiss me.” She swallowed hard and her lips parted. “Please.”
She feared him kissing her. Feared it. And yet her lips parted invitingly and the tip of her tongue touched the back of her teeth. Remembering the feel of her mouth mating with his, his body hardened. God help him, the magic was still there. He’d hoped it wouldn’t be—prayed it wouldn’t be. But it was. And he’d never expected it’d be so . . . strong. “Bess, I—”
“Please.”
There is hope. See it in her eyes. Give it time.
John let her go then stepped back, damning his conscience and himself for wanting that kiss. The look of relief on her face stung. “When you’re ready, I’ll, um, carry down your things.” He nodded toward the neat row of tapestry luggage just behind her.
She turned to look, then went rigid.
Silk parked on her haunches at the foot of the bed, alert, ears perked. She, too, sensed Bess’s sudden tension. John frowned. “What’s wrong?”
No answer.
“Bess?” A creepy feeling slithered up his back. “Answer me.”
“My bags.” She stared at them. “They’re packed.”
“You did say you were leaving.”
She looked up at him, her eyes wide. “I didn’t pack them. When I left here, my luggage was empty and in the closet.”
This rattled her. Why exactly, John didn’t know. But he didn’t like it. “Maybe Miss Hattie packed for you.”
“Why would she?” Bess frowned at him then looked back at the bags as if they were betrayers. “I’m booked here for another two weeks.”
“I arrived.” Seeing her upset got to him. Okay, they’d once loved each other, so upset was natural, he supposed. But it sure shouldn’t produce an almost irresistible urge to take her into his arms and kiss her until her fear gave out. That it did irritated him. She’d walked out on him, damn it. What more proof did he need that she couldn’t care less about him? And knowing that, why couldn’t he care less about her?
You promised.
He frowned at his conscience. It’d become a real nuisance lately.
For Elise, you swore you’d set matters right with you and Bess. Have you sunk so low that you’re comfortable lying to Elise and breaking your word? A man’s word is his bond, Jonathan.
Jonathan? John’s skin prickled. His conscience never before had niggled at him using Bess’s name for him. And it never had used anyone else’s voice either. This time, it had done both.
It wasn’t his conscience.
John looked down the long shadowy hallway. Empty. Who owned this man’s voice? Where was he? Had Bess heard—? Wait a minute. John paused to remember and analyze, mentally sifting back to the last time he’d had this odd feeling and heard this stranger’s voice. It had been at the hospital. When Elise was dying. This man, whoever he was, however he was doing this, had helped John then. Had told him to give Elise peace. To let her go, and to tell her he’d be okay without her. A shiver raced up John’s spine and set the roof of his mouth to tingling. How was the man getting into John’s head?
“Miss Hattie was with me at the cafe.”
Reeling, John blinked and looked at Bess. It took him a moment to mentally shift back to the luggage problem. “Miss Hattie was here when I arrived.”
“You’re right.” Bess looked relieved. “She joined me there. She stayed behind because she was expecting a guest. Obviously, you.”
Something strange was going on here. A man talking to John inside his head. Bess’s luggage being packed. He didn’t think for a second Miss Hattie had packed it. She hadn’t even come upstairs to show him the Cove Room. That friend of hers, Jimmy, had given John the nickel tour. But John darn well intended to ask her—just as he intended to find out the identity of this man
Sliding his hand up her arm to her bare shoulder, he gave her a puzzled frown.
“Don’t kiss me.” She swallowed hard and her lips parted. “Please.”
She feared him kissing her. Feared it. And yet her lips parted invitingly and the tip of her tongue touched the back of her teeth. Remembering the feel of her mouth mating with his, his body hardened. God help him, the magic was still there. He’d hoped it wouldn’t be—prayed it wouldn’t be. But it was. And he’d never expected it’d be so . . . strong. “Bess, I—”
“Please.”
There is hope. See it in her eyes. Give it time.
John let her go then stepped back, damning his conscience and himself for wanting that kiss. The look of relief on her face stung. “When you’re ready, I’ll, um, carry down your things.” He nodded toward the neat row of tapestry luggage just behind her.
She turned to look, then went rigid.
Silk parked on her haunches at the foot of the bed, alert, ears perked. She, too, sensed Bess’s sudden tension. John frowned. “What’s wrong?”
No answer.
“Bess?” A creepy feeling slithered up his back. “Answer me.”
“My bags.” She stared at them. “They’re packed.”
“You did say you were leaving.”
She looked up at him, her eyes wide. “I didn’t pack them. When I left here, my luggage was empty and in the closet.”
This rattled her. Why exactly, John didn’t know. But he didn’t like it. “Maybe Miss Hattie packed for you.”
“Why would she?” Bess frowned at him then looked back at the bags as if they were betrayers. “I’m booked here for another two weeks.”
“I arrived.” Seeing her upset got to him. Okay, they’d once loved each other, so upset was natural, he supposed. But it sure shouldn’t produce an almost irresistible urge to take her into his arms and kiss her until her fear gave out. That it did irritated him. She’d walked out on him, damn it. What more proof did he need that she couldn’t care less about him? And knowing that, why couldn’t he care less about her?
You promised.
He frowned at his conscience. It’d become a real nuisance lately.
For Elise, you swore you’d set matters right with you and Bess. Have you sunk so low that you’re comfortable lying to Elise and breaking your word? A man’s word is his bond, Jonathan.
Jonathan? John’s skin prickled. His conscience never before had niggled at him using Bess’s name for him. And it never had used anyone else’s voice either. This time, it had done both.
It wasn’t his conscience.
John looked down the long shadowy hallway. Empty. Who owned this man’s voice? Where was he? Had Bess heard—? Wait a minute. John paused to remember and analyze, mentally sifting back to the last time he’d had this odd feeling and heard this stranger’s voice. It had been at the hospital. When Elise was dying. This man, whoever he was, however he was doing this, had helped John then. Had told him to give Elise peace. To let her go, and to tell her he’d be okay without her. A shiver raced up John’s spine and set the roof of his mouth to tingling. How was the man getting into John’s head?
“Miss Hattie was with me at the cafe.”
Reeling, John blinked and looked at Bess. It took him a moment to mentally shift back to the luggage problem. “Miss Hattie was here when I arrived.”
“You’re right.” Bess looked relieved. “She joined me there. She stayed behind because she was expecting a guest. Obviously, you.”
Something strange was going on here. A man talking to John inside his head. Bess’s luggage being packed. He didn’t think for a second Miss Hattie had packed it. She hadn’t even come upstairs to show him the Cove Room. That friend of hers, Jimmy, had given John the nickel tour. But John darn well intended to ask her—just as he intended to find out the identity of this man
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