THE PERFECT TEN (Boxed Set)

not a foot away from her. At this range, he could almost feel the moisture of her respirations, see the fine blue veins in her eyelids and the dark sweep of lashes against her pale skin. With her lids lowered like that, veiling the strength and determination that normally blazed from her eyes like fire, she looked deceptively fragile. Ephemeral.
    He closed his eyes against a new onslaught of yearning. Heart, mind, body, soul — oh, Christ, it all ached. All he wanted to do was sink to his knees on the fine old Persian carpet and bury his face in her lap. He wanted to feel her hands tunnel into his hair, skim his shoulders, slide down his back… He wanted her naked. He wanted to glide his hands up the outsides of those slender thighs, skim his mouth over the inside of her thigh, letting his own heart beat match the pulse of her femoral artery…
    Merciful Jesus.
    Step back , his mind ordered, but his limbs refused to comply. He swayed, balanced on the exquisite knife-edge of temptation.
    Don’t do it.
    Silently, grimly, he fought the gravitational pull, the inexorable force that demanded he bend his knees and pay homage—
    “Delano?”
    His eyes sprang open.
    Her voice was husky and sleep-thickened, but she sat up abruptly enough.
    Spell broken, he stepped back.
    “What are you doing here?” The question came out sounding harsher than he intended.
    “I’m sorry. I must have fallen asleep.” She leapt up, and something hit the floor with a soft thump, something that must have been lying in her lap as she slept.
    They both reached for it at the same time, narrowly avoiding knocking heads. Ainsley pulled back at the last moment, and Delano came up with the object. As soon as his hand closed on it, he knew what it was.
    A new pain flooded in, pushing out the other.
    Gitta.
     
    Ainsley watched as Delano’s face lost all expression.
    There was no other way to describe the transformation. She’d awakened to find him looming above her, his eyes closed, jaw clenched, his whole face wreathed in a torment of sexual need. God help her, her heart still banged against her ribs from the memory of it. But now his face was carefully, scrupulously blank.
    “I see you’ve been exploring.” His voice was as bland as his facial expression.
    “I’m sorry,” she said again. “I was restless, and I didn’t want to inflict myself on Eli any longer. I was keeping him from his work.” She realized she was plucking at the sleeve of her sweater and forced herself to stop. “I just ventured in here for a minute. I was curious about where… I mean, I wanted to see—”
    “My coffin?”
    An almost smile touched his lips, but his eyes were … what? Cold?
    “As you can see, I make use of a bed, like everyone else. Just not much of a view.”
    Flushing — because yes, she had expected a coffin, or at least something like the affair he’d climbed into on the helicopter — she glanced around the dim, windowless room.
    “Cosy.”
    He elevated an eyebrow. “Disappointed?”
    She shrugged. “I don’t know… I just thought your bedroom would be different.”
    He made no remark, but she knew he was angry. Possibly very angry. Not that she blamed him; she’d invaded his privacy shamelessly. It had seemed like a smart idea earlier tonight, when her brain was teaming with paranoia about what he might yet be hiding. Now, it just felt unforgivably rude.
    Her gaze dropped to the pewter-framed black-and-white photograph he held in his hands. The one she’d been studying when she decided to just rest her eyes a moment. An old photo, judging by its graininess and by the high-necked gown the woman wore. The subject herself was an older lady, probably close to sixty years old, but with warm, laughing dark eyes and an aura of youthfulness that belied the marks time had left on her face.
    “Is that your mother?”
    Delano stiffened. “No.”
    “Your grandmother?”
    “She was my wife,” he growled.
    Oh. Oh!
    He crossed the room to place the photograph carefully back on the dresser from whence Ainsley had taken it. “It’s been a long night,” he said without turning. “Maybe we should both retire.”
    “I’m sorry. Your wife … of course… Oh, hell, I’m sorry, Del. I didn’t stop to think—”
    “Ainsley?” He angled his head, not so far that he was looking at her but enough so she could see his profile.
    She moved a tentative step closer. “Yes?”
    “Go to bed. Now.”
    “Of course. Sorry.”
    She took her