Her pulse jumped.
It was a quality this home shared with its owner.
Her eyes flickered to the left. Those rooms hadn’t been part of the guided tour.
Charlie’s rooms?
Pulse accelerating, she took a hesitant step forward, curiosity fighting against common decency.
You can’t, she told herself urgently. You’re his guest.
But he won’t know.
She bit her lip. Della would have been mortified.
But she won’t know either.
Breathing out unsteadily, she glanced back into the silent house. It was incredibly rude to snoop. Her mouth twisted. Almost as rude as not turning up to welcome your guests. And it wasn’t as if she was going to steal anything.
Besides, right now Charlie Law wasn’t just a stranger, he was an enigma. It was only natural to want to find out more about this man who had dragged her halfway around the world.
Holding her breath, she opened the door, feeling a bit like Bluebeard’s latest wife. But there was no terrifying chamber of secrets. On the contrary, his room was similar in style to her own, although it definitely had a more masculine feel.
Heart pounding, she ran her fingers lightly over the dark grey bedcover and breathed in, her nostrils flaring.
She could smell rosewood and cardamom. It was almost as if he was here.
Her skin tightened. With legs that felt wooden she turned slowly. She felt her breathing waver, then stall in her throat.
Charlie was standing in the doorway, his dark eyes fixed on her face.
‘See you anything you like?’ he asked softly.
Charlie stared at Dora in silence. She was gaping at him as if she couldn’t believe what she was seeing, and he understood completely how she felt.
He couldn’t believe what he was seeing either.
It was tempting to think she was just a figment of his imagination. Except that in the feverish dreams that plagued his nights she wasn’t wearing nearly as much clothing. Nor were her hands just stroking his bedding...
His body hardened, blood throbbing through him with punitive force. He gritted his teeth. His eyes weren’t lying. Dora Thorn wasn’t an illusion—she was here, in his room, her blonde hair loose around her face, her pink mouth parted in shock.
‘I was just looking—’
‘Why stop at looking?’ He inclined his head towards the bed. ‘Go on...get in. Make yourself comfortable.’ Starin
g at her steadily, he paused, then said, ‘But if this is some kind of clumsy attempt to lure me beneath the sheets, I’m afraid I’m going to have to disappoint you.’
‘What?’
Her chin jerked up, cheeks reddening, eyes widening with shock and fury. ‘I don’t want to get into your bed—and I certainly don’t want to get in it with you.’
She was lying. He could hear it in the urgency of her denial, see it in the pulse jumping at the base of her throat, and he felt his own pulse quicken in response.
‘Yet here you are in my bedroom,’ he said coolly.
‘I told you. I was—’
‘Looking?’ He paused, holding her gaze. ‘Is that what you call it in England? And there I was thinking you were snooping.’