License to Thrill

massaged the hotel's aloe lotion into her skin and thought of James sleeping in the next room. He seemed so omnipotent, it was hard to imagine his requiring something as pedestrian as sleep. Did he lie naked, sprawled over the entire bed with nonchalance, or fully dressed on the edge with his gun at his waist? Chill bumps zipped over her glowing skin and she frowned at the connecting door. A knock upon it startled her so badly she dropped the small bottle, sending it bouncing across the rug.
    "Kat?" James asked softly, then knocked again. "Are you awake?"
    Re-tucking the corner of her towel under her arm self-consciously, she stepped toward the door. "Yes, James, I'm awake."
    "May I come in?"
    She looked around the room frantically, searching for the shirt she'd worn yesterday. "Um, just a minute, I'm not decent."
    His throaty laughter rumbled through the inch of wood. "I sincerely doubt that, Pussy-Kat."
    Oh, that voice was going to be the end of her. Her pulse kicked up, dewing her hairline as she dropped the towel and pulled her day-old clothes from the back of a chair and onto her body. She winced down at her baggy-kneed leggings. Barefoot and braless, she unlocked the door and swung it open.
    The door pulled with it the scent of his grooming, tickling her nose with strong mannish aromas. James filled the doorway, wearing perfectly creased navy slacks and a crisp taupe-colored long-sleeved shirt. The top two buttons were undone, revealing a slice of a sparkling white T-shirt which she guessed had also been pressed within an inch of its life. "Do you travel with a personal valet?" she asked, peering around him.
    He smiled, a breathtaking gesture. "I'm glad to see your sense of humor has recovered."
    Not a word about what had nearly transpired between them last night, proof positive of its insignificance—to him. "I'm almost a free woman," she said lightly. "I need to call Val and let him know where I am, plus the fact that the police have a new suspect."
    "Will have a new suspect after we talk with Detective Tenner and the district attorney. I left a message for Tenner that we'd see him this morning, and your attorney will need to accompany us." He stopped and angled his head slightly. "Perhaps you can arrange to take the polygraph while we're there."
    Kat's heart tripped and she swallowed. "Do you think that will still be necessary?" As James studied her face, she fought to keep the fear from her eyes by attempting a small shrug.

    *****

    James sensed her trepidation. Was she hiding something or simply nervous at the prospect of taking the test? "That will be up to you and your attorney."
    She brushed aside the topic with a forced smile. "Let me dry my hair, then I'll need to stop by the apartment for clothes and toiletries."
    He nodded, relenting. Perhaps he was mistaking awkwardness over their encounter last night for guilt. And he certainly didn't want to dredge up that unsettling subject. "I'll order breakfast—what would you like?"
    She headed back toward the bathroom and released her hair from the towel with a flick of her wrist. It tumbled around her shoulders in thick, separated locks. "A bagel sounds great," she said, "or maybe some hot cereal. And coffee."
    James stood rooted to the spot as she picked up a pink comb, squinted into the vanity mirror, and leaned forward to part her hair. For a few seconds, the wet, dark carpet of mane concealed her face, then she swept the heavy strands back over her ears carefully with the comb. It struck him as infinitely intimate, watching her fuss with her hair, and quite possibly the most innocently erotic scene he'd ever witnessed.
    From a tiny tube she squeezed a clear substance into her palm, rubbed her hands together, then massaged the shiny stuff from her scalp to the ends. Silhouetted by the glaring overhead light and with her arms lifted high, it was suddenly quite apparent that beneath the rumpled white shirt, she wore no bra. The dusky outline of her nipples riveted him. James felt his manhood twitch in warning, then surge.
    In Europe, it was common to see bare-breasted women—on public beaches, in advertisements— so he, like most traveled Englishmen, had seen a fair amount of comely busts in somewhat casual settings. In the past, he'd found the puritan practice of American women binding and covering their God-given gifts to be, in turn, annoying and stimulating. And at the moment, the glimpse of taboo flesh was uncomfortably stimulating.
    Kat's gaze