âI have a remedy for that.â
âYou donât need to use it.â
Those lethal eyes of Leoâs searched her face. They seemed to darken, smoldering with something she was afraid to define. Something that suddenly deprived her of oxygen. She was still much too close to him, but couldnât seem to move.
Carrying her hands to his mouth, he began to demonstrate that remedy, nibbling on her fingers, placing kisses in each of her palms.
Drawing her tightly against him, a growl low in his throat, Leo angled his mouth across hers. His kiss was deep, demanding.
Jenniferâs senses rioted. Threatened to go out of control. And might have, if there hadnât been the sound of someone, making them aware they were no longer alone.
Jennifer RowanâShe is desperate to prove herself innocent of murder, but can she survive the rugged P.I. who puts her heart and soul in jeopardy?
Leo McKenzieâHe is determined to catch his brotherâs killer, but he hadnât counted on the irresistible allure of the woman who is his chief suspect.
Father StephenâThe abbotâs monastery may not survive if the valuable Warley Madonna is not recovered.
Brother TimothyâWill his medical skills be enough to save the latest victim of a deranged killer?
GeoffreyâThe young novice seems to be troubled about taking his final vows.
PatrickâHe wants to join the order, but is it for the right reason?
Harry IrelandâThe traveling salesman may not be what he seems.
Fiona and Alfred BrasherâWhat secret is the couple hiding?
Sybil and Roger HardingâShe has a sharp tongue and a fondness for gin. Heâs a devout ex-monk whoâs worried about his wife.
Heathside, Yorkshire
Who is he? How did he find me?
Needing answers, Jennifer hugged the shadows at the top of the stairs, her heart registering anxiety with rapid beats as she listened to the conversation in the lobby below.
âYouâre sure you canât give me her room number?â
His voice was deep and mellow. That much Jennifer could tell, but nothing else about him. Although she had a limited view of the front desk and the young woman who stood on duty behind it, the man who had come in off the street wasnât in her line of sight. She would need to lean forward in order to glimpse him, but she feared even a slight movement would betray her presence.
The clerk, her thin face peppered with freckles beneath a cap of red hair, shook her head in regret. âBe worth my job if I was to go and tell you that, sir.â
The woman had been far less careful when heâd approached the desk a moment ago with a confident âIâm here to see Jennifer Rowan. She is registered with you, right?â
He shouldnât have known that. Jennifer had told no one she planned to spend the night at this inn. But his bold assumption that she was here had won an admission from the clerk that, yes, Jennifer was a guest at the Kingâs Head. The clerk hadnât bothered to ask him his name.
âSure wouldnât want you to go and jeopardize your jobââ he paused, moving in close to the desk in order to read the clerkâs name tag ââWendy.â
Jennifer could see him now. Or at least enough of him to understand why the desk clerk wore a willing smile as he leaned toward her. From what Jennifer could tell at this angle, he was good-looking in a rugged sort of way. That deep voice was also persuasive, with a tone that was appealingly personal.
âBut how about calling her room and letting her know someone is here to see her. You could do that much, couldnât you, Wendy?â
âI wouldnât say no to that, sir. Not that Iâd have to, being as how Ms. Rowan isnât in her room. Went out a bit ago to buy herself a London paper. Real disappointed, she was, when I told her we only take the local paper here. Well, why would we need anything else when we have the telly?â
But Jennifer hadnât been willing to wait for a TV newscast, which wouldnât have provided her with enough details anyway. Only a London paper would have a full account of Guyâs murder. She needed to know if there was any new development in the case, whether she was at imminent risk of being arrested.
As far as the desk clerk knew, Jennifer wasnât in the inn. Wendy had watched her go out the front door in search of a shop that carried the London papers. What the young woman didnât realize was that, once out on the street, Jennifer had feared she would be soaked within seconds. A hard rain had begun to fall. Wendy hadnât been at her post when Jennifer immediately returned to the inn to fetch her umbrella. If the tea mug now at the clerkâs elbow was any indication, she must have been in the kitchen.