Free When Night Falls by Cait London

tried to keep his eyes on her face, not on the gap in her dress. He’d been a business manager; he knew how to control a situation—and Uma was a definite situation, a troubling one. “It’s been a hard day for you. You should go home and rest.”
    She glanced at the whiskey bottle on the counter. “It’s been a hard day for you, too. You resent the suspicions, don’t you? I don’t blame you. It must have brought back bad memories. You’re emotional now and hiding it behind by growling. That won’t do, Mitchell. Not everyone is your enemy.”
    She went right for the heart of his mood, leaving him nowhere to hide. Feeling raw and exposed to her, he decided to take a defensive shot—just a little warning to tell her it was backing-off time. Mitchell leaned back against the counter and crossed his arms over his chest. “What do you want from me? Bottom line? And by the way, your dress is unbuttoned.”
    He’d expected her embarrassment and enough distraction to send her on her way. Instead, Uma looked down; sheslowly, methodically secured the button in its hole and then met his eyes. “The shirt and boxer shorts? Would you mind terribly if I helped paint tonight? Or are you set to growl some more?”
    “Why don’t you just run on home to Everett? Or back to your nice, safe house?” He didn’t like revealing the bitterness in him, that lack of control, the edges that Uma could raise.
    And she wasn’t backing off, ignoring his warnings. “I could. But then I’d miss the fun of seeing you trying to bully me.”
    Bully . That’s how he’d thought of Fred. The label shocked Mitchell. “Huh?”
    “You’re wounded and you’re hurting and you’re striking back. Madrid is a good town, Mitchell. Give us a chance.”
    How much of a chance had they given his family years ago? Instead of answering Uma, Mitchell turned away. “You lived one life. I lived another. Our viewpoints aren’t going to match…my clean laundry is on the bed. Use what you want.”
    An hour later, Mitchell tried not to look up at Uma’s bottom, cupped within his boxer shorts, or the muscles flexing in those long legs, her bare feet slender on the ladder.
    He wasn’t used to sharing his life or his personal space and Uma had stepped right into both. Bully . The word still burned. But then, he shouldn’t be shocked, he was Fred Warren’s son, wasn’t he?
    They’d worked quietly, effectively, noting briefly only the necessities. He turned away from the light fabric over her breasts, the uptilt of them as she raised her arm to paint around the ceiling. He didn’t want to think of her as a desirable woman, one he’d want to carry into his bedroom, there to forget about the rest of the world.
    But that was exactly what rode him, the poignant sensual restlessness of a man too long without a woman.
    At three o’clock in the morning, they had finished the living room and Uma sat on the ladder, her head down. “I’d better go.”
    She rose tiredly, stretched, and shook free the hair she’d tethered in that loose knot, and the movement caught him, stunned him with unexpected sensuality. “I’m glad it’s over now and Lauren can rest. Thank you for letting me say goodbye to her like this, restoring what she loved.”
    “Any time.” Mitchell didn’t want to remind her that someone else might have been involved; she needed whatever closure was possible. But more than likely, whoever had shot Pete Jones and the windmill was still around.
    Dawn found Mitchell cleaning brushes and making coffee and wondering about the need to hold Uma tight against him, to wrap his fist in that long, waving soft hair and take her mouth.
    But then his wife had said he was too controlled, too cool, even in lovemaking, hadn’t she?
    Lovemaking . Was that what it was called when two people served a mutual need, then separated as soon as possible, lying deep in their own thoughts, the air heavy with them? Intimacy would be difficult for you. A woman needs that