The sizzle of sensual awareness she felt in his presence aggravated her. Her body had been dead to the world for so long. Why had it finally come alive now? And why with him?
She forced her attention away from him and took a quick survey of the room. The Kennedy chest was nowhere in sight, but the furniture was as dark and heavy as she remembered. Red velvet draperies decked out with black and gold tassels covered the windows. Although she'd never been in a whorehouse, she'd always believed this room would have fit right in.
The worst feature was the mirror surrounded by the red velvet canopy that hung over the bed. Since Dwayne had never brought other women here, and he'd kept the lights out when he had intercourse with her, she could only imagine what kind of kinky thrills that mirror had given him. Eventually she'd grown to suspect that he needed to see himself the moment he awakened to make certain God hadn't sent him to hell overnight.
"All right, Rachel. How 'bout you tell me what you're doing here?"
Some men, she decided, were better seen than heard. "It's late. Another time." He came over next to her, and a shiver passed through her as she gazed up into those implacable features. "I'm really not feeling well. I think I might have a head injury after all."
He brushed his hand over her face. "Your nose is cold. You're fine."
Now he had to turn into a comedian. "This is none of your business, you know."
"You want to run that one by me again?"
"This has to do with my past, and my past doesn't involve you."
"Stop stalling. I'm not letting you go till you tell me the truth."
"I was feeling nostalgic, that's all. I thought the house was empty."
He gestured with his thumb at the mirror mounted in the canopy over the bed. "Lots of good memories here?"
"This was Dwayne's room, not mine."
"Yours must have been next door."
She nodded and thought of the pretty sanctuary she'd made for herself in the adjoining room: the cherry furniture and braided rugs, the pale-blue walls with chalk-white trim. Only her old bedroom and the nursery didn't bear Dwayne's imprint.
"How did you get in?"
"The back door was unlocked."
"You're a liar. I locked it myself."
"I jimmied the lock with a hairpin."
"That hair of yours hasn't seen a pin in months."
"All right, Bonner. If you're so damned smart, how do you think I got in?"
"Jimmying locks works great in the movies, but it's not too practical in real life." He studied her, then, moving so swiftly she had no time to react, ran his hands down the sides of her body. It only took him a moment to find the key in the pocket of her sweatshirt.
He dangled it in front of her. "I think you had a key that you conveniently forgot to turn in when you were evicted."
"Give that back to me."
"Sure I will," he said sarcastically. "My brother loves having his house robbed."
"Do you really think there's anything in this house I'd want to steal?" She jerked her sweatshirt back up on her shoulder, then winced as a shaft of pain shot down her arm.
"What's wrong?"
"What do you mean, what's wrong? You threw me into a wall, you moron! My arm hurts!"
Guilt flickered across his face. "Damn it, I didn't know it was you."
"That's no excuse." She flinched again as he began moving surprisingly gentle hands along her arm, checking for injury.
"If I'd known it was you, I'd have thrown you over the balcony. Does this hurt?"
"Yes, it hurts!"
"Damn, you're a crybaby."
She lifted her foot and kicked him in the shin, but he was too close to do much damage.
Ignoring her, he released her arm. "It's probably just bruised, but you Should have it X-rayed to be safe."
As if she had the money for an X-ray. "If it's still bothering me in a couple of days, I will."
"At least keep it in a sling."
"And get fired for not doing my job? No, thank you."
He took a deep breath, as if he were summoning the last ounce of his patience, and spoke in labored tones. "I won't fire you."
"Don't do me any favors!"
"You're impossible! I try to be a nice guy, and all I get is mouth."
Maybe it was that word mouth, but the image of the way he'd looked before he put on those jeans flashed through her mind. She realized she was staring at him again, and he was staring back. She licked her dry lips.
His own lips parted as if he were about to say something, but then forgot what it was. He rubbed his thigh with the flat of his hand. She couldn't stand this sudden, inexplicable tension, and she pushed herself up from the bed, breaking the spell.
"Come on. I'll show you around."
"I live here. Why would I want you to show me around?"
"So you can learn something about the history of the house." And so she could get a look at the other rooms in hopes of finding the chest.
"It's not Mount Vernon."
"Come on, Bonner. I'm dying to see the house, and you don't have anything else to do."
She waited for him to tell her he could go back to sleep, but he didn't, and she remembered the remark he'd made earlier when he looked at the clock. "House tours in the middle of the night are good cures for insomnia."
"How do you know I have insomnia?"
So, she'd guessed right. "I'm psychic."
She moved toward Dwayne's walk-in closet, and before Bonner could protest, threw open the door. Her eyes slid across the neatly arranged shelves and half-empty rods. A few men's suits hung there. Were they Gabe's or his brother's? She saw some dark slacks and denim work shirts that definitely belonged to Gabe. Jeans were stacked on one shelf, T-shirts on another. No chest.
Bonner came up behind her, and before he could protest her invasion of his closet, she said, "Dwayne filled this place with designer suits, hundred-dollar silk ties, and more pairs of handmade shoes than anybody could wear in a lifetime. He always dressed up, even when he was lounging around the house. Not that he lounged much. He was a workaholic."
"I don't want to hurt your feelings, Rachel, but I don't give a damn about Dwayne."
Neither did she. "The tour only gets better."
She moved toward the hallway, then led him through the guest bedrooms, mentioning the names of famous politicians who'd stayed in each one. Some of what she told him was even true. He followed her, saying nothing, merely regarding her with a calculating look. He obviously knew she was up to something, but he didn't know what.
There were only two rooms left-her bedroom and the nursery-and she still hadn't spotted the chest. She approached the door to the nursery, but his hand shot out and covered hers before she could turn the knob.
"The tour's over."
"But this was Edward's nursery. I want to see it." She wanted to see her old bedroom, too.
"I'll drive you home."
"Later."
"Now."
"All right."
He seemed surprised that she gave in so easily… He hesitated, then nodded. "Let me put on some clothes."
"Take your time."
He turned away and disappeared into the bedroom. She spun around and began to push open the nursery door.
"I told you the tour was over," he said from behind her.
"You're being a total jerk! I have a lot of happy memories of this room, and I want to see it again."
"I'm so touched I'm getting tears in my eyes," he drawled. "Come on. You can help me get dressed." He shut the door before she could see inside and began steering her toward his bedroom.
"Don't bother. I'll walk home."
"Now who's being a jerk?"
It pained her to admit he was right, but it was frustrating to get so close and not be able to see the rest of the house. He closed the bedroom door after they were inside and headed into the walk-in closet.
She spotted the key lying on the bedside table where he'd left it, quickly slipped it into her pocket, then leaned against the bedpost. "Can I at least take a peek in my old room?"
He reappeared buttoning a denim shirt. "No. My sister-in-law uses it for her office when she stays here, and I don't think she'd appreciate you mucking around there."