Connor waited until he heard her rinse out her mouth at the basin a few minutes later. Frustration rippled through him. Every morning for the past four days had been the same, and he hadn’t the faintest idea of how to handle it. It galled him to feel so helpless.
He hovered at the bathroom door. “We need to be ready to go in about forty-five minutes. Would you prefer to have breakfast upstairs?”
In the mirror he watched Holly grit her teeth in staunch determination. “I’ll be okay. Just give me a minute or two to get dressed.”
She lifted her eyes from the highly polished chrome taps and met his stare in the huge bevelled mirror above the vanity. The angry flare of heat reflected there seared him like a brand. His gaze dropped. Bent, as she was over the basin, the generous neckline of her nightgown had fallen open, exposing one creamy swell of breast tipped with dusky rose.
His libido, still stinging from the denial he’d rigorously implemented, clawed at his insides like a starving, roaring beast. His mouth dried and he felt his lips part, almost in remembrance of the night, just over two months ago now, when he’d tasted the intoxicating sweetness of her skin. He should move, say something, do something—anything but stand here, a helpless victim to the siren call of her body.
She swayed slightly, and her knuckles whitened as she gripped tighter at the marble surface, as though that was the only thing holding her up. “Seen your fill for the morning?” she asked acerbically, lifting her chin and watching as his eyes flicked up to meet her angry stare in the mirror.
“Be ready to leave on time.” He snapped, mad as hell that, like some hormone-driven teenager, he hadn’t been able to control his voyeuristic tendencies and in doing so he’d allowed her the upper hand.
Connor stalked out of the bedroom suite. Holding her to him each night was sweet torture. His hands clenched into fists and unclenched again. As uncomfortable as it was proving to be, she had to remain hands off. He didn’t want to crave her like this. He would overcome the incessant desire she’d loosed in him, even if it took every last ounce of control he had left. Denial was nothing new in his life. It made him who he was.
Connor pounded down the staircase and made his way to the breakfast room. His cell phone buzzed in his pocket and he frowned as he identified the number. Euminides Investigations.
“Yeah,” he barked.
“I thought you might like to know that your Miss Christmas has put a request into our office.”
“A request? What the hell? What sort of request?”
“One identical to yours, mate. Since the file’s still active, I wasn’t sure if we should take her on.”
“Thanks for the heads-up.” Connor thought for a minute. Why on earth would Holly be investigating herself? “Keep the enquiry open, and keep me posted on the results.”
“And Miss Christmas?”
If Connor told them not to take her on as a client he knew they wouldn’t, but then she’d probably go elsewhere and for some reason that filled him with unease. No, he wanted to find out why she was doing this. “Keep her on, too, but I want to see whatever you find first, okay?”
“Sure. I understand.”
Connor snapped his phone shut and pushed it back in his pocket. What the heck was Holly up to now?
“Coffee, sir?”
“Thanks, I need it. Miss Christmas will be down shortly. She’s a little indisposed.”
“Ah, yes, good morning, miss.” Thompson stared over Connor’s shoulder, a polite smile of greeting pasted on his face. “Your usual tea and dry toast?”
Holly stood at the door, wearing a suit Connor recognised from the office. The stark navy blue, broken only by the slash of her soft cream blouse at the lapels, drained her of colour. She’d scraped her hair off her face in a tight twist that would probably leave her with a headache by lunchtime. Still who was he to care? So long as the baby was okay, that was all that mattered. At least, that’s what he told himself. He refused to consider that anything or anyone else mattered as much.
“Thank you, Thompson,” Holly answered as she skirted around to the far side of the small, circular table in a clear attempt to put as much physical distance between them as she could, given the cosy bay-window setting of the breakfast room.
“Might I suggest water crackers, miss?”
“Pardon?”
“Water crackers?”
Holly’s response only just beat his own. What was Thompson on about?
“I’ve been doing a little reading. It might give you some relief if you eat a dry cracker or two when you first wake. I’ll arrange for a container by the bed for you.”