Free Shadows of the Past by Frances Housden Page B

bed.
     

    Her heart thundered in her chest as she sat up and tried to remember the dream, but as always, when she was fully awake it elud
    Maria staggered to the bathroom, her night blindness sending her spinning into the five-drawered chest in the unfamiliar layout.
    With her hand clenched on the faucet, she tried to relive the last few moments of the dream. If only she could see his face, she knew she would be safe. Would be able to point the finger and say, “He’s the one,” for no one had ever been caught, never been sent away and jailed for her abduction.
    Cold water sluiced over her wrists as her panic subsided, faded like her memory.
    She splashed her face with cold water, jumping when Franc’s voice came from behind her. In her stupor she hadn’t heard the door open.
    “Maria, are you okay? I thought I heard you call out.”
    “I had a bad dream.” A nightmare. Turning off the faucet, she scrabbled blindly for the towel, and one was placed in her hands that bore the scent of her mother’s favorite fabric softener. “Thanks.”
    Though she didn’t turn around, she could sense how close he’d come by the warmth that enveloped her from his body. She shivered as she patted her face dry. Not from fear, but from the potent male scents that filled her head and charged her nerves with a different kind of tension.
    She realized at that instant Franc didn’t worry her that way. It had never occurred to her not to trust him. He’d been up front with what he’d wanted. A sexual encounter only, no ties, no commitment.
    Her mother would throw up her hands at the idea, but to Maria it was a hundred times more acceptable than the sort of guy who got his jollies by sneaking around after her.
    “Do you want to talk till the memory goes away? I don’t mind.” His voice came closer as his hands pressed down on her shoulders and squeezed.
    “I was hoping not to waken you. That’s why I didn’t switch on the lights.” She bunched the towel and pressed it to her breasts as his palms slid down her arms and transferred their warmth onto her skin where the short sleeves ended.
    “No problem. I’ve been awake since the third time I almost rolled out of bed.”
    That made her smile, but she didn’t turn into his arms, though the temptation was humming through her veins, propelled by the heat of him. “I suppose you’re used to bigger and better.”
    “In beds, certainly. But I prefer my women to come just about here.” His chin rested on the top of her head. She looked straight ahead into the mirror. Night blindness was no longer a problem. Though she saw them both through the glass darkly, she saw the truth. They looked good together.
    Made for each other. Too bad.
    Franc touched her collar. “I see you didn’t take my advice. At a guess I’d say pajamas…God, I hope it wasn’t because you were scared of me.”
    He stepped back.
    Without a second thought, she turned, dropping the towel at their feet as she hurried to reassure him the only way she knew how. His chest was bare, but she didn’t hesitate to slide her arms up , secretly thrilled at the muscles her hands detected. “I’ve never been frightened of you. I can sense you’re not the kind of guy who likes to hurt women.”
    His arms swept round her back and held her, but not like the night before when he had pressed her close enough to feel every inch of him. “Can I take it from that remark that you know guys who like to hurt women?”
    Just like that, between one heartbeat and the next they jumped into the middle of her problem.
    Should she tell him? Dare she? What if she was wrong? Franc employed Randy Searle. How would she feel being responsible for him losing his job if she’d got it wrong?
    Then she remembered the feeling of eyes boring into the back of her head, and turning just in time to see Searle ducking into a shop doorway. “Randy Searle is stalking me.”
     

    It felt as if he stood at the center of a vortex, a false calm holding