She blinked at his abrupt departure. “Great. And thanks.”
“Your bag
is in the bathroom. Don’t get those bandages wet if you decide to wash.”
Bandages? She glanced down and saw that she was indeed wrapped in bandages, from just under her breasts to her waist.
“Why am I wearing bandages?” she called after him.
“Long story. Get dressed, and I’ll explain.”
She cursed him silently but didn’t move, for the first time taking in their surroundings. If they were in a hotel, it was certainly the dustiest hotel she’d ever seen. And the furnishings were so old and worn they looked ready for the dump.
She looked up, saw the pitched roof and the strings of cobwebs trailing the length of the room and frowned. If she didn’t know any better, she’d swear they were inside the old farmhouse. But that didn’t make any sense. Surely it would be too dangerous. Their murderer would come here, if only to make sure that Doyle was still in her trap.
She climbed out of bed and walked across to the window, peering out. Trees swayed beyond the roof of the veranda, and on the ground to her left was a patch of black soil in a sea of yellow-green grass. Zombie remains, she thought with a shiver. They were definitely at the farmhouse, then.
She wrapped a blanket around herself and headed down the stairs. Doyle turned around in the kitchen as she entered the living room.
“Nice outfit,” he commented, eyes bright in the hazy light. “I especially like the teasing flash of thigh as you walk.”
She blushed and tugged the blanket around her. “Why are we still here?”
He turned away, stirring the contents of a bubbling pot. “Why are you not getting dressed?”
“Because I want answers.”
“You’ll get them when you get dressed.”
He moved across to the freezer and opened the door, then hesitated and met her gaze. Heat trembled between them, burning through every part of her. She knew that if she so much as breathed his name right now, he would take her in his arms and make love to her, right here in this dusty old living room. And while she ached for his touch, she wasn’t ready yet to give in to desire. Wasn’t ready to trust that completely. So she tugged the blanket closer and remained silent.
He sighed. “I’m not made of stone, Kirby. I’ve made no secret of my desire for you, and right now, you’re not making it any easier for me to keep my distance.”
Her blushed deepened. “Sorry,” she muttered and retreated. God, what had she been thinking? She’d only been with two men in her life, and both times it had been an uncomfortable experience. She’d certainly never been relaxed enough with either of them to parade around semi-naked. Yet here she was, draped in nothing but a blanket, padding about in the presence of a man she barely knew.
Maybe she’d lost some brain cells somewhere in the last twenty-four hours.
She found the bathroom. By the time she’d cleaned up and dressed, the smell of toast was drifting through the air, making her stomach rumble.
She headed back out and sat on one of the stools near the kitchen counter, sniffing the air appreciatively. “Smells good.”
“Thank God for canned food and freezers,” he said, sliding a plate of baked beans and toast across to her. “Remind me to leave some money behind for our unknowing hosts when we leave.”
She raised an eyebrow. “A considerate thief?”
He smiled. “Always.” He motioned with his fork to her plate. “Eat. You need to regain your strength.”
She ate, discovering she was hungrier than she’d thought. He offered her a second helping, and she demolished that as well, feeling a whole lot better for it.
“Thank you,” she said as he replaced her empty plate with a cup of coffee. “Now, answers, if you don’t mind.”
He sipped his coffee for a moment, leaning back against the sink and regarding her steadily over the rim of his mug. There was a touch of accusation in his gaze, and heat crept across her cheeks, though she wasn’t entirely sure why.
“Why didn’t you tell me about the wounds on your back?” he asked.
She frowned for a second, then remembered the manarei attacking her as she’d tried to flee over the fence. “To be honest, I forgot. It was my leg that hurt, not my back.”
“The wounds got infected and could have killed you. Next time, mention it.”