Page 37 of Bachelor Cop Finally Caught? (Hot off the Press! 2)

The white French Provincial furniture from her girlhood had been replaced by what appeared to be an antique pecan set. Maybe from the early 1900s, he hazarded, though he was hardly an expert on furniture periods. She’d used deep, rich colors in fabrics and throw pillows—greens and burgundies that made the room feel warm and cozy.

Having finally procrastinated as long as he could, he turned his attention to the big bed.

Lindsey was curled in the center of the mattress, almost hidden by pillows and bedcovers. She lay on her side, one small hand resting beside her face. Her dark lashes were fanned across cheeks that were still too pale for his peace of mind, and the bandage at her temple gleamed whitely beneath strands of tousled red hair. Her full, soft lips were moist and lightly parted, her breathing slow and even.

She looked young and vulnerable lying there in her sleep—but he no longer saw her as a child. He almost wished he could. It had been a hell of a lot simpler when she was just B.J.’s little sister.

Some magnetic force drew him closer to the bed. He stood there with his hands buried deep in his pockets, his gaze focused unblinkingly on Lindsey’s mouth. He didn’t even try to pretend he was unaware of the urge to crawl into that bed with her. His entire body ached with the desire to do just that. He wanted her. Apparently, he’d wanted her even before he had realized it.

Acknowledging that hunger scared the stuffing out of him.

He remembered her telling him that at least he knew now that there was something to be nervous about. She’d said so right after she’d asked if she scared him—and he’d very honestly answered that she did.

He’d have to be blind and stupid not to recognize the signals she’d been sending him—and, apparently, he’d been both until quite recently. When had she decided she wanted more from him than platonic friendship? And why couldn’t she see what a really bad idea it was?

He’d gone through his list of reasons so many times he could reel it off without even stopping to think now. He was a decade older than her—and sometimes felt considerably older than that. She was eager, optimistic, idealistic; he was wary, bitter and jaded. She was poised for a great future in her career, ready for opportunities she couldn’t find here in Edstown; he was comfortably settled in a job he didn’t want to leave. Even their careers clashed—his job required some degree of secrecy, while hers was based on unearthing as much information as possible. He was a confirmed workaholic, and she would probably—and understandably—expect quite a bit of attention in a relationship.

Even as he mentally recited the list, he knew it was mostly camouflage. The real reason he was reluctant to even consider getting involved with Lindsey was that he was terrified of hurting her—and equally terrified of being hurt again himself.

Some self-protective instinct told him a mistake with Lindsey could make the demoralizing catastrophe with Melanie seem like a minor annoyance.

Lindsey sighed in her sleep and shifted in the bed, dislodging her cozy pile of covers. She’d changed from the scrubs into a white cotton nightgown, he noted. He couldn’t resist reaching out to pull the covers back over her, smoothing them carefully to her bruised chin. The back of his fingers brushed her cheek—and there was no way he could keep from noticing the velvety softness of her skin.

Again, his body reacted with painful intensity. His hand was unsteady when he drew it back and shoved it in his pocket again—not as easy a task this time since his jeans had grown considerably tighter.

While he still retained a modicum of common sense, he backed away from the bed and turned toward the door.

Chapter Nine

Lindsey woke with a low moan. It was almost as if pain had been prowling like a cat around her bed, waiting for her to wake up so it could pounce. And pounce it did—invading every muscle of her body.

She had hit the pavement hard when the force of the explosion knocked her off her feet. She had the scrapes and bruises to prove it—but at least she didn’t have any serious injuries, she reminded herself bracingly.

Forcing herself to open her eyes, she focused on the bedside clock, waiting until her vision cleared so she could read the time. She was startled to see that it was after eleven. She never slept that late. The pain pill must have really knocked her out.

Yawning, she crawled out of the bed, muttering a curse in response to her battered body’s protests. Accustomed to excellent health and fitness, she hated being incapacitated in even a minor way. Maybe a hot shower would help ease the soreness out of her muscles.

Fifteen minutes later she headed for the kitchen. She’d dressed in a loose sweatshirt and leggings, both soft and nonbinding in deference to her bruises. No makeup, and her hair was a mess, but what did it matter? There was no one to see her.

Intent on filling her empty stomach, she almost missed seeing the man sleeping on her couch.

Doing a classic double take, she stopped and stared, not quite trusting her eyesight. What was Dan doing here? She couldn’t believe he’d remained here rather than going to his office. Dan never stayed away from the office this late!

He must have fallen asleep and lost track of the time, she decided, biting her lower lip as she moved closer to the couch to gaze down at him. He’d looked so tired lately; exhaustion must have finally caught up with him. He would be appalled when he realized what he’d done.

She hated to wake him. He looked so peaceful, and he certainly needed the rest. But she knew he’d want to be on his way quickly.

She cleared her throat and reached out a hand to touch his shoulder. “Dan?”

He made a sound that fell somewhere between a grumble and a snore. Oddly enough, she found it rather endearing.

“Dan?” she said again, leaning closer and shaking him a bit harder.

He sat up so fast they bumped heads. “What?” he almost yelled, clearly disoriented.

“Ouch!” she said at the same time, putting a hand to her injured forehead.

Dan reached up to catch her arms, tugging her down to sit on the couch beside him. “Are you okay?” he asked, searching her face in concern.

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