LITMIR.BIZ

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were offering him something he wanted.

      She knew very well he wasn’t going to tell her. “Should I say I’m sorry about your husband?” he asked. “Pretend that I have good manners?”

      Her aquamarine eyes settled on him. “Are you sorry?”

      “Yeah. I get the feeling you’ve been through enough.”

      With a sigh, she tucked a strand of silvery hair behind her ear. “I’m just Miss Kisserton. That’s my maiden name. I didn’t use my husband’s name after I came to work for Marvella. I didn’t want any reminders of what kind of life he was living. According to the police, it was high-dollar drugs and glamorous parties. Parties at which I was often the unsuspecting hostess. Believe me, my skin creeps when I think about my own part in what was going on.” She looked at him sadly. “I should have guessed, but I was so busy concentrating on being the perfect wife and hostess that I didn’t pay attention to what now seems obvious.”

      He waited, realizing she wanted to talk.

      “I feel very guilty about that,” she murmured. “I wish I’d known. I’d never have married him.”

      “It’s not your fault.”

      “I tell myself that.” She replaced the lid and went to sit on the bed. “But it doesn’t help.”

      With her guard down, Cissy looked like a young girl. Innocent, fragile and beautiful. The combination packed a powerful punch.

      She looked up at him. “I learned my lesson about rescues. There’s no such thing as a handsome prince.”

      “I believe you,” he agreed. “I think there’s no such thing as a handsome princess.”

      She laughed at him. “Do you need rescuing?”

      “Nah. Occasionally my brothers get on my nerves, but I can handle them.” He tore his gaze away from her, telling himself that it would be easy to put the strange, unexpected feelings he was experiencing back inside their long-forgotten hiding place. “And I wouldn’t like a princessy kind of girl, anyway. I like trashy girls.”

      Her eyes rolled. “There are plenty on the premises. I’d be happy to find you one to talk to—”

      “No, no,” he said hastily. “It’s after hours and you’re off duty as a hostess. I’d better go.”

      She nodded at him. “All right.”

      He tipped his hat to her.

      “I’m very curious to see how you do this,” she said.

      “Do what?”

      “Leave. Since I have no idea how you got in.”

      “Oh.” He grinned. “Okay.”

      He unlocked her door, opened it and left.

      She jumped off the bed and jerked the door open, pulling him back inside.

      “A simple ‘please stay’ is sufficient,” Tex said.

      “You can’t let anyone see you!” Cissy said. Then she paused. “Do you want to? Stay?”

      “Do dogs have ears?” he demanded.

      She locked the door behind him. “I noticed that you were attracted to me, but I felt that was probably your standard reaction to any female in a bathrobe.”

      “Very likely,” he agreed, not missing the chance, while they were close, to smell her. Honeysuckle.

      “You don’t smell like a bad girl.”

      Her eyes widened. “Strange. You smell like a bad boy.”

      “And how is that?”

      She sniffed him as they stood against the door. “Leather. Aftershave. A beer or two. And…something I can’t quite name.”

      Leaning close, she smelled his neck. Her hair feathered against his collarbone and under his chin, and his erection returned full force.

      “Sex?” she asked, her eyes wide.

      “Don’t mind if I do,” he replied, sweeping her playfully into his arms.

      “No,” she said, pushing against his chest until she freed herself. “I think you smell sexy. Maybe manly is the word I’m searching for.”

      “I hope that’s a good thing,” he said, taking her hand and kissing it. “If not, we could take a shower together.”

      She wrinkled her nose and pulled her hand away.

      “I don’t think so. Something tells me water conservation with you would be detrimental to my health.”

      For the moment, he forbore further wisecracking, since he was definitely experiencing resistance from her. He decided not to take it personally, considering they were two birds of a feather, and he felt like resisting her, too. “Okay, if I can’t leave the way I came in, how do you expect me to go?”

      “I don’t know.” She watched him as he snagged the cake box and sat on her bed. “What are you doing?”

      “Eating your un-wedding cake.” He lifted the lid and pulled out a hunting knife from his jacket pocket.

      She gasped. He glanced up.

      “Overkill, I know. But would you rather I use my fingers?” He cut a neat slice from the cake.

      A second later, she joined him on the bed. “You might as well cut me a piece, too. It doesn’t look as if you’re leaving anytime soon.”

      “Oh, I’m leaving, all right. I just need a sugar boost before I jump out your window. I’m not a superhero, you know.”

      He felt her stare at him in amazement, and he decided he liked having her attention on him like that.

      “Can you jump out a second-story window in your condition?” she asked.

      He hesitated in the act of handing her a slice of cake. “What condition? I’m in prime physical shape.”

      “Well—” She gestured toward his crotch, which was still distended from their close call by the door. When she’d drawn near to smell him, he’d definitely felt the impact.

      “Oh, that,” he said nonchalantly. “Don’t you worry about that. Sugar boost’ll take care of that in a flash.”

      “Really?”

      “Sure.” He bit into the cake. “Eat your un-wedding cake.”

      “What is un-wedding cake, anyway?”

      “Well, if you learned today that you’re no longer married, I suppose that’s what this should be. We can be sad if you want to be, though,” he offered hastily.

      “Oh, no. Please. I wouldn’t think of it.” She tasted her cake, too. “I’m just glad to know that he was finally found. I wouldn’t have felt right remarrying if I’d never learned what happened to him. I have no idea what the marital expiration date is on husbands who disappear. It could be a decade, for all I know.”

      “Hey, this is un-wedding cake. Do not sleep with this under your pillow and try to dream of your future husband. Old wives’ tales don’t really work,” he said sternly.

      “I’ll probably never get married again, anyway,” she said, finishing off her cake. “I’ve got too many kids to care for.”

      “And that’s something I’ve been meaning to ask you,” he said, cutting another piece for himself. “How many children do you have? Because I found a picture of you in Hannah’s room, and I think I counted nine. Nine!” He looked at her, his heart in his throat. “Those weren’t your responsibilities, were they?”

      She looked at him for a long time, and he didn’t like the depth of her gaze. It told him all he needed to know, and he didn’t need

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