“Maybe we’ll talk about it later,” she said and closed the door.
The room smelled like clean male. So many of Jane’s memories of Oliver were negative that she’d forgotten this more appealing aspect of the opposite sex. Afraid she’d never experience that scent again, at least not in such an intimate setting, she paused to appreciate it before the aroma of the food she carried in her picnic basket could overpower it.
“Come on in.” Sebastian was standing at the door, wearing faded jeans and a burnt orange long-sleeved thermal shirt.
A second later, that male scent was gone, replaced by the sausage in her homemade lasagna and the garlic butter on the bread.
“That smells good,” he said, taking the basket from her as she passed him.
She smiled-she’d just been thinking the same thing but about a completely different scent.
Moving into the room, she purposely turned her attention to the furnishings, which were beige and green and fairly standard, so she wouldn’t be tempted to stare. If she’d thought Sebastian was handsome before, he looked even better without his coat. That shirt fit his upper body like a second skin, revealing the contour of every muscle-and there were plenty of muscles to admire.
Even at his best, Oliver had never been built like that. Jane had been attracted by his sweetness, his harmlessness, his earnestness, his intelligence. And the fact that she’d felt safe with him…
“Is something funny?” Sebastian asked.
Sobering, she shook her head. “No, I was just…remembering.”
He’d been about to dive into the hamper, but at this he paused. “Remembering what?”
“What it was like,” she said.
“To…”
“Be innocent.”
He gave her an odd look. “In what way?”
She shrugged. “In every way, I guess.” She could never go back, never be the person she’d been before. That made her sad. But trusting the one man who was supposed to love her above all else had nearly gotten her killed. Wasn’t it better to be wise than innocent?
Her eyes swept over the bed. Experience, at least the kind of experience she’d endured, changed everything, even the simplest of life’s pleasures…
The stillness in the room told her Sebastian wasn’t digging into the food as she’d expected. She turned to find him watching her, his expression tinged with surprise and curiosity.
“Is there a Mr. Burke?” he asked.
The tone of his voice told her he knew she’d been thinking about sex, knew she was hungry in a way that had nothing to do with food. But, regardless of the promise inherent in such a perfect body, there was nothing he could do to satisfy her. She wouldn’t let him, or anyone else. She couldn’t. She was incapable of lowering her guard to the degree making love would require, especially with a stranger.
“I’m a widow,” she said. “But I might as well be married.”
“You’re seeing someone, then?”
“No.” She didn’t bother to explain.
He put the picnic basket on the dresser next to a flat-screen TV and waved toward a bottle of white zinfandel on his nightstand. “Would you like a glass of wine?”
“No, thank you.”
Undaunted, he uncorked the bottle and poured himself a glass. “I’m sorry to hear about your husband’s death.” He took a sip. “How long ago was it?”
She regretted turning down the wine. Maybe it would help settle her nerves, take the edge off. “It’s been nearly five years.”
“And…you’re still in love with him?”
She chuckled without mirth. “God, no.”
His eyebrows knotted as he walked toward her with his wine. “What happened?”
When she didn’t answer, he set his glass down and took her hand, rubbing his thumb lightly over her survivor tattoo. “Did he have anything to do with this?”
Like an old heater with a pilot light that’d gone out years ago, she didn’t think she’d ever get warm again. But his touch sent a spark through her that somehow made her shaky.
Surprised, she jerked her hand away and stepped back, but in just half a foot she came up against the bed.
“Whoa, I didn’t mean to scare you.” She was still within his reach, but he didn’t attempt to touch her again. He held out his hands, palms up, as if to show her he had no intention of hurting her.
The last time Oliver had made love to her had been a cruel experience, one of the worst in her life. In some ways, it had hurt her more than the violence that’d followed because it involved hate disguised as love. But Jane knew it was her past-and nothing Sebastian was doing-that had her so rattled.
Overriding her panic, which seemed to come out of nowhere, she forced herself to stand where she was, instead of edging farther away. “I’m not scared.”
He seemed unconvinced but didn’t argue. “Did he do this to you?” He pointed to his own neck, but she understood that he was talking about her scar.
“Yes.”
He lowered his voice. “How’d he die?”
From the deference in his tone, she knew he was guessing she’d killed Oliver in self-defense. She’d often wondered if that would’ve made her recovery easier-or more difficult. “After he left me for dead, lying beside his murdered brother, he attacked a woman he’d attacked once before, a woman by the name of Skye Kellerman.”
“The woman who started The Last Stand.”
“You’ve been doing your homework.”
“I pulled up the Web site.”
“Skye knew he’d be coming for her eventually.” She shrugged. “She was ready for him when he did.”
“She killed him.”
“Yes.”
“It didn’t say that on the Web site.”
“No. She doesn’t talk about it, either. But she was prepared to do what had to be done. She had the benefit of knowing what he really was. I didn’t.”
Sebastian shoved his hands in his pockets. “What was he exactly?”
“A serial ra**st and murderer, masquerading as a dentist, a husband, a father.” Her voice dropped involuntarily. “My lover.”
He whistled. “How did you survive such a brutal injury?”
“His knife missed my jugular by a fraction of an inch. Skye brought the authorities to my house before I could bleed out.”
“This Skye sounds like an impressive woman.”
“She is. That’s partly why I work for her.” Jane motioned to the picnic basket. “You’d better eat. The food’s getting cold.”