Free The Edge of Dawn by Beverly Jenkins Page B

something was up. Earlier, after he’d run into the house to answer Uncle Willie’s call then come back out to the patio to tell her the coast was clear, not finding her where he’d left her had scared him to death. In the space of those brief seconds while he visually and frantically scanned the yard, all kinds of bad scenarios concerning her whereabouts raced through his head.Finally when he saw her stand and fight her way out of the milkweed, no words could describe the flood of relief he’d experienced. That’s when he knew something was up. Although he’d only been around her a few days, he’d never been so concerned about a woman before. Sarita, his foster sister, yes, but not anyone else. Saint figured he could deny everything and chalk it all up to reactions to the drama surrounding the Eye, but that wouldn’t be the truth. The truth—Narice Jordan was getting to him and he didn’t know how to make it stop.
    The shadows of dusk were creeping into the bedroom. Saint checked his watch. In less than an hour it would be dark. Willie had graciously offered them a bed for the night, but the cheetah in Saint was restless; he wanted to get on the road and drive. They’d hole up for the night in Detroit with family. They’d be safe there, and in the morning see about deciphering the quilt.
    To Narice it seemed like a mere second had passed when she heard a soft male voice, “Hey, angel, wake up. We need to go.”
    Narice really wanted to sleep. “Five minutes,” she croaked.
    She heard him laugh gently, “Come on, baby doll. Time to roll.”
    Narice opened her eyes to see Saint seated on the bed beside her. Dark glasses on. Beard on. Lord he is gorgeous . She scanned the faded green coat. “Do you ever go anywhere without that tacky coat?” she asked, humor lacing her groggy tone.
    He drew back in mock offense. “No dissing the coat, woman. We could live on a deserted island for years with the stuff I carry around in this so-called tacky coat.”
    The still sleepy Narice pondered living on a deserted island with him. He’d keep her safe, that she knew. She also knew that without him, this adventure would be a whole lot scarier. She slowly sat up. “I’m ready.”
    Their faces were only a few inches apart. Time slowed. He ran his eyes lingeringly over her face, her mouth.
    Seeing him, feeling him, Narice trembled with anticipation.
    Saint had to call upon every discipline he’d ever learned to keep from reaching out and tracing his finger over the sultry shape of her mouth. He vowed to leave this woman alone, and he thought he’d meant it. Now he wasn’t so sure.
    Before getting her degree in childhood education, Narice’s job on Wall Street had put her in contact with some pretty powerful men, yet none of them exuded the intensity and purpose pulsating from inside this shade-wearing man. Just being near him made her dizzy. He was dangerous in so many ways. Grabbing hold of herself she scooted away and off the bed. Standing now, she croaked, “I’m ready when you are.” Feeling self-conscious, she cleared her throat.
    Saint smiled to himself. She was shaking like a virgin at a Thai whorehouse. He found that surprising.Since hooking up with him, she’d been all business. He was now even more curious about the woman lurking beneath the iron maiden exterior. “I think you may be bugged. Let me see your purse a minute.”
    â€œReally?”
    â€œYeah, that might be how the cockroaches tracked us here.”
    â€œWhere might it be?”
    He smiled.
    Confused, she asked, “What’s wrong?”
    â€œNothing. Just love the way you speak. ‘Where might it be?’”
    She put her hand on her hip. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to offend you with my perfect speech.”
    He help up his hands. “Whoa, whoa, baby. I wasn’t mocking you. It was a compliment.