Heaven, Texas (Chicago Stars #2)(22)

Right then he made up his mind. He had enough problems in his life, and he didn’t need any more. First thing tomorrow, he was getting rid of her.





4




Church bells rang outside the window as Gracie crossed to the bedroom door and tapped gently. “Bobby Tom, breakfast is here.”

Nothing.

“Bobby Tom?”

“You’re real,” he groaned. “I was hoping you were only a bad dream.”

“I ordered breakfast from room service, and it’s here.”

“Go away.”

“It’s seven o’clock. We have a twelve-hour drive ahead of us. We really need to get on the road.”

“This room has a balcony, sweetheart. If you don’t leave me alone, I’m throwing you right over the top of it.”

She retreated from his bedroom door and walked to the table, where she nibbled at a blueberry pancake, but she was too tired to eat. All night long, she’d awakened at the slightest noise, certain Bobby Tom would slip out while she slept.

At eight o’clock, after she’d called Willow to report on her questionable progress, she tried again to rouse him. “Bobby Tom, are you finished sleeping yet because we really must leave?”

Nothing.

She opened the door gingerly and her mouth went dry as she saw him sprawled naked on his stomach with the sheet twisted around his hips. His legs were splayed, one of them bent. Despite the angry scars behind his right knee, they were strong and beautiful. The skin looked bronzed against the stark white sheet and the golden hair on his calves shimmered in the morning light that crept through a slit in the drapes. One foot was buried in the blanket at the bottom of the bed; the other was long and narrow with a high, well-defined arch. Her eyes lingered over the ugly red puckered scars on his right knee, then rose to his thighs and the sheet that wound round his hips. If only that sheet were three inches higher….

She was shocked by the force of her desire to see that most private part of him. All the nude male bodies she had seen in her lifetime were old. Would Bobby Tom look like those men in the movie last night? She shivered.

He rolled over, taking the sheet with him. His hair was thick and rumpled, with a trace of curl at the temples. The skin on his cheek held a crease from the pillow.

“Bobby Tom,” she said softly.

One eye opened a fraction of an inch, and his voice was gravelly from sleep. “Get naked or get out.”

She walked determinedly over to the windows and pulled the cord on the draperies. “Someone certainly is grouchy this morning.”

He groaned as light flooded the room. “Gracie, your life is in serious jeopardy.”

“Would you like me to turn on the shower for you?”

“You gonna scrub my back, too?”

“I hardly think that’s necessary.”

“I’m trying to be polite about this, but you don’t seem to be catching on.” He sat up, fumbled for his wallet on the bedside table, and withdrew several bills. “Cab fare to the airport is on me,” he said as he held them out.

“Shower first, and then we’ll talk about it.” She hastily backed out of the room.

An hour and a half later, he was still trying to get rid of her. She hurried down the sidewalk to the Memphis health club, a white paper carry-out bag containing a large cup of freshly squeezed orange juice clenched in her hand. First she hadn’t been able to get him out of bed, then he’d told her he couldn’t even think about taking off until he’d had his morning workout. They’d no sooner entered the lobby of the suburban health club than he’d shoved some money in her hand and asked her to go to the restaurant around the corner and pick up some orange juice for him while he changed into his gym clothes.

As he’d disappeared into the locker room, his eyes had been guileless and his smile innocent, which made her certain he planned to ditch her while she was gone. She grew absolutely convinced of it when she saw he’d given her two hundred dollars for orange juice. As a result, she’d been forced to take drastic action.

Not surprisingly, the restaurant was several blocks farther away than he had led her to believe, and she’d hurried through the transaction as fast as she could. As she returned to the health club, she bypassed the entrance, heading instead for the parking lot in the back.

The Thunderbird sat in the shade with the hood up and Bobby Tom peering under it. She was out of breath as she rushed toward him. “Finished with your workout already?”

His head shot up so abruptly he banged it on the hood, knocking his Stetson sideways. He cursed softly and straightened his hat. “My back was a little stiff, so I decided to wait until tonight.”

His back looked perfectly fine to her, but she refrained from pointing that out, just as she withheld comment on the fact that he had obviously planned to drive away while she was gone. “Is there something wrong with the car?”

“It won’t start.”

“Let me look. I know a little bit about engines.”

He stared at her in disbelief. “You?”

Ignoring him, she set the damp sack on the fender, peered under the hood, and lifted up the distributor cap.

“My goodness, you seem to have lost your rotor. Let me see. I just might—” She opened her purse. “Yes. I have one right here.”