Читать книгу Honeymoon With A Stranger - Frances Housden - Страница 11

Bars of pale watery sunlight slipped through the bars on the window, painting stripes on the faded blue quilt covering Roxie.

Memory hit her the moment she opened her eyes and surveyed her prison. She leapt out of bed, checking her watch.

It was 8:00 a.m. and she was alone.

Roxie glanced down at the lacy camisole revealing her breasts, and from it to the little-boy short panties that matched. The T-shirt she’d gone to bed in was on the floor, and she couldn’t remember taking it off, but at least she was halfway decent.

It took several moments more to recall the camera that watched her every move, and less time than that to pick up the black T-shirt and pull it over her head.

Trying not to glance the camera’s way, she ran her palm across the rumpled sheets on the other side of the bed. There was still a dent in the feather pillow from Mac’s head.

The sheets were still warm. Almost as warm as the memory of the act she’d put on the night before.

She could hear the shower running on the other side of the bathroom door. Hoping Mac was discreetly tucked behind its curtain as she dashed to the bathroom, with a perfunctory knock she dived through the door without waiting for a reply.

Eyes closed, Roxie leaned back against the coat she’d left hanging from the hook, to catch her breath.

It must have been Mac leaving the bed they were sharing that wakened her, since he couldn’t have been showering long, for the steam still hadn’t filled the bathroom.

She could see Mac’s tall shape through the opaque plastic curtain, the top of his head level with the curtain rail.

Although his outline was blurred, she made out that it tapered nicely from shoulder to waist, six-pack abs but no unnecessary mass to his muscles.

Heat scored her cheekbones as she remembered curving her hand round his arm while pressing against his chest. But she had no time to dwell on the memory as Mac asked, “Come to join me?”