Burn (Page 50)

Chapter Fifteen

NORMALLY JENNER JUMPED OUT OF BED WIDE AWAKE, which was probably more from early conditioning than from nature. Until seven years ago, she’d never had the luxury of sleeping as late as she wanted, of lazing around in bed even after waking. Even when she’d been a little kid, getting up and going to school had been her responsibility, because Jerry had seldom been awake that early, and sometimes not even at home. Getting up and hitting her stride had immediately become so deeply ingrained in her that she did it even when there was no longer any need. Her mornings now usually involved nothing more pressing than sitting on the balcony reading the morning paper while leisurely drinking coffee, but, by damn, she had a right to it.

This morning, however, even after she woke she couldn’t make herself get up right away. Instead she kept dozing, lulled by the darkness and the subtle rocking of the ship. Gradually she realized that the darkness wasn’t due to the hour, but that she’d pulled the covers over her head. She was toasty warm from head to toe, she was comfortable, and she was … not handcuffed.

Galvanized, she bolted upright out of the nest of covers.

Her first wild hope was that she was alone in the suite, that either she’d just had a wild, Dallas-type dream or that a single night of surveillance had given them the information they wanted and they’d all disappeared in a submarine or something. That hope was immediately dashed to bits, because Cael was sitting in the chair beside the bed where he’d handcuffed her the night before.

He had an earbud in place, but when she jumped to her feet in the middle of the bed he glanced up and said drily, "It erupts."

Deflated, she sat down with more force than grace. "How did you uncuff me without waking me?"

"You were sleeping like Dracula at high noon. I thought about pouring cold water on you, but I appreciated the peace and quiet too much."

He’d shaved, she realized; the shadow was gone from his jaw. That meant he’d showered, leaving her alone in the bedroom. To test her cooperation, maybe? Would it have been the kind of test where Bridget waited right outside the door to see if she tried anything? Or had he not played any games and had Bridget here in the suite, watching her? Probably the latter, because she couldn’t see him taking any chances, if what they were doing was important enough to rate all this trouble. She knew she wouldn’t, if she were in his position.

He was also wearing different clothes, khaki pants and a royal blue silk shirt that darkened the blue of his eyes to something approaching breathtaking. Bridget must have brought his clothes from the stateroom he’d been sharing with Tiffany. Jenner couldn’t believe how soundly she’d slept, with all that activity going on.

Then she realized something else, something that stole the breath from her lungs: He was watching the movement of her breasts under the flimsy tank top.

She wasn’t easily embarrassed, but heat flooded her face. Last night she hadn’t given a damn whether or not she was wearing a bra, but she’d slept since then, finally, and moreover she’d slept with him. Even though she’d been cocooned in the covers, he’d been mostly naked, and a muscled body like that wasn’t one she could easily forget, though she intended to do her level best to ignore it.

Or maybe not. She found herself jamming her finger at him. "Don’t even think I’ll go all Stockholm syndrome. You got that?"

"God save me," he returned. "But if you don’t want a man to look, then don’t bounce up and down in front of him. Not that yours are big enough to do much bouncing, but they do wobble a little."

"What they do is none of your business. Just keep your eyes north." There didn’t seem to be any way she could drive that point any further, so she went on to a different subject. "I’m going to take a shower and wash my hair, so I’ll be awhile."

"Don’t take too long," he advised, glancing at his watch. "You have forty minutes."

That ticked her off, because she hadn’t put a limit on his bathroom time. Her shoulders stiff, she marched to the closet and got out the clothes she was wearing that day. She couldn’t find her toiletries, though, and began going through all the built-in drawers in frustration.

"What are you doing?"

"Looking for my shampoo and stuff."

"Everything’s already in the bathroom. Didn’t you notice last night when you washed your face?"

Last night she’d been practically comatose, so, no, she hadn’t noticed anything. She’d even brushed her teeth without wondering how her toothbrush and toothpaste got in the bathroom. Wheeling, she took her things into the bathroom and jerked the door shut. Everything was there, from perfumed lotion to hair spray. Her shampoo was sitting on one of the shelves under the sink.

Forty minutes, huh? She thought about locking the door, but didn’t want to provoke him – he might retaliate by making her leave the door open at all times, and she didn’t want that. When she was in the bathroom was probably the only time she’d be alone. The time limit meant she couldn’t have a long soak in the whirlpool tub, not that she was the soaking type anyway. Her normal routine was to jump in the shower and jump out again as quickly as possible, so that was what she did. She’d been issued a challenge, and she met it head-on.

The bathroom came furnished with a hairdryer, a good one. Her hair was fairly short, so drying it didn’t take long, and her current style was more windblown than sleek. Her makeup during the day was no big deal, just eye shadow, mascara, and lip gloss, so that didn’t take a lot of time. She was out of the bathroom well within his time limit.

He raised one eyebrow, which was damn annoying because she couldn’t control her own eyebrows that way, and took a leisurely sip of coffee.

Coffee. Her attention zeroed in on it like a bear on honey. She had the beginnings of a headache that said she’d better get some caffeine soon, in any form. "Is there any more coffee?"