Defender. Diana Palmer
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narrowed. His chest rose and fell quickly. It had been a long time since he’d felt this way; years, in fact, and he felt the stirring of his body with fascination and regret. But she was off-limits. Period. He didn’t dare touch her. Her father would string him up.
He let go of her hair with a grin. “Better get some sleep, kid. I’ve got an early appointment.”
“Okay.” She jumped up from the bed, and then hesitated beside it, frowning. “Paul, you’re sure about the cameras? That there aren’t any around here?” She looked around worriedly.
“I swept the whole house myself twice,” he assured her. “No cameras. No bugs. Nothing.”
“All right, then.” She hesitated. “I wouldn’t want to get you into trouble with my father. We’re just friends, but if he saw us together like this… I mean, he might get ideas.”
“No cameras, no bugs,” he repeated gently. “On my honor.”
She smiled at him. “Okay.”
“Go to bed.”
She sighed and turned toward the door. She paused at the doorway. “And I’m sorry again.”
“For what?”
She made a face. “Bringing back bad memories for you. Good night.”
She was gone before he could protest, in a whirl of pink froth.
He lay awake in the dark, memories haunting him. Memories of blood. So much blood. Blond hair, darkened with it, spread on the bare floor, and a smaller form…
He rolled over and buried his face in the pillow. Don’t think, don’t remember, it’s gone, it’s over. He closed his eyes. Eventually, he slept.
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