He backed away from her bed and reached for his cell phone to check in with Salvatore. Pausing at the door, he took in the sight of her, imprinting on his brain the image of Mari sleeping even though that vision ensured he wouldn’t be sleeping tonight.
* * *
Mari’s dreams filled with Rowan, filled with his blue eyes stroking her. With his hands caressing her as they floated together in the surf, away from work and responsibilities. She’d never felt so free, so languid, his kisses and touches melting her bones. Her mind filled with his husky whispers of how much he wanted her. Even the sound of his voice stoked her passion higher, hotter, until she ached to wrap her legs around his waist and be filled with his strength.
She couldn’t get enough of him. Years of sparring over their work, and even the weather if the subject came up… Now all those frustrating encounters exploded into a deep need, an explosive passion for a man she could have vowed she didn’t even like.
Although like had nothing to do with this raw arousal—she felt a need that left her hot and moist between the legs until she squirmed in her bed.
Her bed.
Slowly, her dream world faded as reality interjected itself with tiny details, like the slither of sheets against her skin. The give of the pillow as her head thrashed back and forth. The sound of the ocean outside the window—and the faint rumble of Rowan’s voice beyond her door.
She sat upright quickly.
Rowan.
No wonder she’d been dreaming of him. His voice had been filtering into her dream until he took it over. She clutched the puffy comforter to her chest and listened, although the words were indistinguishable. From the periodic silences, he must be talking to someone on the phone.
Mari eased from the bed, careful not to wake the baby. She pulled her robe from over a cane rocking chair and slipped her arms into the cool satin. Her one decadent pleasure—sexy peignoir sets. They made her feel like a silver-screen star from the forties, complete with furry kitten-heel slippers, not so high as to trip her up, but still ultrafeminine.
Would Rowan think them sexy or silly if he noticed them? God, he was filling up her mind and making her care about things—superficial things—that shouldn’t matter. Even more distressing, he made her want to climb back into that dream world and forget about everything else.
Her entire focus should be on securing Issa’s future. Mari leaned over the lace bassinet to check the infant’s breathing. She pressed a kiss to two fingers and skimmed them over Issa’s brow, affection clutching her heart. How could one little scrap of humanity become so precious so fast?
Rowan’s voice filtered through the door again and piqued her curiosity. Who could he be talking with so late at night? Common sense said it had to be important, maybe even about the baby.
Her throat tightened at the thought of news about Issa’s family, and she wasn’t sure if the prospect made her happy or sad. She grasped the baby monitor receiver in her hand.
Quietly, she opened the door, careful not to disturb his phone conversation. And yes, she welcomed the opportunity to look at Rowan for a moment, a double-edged pleasure with the heat of her dream still so fresh in her mind. He stood with his back to her, phone pressed to his ear as he faced the picture window, shutters open to reveal the moonlit shoreline.
She couldn’t have stopped herself if she tried. And she didn’t try. Her gaze skated straight down to his butt. A fine butt, the kind that filled out jeans just right and begged a woman to tuck her hand into his back pocket. Why hadn’t she noticed that about him before? Perhaps because he usually wore his doctor’s coat or a suit.
The rest of him, though, was wonderfully familiar. What a time to realize she’d stored so much more about him in her memory than just the sexy glide of his blond hair swept back from his face, his piercing blue eyes, his strong body.
Her fingers itched to scale the expanse of his chest, hard muscled in a way that spoke of real work more than gym time with a personal trainer. Her body responded with a will of its own, her br**sts beading in response to just the sight of him, the promise of pleasure in that strong, big body of his.
Were the calluses on his hand imagined in her dream or real? Right now it seemed the most important thing in the world to know, to find out from the ultimate test—his hands on her bare flesh.
His back still to her, he nodded and hmmed at something in the conversation, the broad column of his neck exposed, then he disconnected his call.
Anticipation coursed through her, but she schooled her face to show nothing as he turned.
He showed no surprise at seeing her, his moves smooth and confident. He placed his phone on the wet bar, his eyes sweeping over all of her. His gaze lingered on her shoes and he smiled, then his gaze stroked back up to her face again. “Mari, how long have you been awake?”
“Only a few minutes. Just long enough to hear you ‘hmm’ and ‘uh-huh’ a couple of times.” She wrapped her arms around her waist, hugging the robe closed and making sure her tingling br**sts didn’t advertise her arousal. “If I may ask, who were you talking to so late?”
“Checking on our security and following up a lead on the baby.”
She stood up straighter and joined him by the window, her heart hammering in her ears. “Did you find her family?”
“Sorry.” He cupped her shoulder in a warm grasp, squeezing comfortingly. “Not yet. But we’re working on it.”
She forced herself to swallow and moisten her suddenly dry mouth. “Who is this ‘we’ you keep mentioning?”
“I’m a wealthy man now. Wealthy people have connections. I’m using them.” His hand slid away, calluses snagging on her satin robe.
Calluses.
The thought of those fingers rasping along her skin made her shiver with want. God, she wasn’t used to being this controlled by her body. She was a cerebral person, a thinker, a scientist. She needed to find level ground again, although it was a struggle.
Reining herself in, she eyed Rowan, assessing him. Her instincts told her he was holding something back about his conversation, but she couldn’t decipher what that might be. She searched his face, really searched, and what a time to realize she’d never looked deeper than the surface of Rowan before. She’d known his history—a reformed bad boy, the saintly doctor saving the world and soaking up glory like a halo, while she was a person who preferred the shadows.
She’d only stepped into the spotlight now for the baby. And that made her wonder if his halo time had another purpose for him—using that notoriety for his causes. The possibility that she could have been mistaken about his ego, his swagger, gave her pause.