As Christian approached the circular drive leading to the front steps, he didn't slow his speed. It threw her. He bypassed the main house and drove around a bend. His taillights disappeared. Where was he going? She knitted her brow and blindly followed his lead. As she made the turn to the right, a quaint cottage lay just ahead. Subtle landscape lighting gave it a gentle radiance, illuminating the encircling trees. Its charm reminded her of a Disney flick.
She pulled in behind him and turned off the ignition to her car. "So this is where you hang your hat, Delacorte. Very nice." She nodded her approval, craning her neck toward the windshield for a better view.
Then it hit her.
The pretentious mansion with its many, many rooms was one thing. But this?
"I'm going to be staying here with you, in this small, intimate cottage. Oh, my Gawd!"
The minute he opened his car door and turned to see her face, he realized something had changed in her resolve. For the first time since he'd met her, Raven looked unsettled, off her game.
But then again, he knew exactly how she felt.
His home had always been his oasis. A refuge. Despite his joking with her about bringing women home, he'd never brought one here. Tensing his jaw, he wondered why his mind drifted to something so personal. This is business, Delacorte! Yet with Raven, it felt like anything but—
The evidence box hoisted to his shoulder, he turned the key to the front entry, then quickly entered a pass code into the security system to his right. With a sideways glance, he watched her walk past him and stop, setting her overnight bag beside her feet.
"I called ahead, had the housekeeper change the sheets and stock the kitchen. You take the bedroom." He set the evidence box in the study, then took a deep breath before heading back to her. Stepping back into the living room, he found her still standing near the entry. Her eyes absorbed every detail of her limited accommodations, without uttering a word since she'd crossed his threshold. He hadn't known her for very long. Even so, he knew Raven being speechless would be highly improbable.
He took a risk, hoping to break the ice.
"I assure you I can control my manly urges. You're safe here." Hand to his chest, he waited for a smile from her.
None came.
Instead, she slowly stepped into the living room. Her eyes darted to the room just beyond. His bedroom. Its double doors were open, its lamps lit and welcoming. And from what she could tell, the housekeeper had even left a chocolate mint on the pillow. Still, she avoided the bedroom with a vengeance. Tension dominated the space between them. He felt the need to defend his decision.
"An outsider's assumption is that you'd be staying in the mansion. And the smaller place makes it easier to defend. Is this arrangement a problem?"
She hesitated for only an instant. "No, not at all. It's just that I don't want to take your bedroom. Let me— I'll sleep on the couch."
It wasn't what he wanted to hear, but at least she was talking.
"No way. If it'll make you feel any better, I can barricade the doors once you're inside, block it with this console table . . . maybe that chair."
She crossed her arms and eyed him suspiciously, her defiance back. "The barricade would only work from the inside, Delacorte."
"Yeah, well. Just seeing if you were paying attention."
Her expression finally softened. He'd even coerced a soft chuckle from her. It gave him the courage to speak freely.
"Look. If it makes you feel any better, this is as awkward for me as it is for you. Contrary to what you might believe, I've never brought a woman here. Not here. This is my home. And I want to welcome you to it. Please relax. I want you to feel safe, especially from me."
Raven smiled. And as she stepped slowly toward him, he found himself holding his breath.
"On occasion, truth has come from those lips. And I do trust you, Christian. I keep asking myself why, but I do trust you," she teased, placing her hands on his chest, a finger circling a button.
He swallowed, hard. Already, his body reacted to her familiarity. With her standing so close, he wanted nothing more than to kiss her again, to feel her body next to his. But this was all about building trust between them. If anything more were to follow, it had to start on a foundation of trust. She'd have to make the first move. Having her here would be the combination punch of ecstasy and pure torture that only a woman inflicted upon a man. And he had the bruises to prove it.
With his past in question and his future an even bigger mystery, his truce with her would be difficult enough. He wasn't sure he had the strength to endure the sweet torment of Raven Mackenzie.
She cleared out of his bedroom long enough for him to move some toiletries to the guest bath, retrieve a change of clothes for the morning, and take a quick shower. As she wandered into the library, she heard the shower start. Perusing his book collection would not keep her from imagining his firm body under a hot stream of water, but it would have to do.
From the little she knew of him, his life focused on violence. He trained like a warrior, a result of his traumatic childhood. And armed men surrounded his home. All of it had comprised violence or his fear of it.
Yet in this library, in his home, his struggle for serenity was so apparent. Classical music and literature, books of poetry abounded, leaving her all the more confused by this enigmatic man. Her fingers lightly trailed along the book spines, maintained with great care, on polished cherrywood bookshelves. This had to be his favorite room. It was hers, too. She pictured him reading by a crackling fire or working at the computer on his desk. And yes, he'd fight the urge to gaze out the window at the picturesque grounds with only the measured beat of a clock to keep him company. The image was so vivid, lonely and comforting at the same time.
Christian was definitely a man of contradictions.
"I left towels for you on the bed." His low voice melded into her mind like an afterthought. "Sleep in tomorrow morning if you'd like."
She turned to find him standing barefoot by the study door. His dark waves still damp from the shower, he was dressed in a black T-shirt and jeans. A pale blue towel draped his neck. As she stepped closer, the faint scent of herbs mixed with the unique essence of his skin, teasing her senses. The color of the towel tinted his green eyes to a familiar deep azure, making it nearly impossible for her to walk by him.
But the cop in her took over, reminding her she was here for a reason. A killer was free. The bastard had nearly killed Tony and had invaded her home, forcing her from it. Damn! Reality bites.
"Good night, Christian."
"Sleep well."
She resisted the urge to touch him as she walked by, clenching her fingers into a fist. But one urge she couldn't fight was the impulse to fill her lungs with his scent. Why did he have to smell so good?
It was a very long walk across the living room. Before she closed the bedroom doors, she looked for him one last time. He stood at the threshold of the library, his arms folded across his ample chest. And those eyes held her just as sure as if she were in his arms. Her breath wavered, catching in her throat.
Normally, a polite smile from her would have severed the connection between them, allowing her to carry on. But her attraction for him had been undeniable from the start. Now, the hunger was impossible to ignore. After shutting the doors behind her, she leaned against them and closed her eyes to capture the memory. Her whisper broke the spell.