Scent of Darkness Read Online Free PDF Page B

get hurt. He was a daredevil—he rappelled, he skydived, he participated in the Ironman Triathlon once, but the training took too much time from his surfing. He'd been in a cast for three weeks after that ski accident last winter.
    She was the problem. Wounds made her faint, and anyway, why wouldn't she use her cell to call for help?
    Immediately, in her imagination, she found herself garbed like Scarlett O'Hara—but there was still that yucky blood problem.
    Nope. If Jasha knew what was good for him, he'd stay healthy.
    One thing she knew for sure—if he was healthy, he'd be here for dinner—Jasha never missed a meal. And if she hurried, she could shower and be dressed in her wraparound black-and-white silk dress, the one that fastened with a single button at the Empire waist.
    Her friend Celia had called it the perfect dress for getting laid.
    Ann tended to agree, for every time she took a step, the slit in the skirt opened all the way up her thigh, and when she thought about Jasha's tanned hand sliding up her leg, her skin prickled. But, as Celia was fond of pointing out, only the Carmelite nuns who lived near the beach kept Ann from being the oldest virgin in California, and something had to be done.
    In a sudden and violent hurry, Ann grabbed the dress, a pair of panties so minuscule they were nothing but lace and elastic, and black stiletto Betsey Johnson sandals with a hard wooden sole that added an inch to her height, and sprinted into the bathroom.
    The rich copper tile shower enclosure welcomed her. She set the land-speed record for bathing with Jasha's shampoo and Jasha's soap—made especially for him, and unscented, as he demanded. As soon as she was done, she ran to the locked door and listened, then cracked it and listened again.
    Nothing. No sound. He wasn't here yet.
    Her heart raced as she toweled herself dry.
    It used to embarrass her, the way she longed and lusted when he was nearby. She used to worry that he would notice the way she stammered when he got too close or the way she blushed every time he looked at her.
    But he didn't. To Jasha, she was a highly efficient method of filing papers, producing correspondence, and making phone calls. When he was gone, he left Wilder Wines in her hands, and when his executives complained, he stared at them blankly and said, "But Ann does a better job than you."
    Of course she did. She had something to prove.
    She had everything to prove—but she'd been afraid to live, until six months ago when she'd been blindsided by a blow that woke her to the fact that Jasha didn't even know the two basic facts about her.
    She was alive. And she was a woman.
    Yet she knew everything about him, including that he liked good-looking confident women. So she set out to remake herself.
    And she had.
    She blew her hair into a shining, slippery mass of strands, and put on makeup—not too much, because she still wasn't particularly skillful, but enough blush to conceal her blanched skin and enough mascara to turn her lashes dark and her eyes bluer.
    But if she was going to get naked with a man, she had one more matter to care for. ...
    She twisted so her back was to the mirror, and frowned at her distinctive birthmark. Over the years, it hadn't faded. She'd thought about having it removed, but the idea of showing it to a doctor who would ask questions, be incredulous, maybe see more than Ann wanted . . . she couldn't explain that mark. Because how did one explain the impossible?
    Swiftly, she used her makeup sponge to dab a splash of foundation over it. Last of all, she donned the panties, the dress, and the shoes.
    She stared at herself in the mirror.
    How could she look so good, yet feel so much like the Cowardly Lion?
    Okay. She was going to go to the great room, get a glass of wine, pose artfully in front of the fire, and wait for Jasha to show up. She could do it. All she had to do was walk downstairs. ...
    Above the battering of the storm, she heard a blast of sound from