Chapter 12

A light sleeper, always attuned to his surroundings, Wyatt automatically woke up when Isabella moved on the couch and was at full attention before her feet hit the floor. He lay watching her every move through his slit eyes. Once she reached the top of the stairs, he sat up and listened to her soft footsteps as she made her way up to the third floor. He heard his bedroom door open and close. He owned some valuable artwork, silver, a coin collection, but nothing of public knowledge or worth breaking-and-entering charges. What she could be up to now?

He stood and started up the stairs. When he heard the shower water running in his bathroom, he decided to wait it out in the kitchen until she made her next move, and hoped it would not be out the front door. Whatever she was planning or had planned for him, he would be ready. He sat in the moonlit breakfast nook staring out into the woods while thinking about everything she had told him, what he had found out during his limited research on the computer, and what his next steps would or should be at daylight. But first, he could use a few more hours of sleep.

The bright moonlight shining through the big windows made the room appear as if a soft light had been turned on. He hadn't heard the water running for a while nor had he seen or heard her come down the stairs. He decided it was time to investigate her whereabouts on his own.

Tiptoeing up the stairs, he walked into his bedroom and came to an abrupt halt. The moonlight streaming in through the open French doors illuminated the room, spreading its light across the bed, spotlighting where she lay. The sight took his breath away, her appearance ethereal, chaste, and virtuous.

She lay on her back with her arms flung aside. She had put on his robe after her shower and it had ridden up, showing her beautiful, shapely legs. He could see her soft feminine curls between her legs where the robe had slid open. She was beautiful, and with her tussled dark hair a contrast on the white pillowcase, and her soft, now-clean milky skin she reverberated sexy. He wanted to touch her, to kiss her, to do so much more: he simply wanted her. He couldn't believe the feelings coming to the surface, feelings he hadn't had in too long, feelings only a man can feel for a woman he desired, feelings he couldn't and didn't want to hide.

Trying not to disturb her, he gently lay down on the bed beside her. She shifted onto her side toward him and put her hand on his chest. Expecting a response, he lifted his head to look at her, but her eyes remained closed in sleep. He stared at her fingers splayed across his chest, it felt good, somehow right. He laid his head back down, put his hand on top of hers, and slowly drifted off to sleep.

****

The effectiveness of the aroma of coffee permeating the bedroom roused Isabella from her sleep. Before opening her eyes she languished in the comfort of the bed, thinking she had spent the night at her mom's, planning to spend a leisurely day shopping and girl-talking. She heard the birds chirping as a cool breeze drifted across her bare legs. It must be a windy day for so much air to be coming in the small opening of my bedroom window.

She stretched her arms over her head, groaning from the aches in her sore leg muscles. She half opened her tired eyes and peered around the room. Finding it barely light outside, she was surprised to see the open French doors. She looked out onto the pretty landscaped yard and caught her breath. All the memories of the past few days or weeks came rushing back. Her heart stuck in her throat, strangling her. How could this be happening to me?

Sitting up and glancing around the room, she noticed the indentation in the top of the pillow beside her, which suggested Wyatt must have come to bed sometime during the night.

As she heard footsteps on the stairs nearing the bedroom door, she pulled the bed covers up to her neck just as Wyatt walked into the room carrying two cups of steaming coffee.

His presence filled the room. She couldn't take her eyes off his bare chest, the hardened muscles rippling as he moved, the V-shaped chest hair leading to a point below the waistband of his well-worn jeans that fit his butt perfectly. She tightened her hold on the covers as he moved toward the bed.

"Wasn't sure what you took in your coffee so I brought one with cream and sugar and one black," he said with a smile as he held them both out to her.

She looked at him in awe wondering if he were real. If I were in his shoes, I don't think I'd be treating a stranger to coffee in bed.

"Th-th-thanks, cream and sugar, please," she managed to say as she accepted the mug he offered her. She took a careful sip. It tasted good.

She watched Wyatt's powerful, corded muscles as he walked to the open French doors and stood, drinking his coffee. He appeared in deep thought. She became speechless. After a few more sips of her coffee, she set her cup on the table beside the bed, crossed her arms over her chest, and waited for the deluge of questions she knew would be coming.

With her eyes, she followed Wyatt as he walked back and forth in front of the French doors. He stopped pacing and stood still with his back to her as he looked out at the luscious backyard, rocking back and forth on the heels of his feet in agitation. He turned to her when he heard her put the cup on the table.

"We have to talk," he snapped.

In hopes of delaying the inevitable, she picked up her cup and took another sip of her coffee. When she looked into his magnetic eyes, fear returned to clutch her chest, constricting her breathing, and most-unladylike droplets of sweat broke out on her upper lip. She studied his face, his perfectly formed lips, and her thoughts turned to her dream of him kissing her. She could feel his lips on hers and the heat. So-hot heat he left as he trailed her lips along her neck, nibbled her ear lobes. She quivered, weak, and dizzy.

"Megan, Megan."

She heard Wyatt repeating the name. She looked around, wondering who he was talking to and then remembered she had told him her name was Megan. She realized she had been staring at him, lost in his eyes and her memories. She shook her head to clear her mind of any lingering reflections.

"I'd like to help you." Wyatt said, motioning with his coffee cup as he spoke. "But, I can't unless you tell me the truth, so no more bullshit."

She sat, staring at him, not sure how to respond.

"I told you everything I remembered," she whispered.

"You told me your name was Megan, right?"

When she nodded, he shook his head.

"We both know that's a lie. What's your real name? Let me help you!"

Isabella thought for a moment. What harm could it do at this point to tell him her name?

"Isabella, okay? My name's Isabella Donnelly."

"I did some research last night after you fell asleep on my couch. There's no such person with that name in the Commonwealth of Virginia. And, the street address you gave me doesn't exist in Stoney Creek or anywhere else in the Commonwealth of Virginia. You lied to me. You gave me a fictitious name and address. Why? What are you trying to hide?" His voice rose with agitation.

Astonished! Stunned! Speechless! Stoney Creek? Virginia? Where? Her jaw dropped open in disbelief as she looked away from him, out the open doors, down at her clenched hands. Her gaze darted back to Wyatt, who peered at her through the narrowed slits of his eyes with his one hand on his hip, his other holding his coffee.

"Well?" he asked.

She was filled with turmoil and bewilderment, and her heart hammered in her chest so loudly that she thought he would see it thumping in her chest. Her face flushed with annoyance of idiocy as a burst of anger surged through her. Her hands turned into fists as she pursed her lips. The bed covers fell as she raised herself onto her knees. Her anger gave her the strength to meet his intense stare.

"I don't have anything to hide." Her words came out in bursts of fury. She lifted her outstretched arms toward him, palms open. "And of course I'm not listed anywhere in Stoney-whatever. In fact, I've never even heard of the place. Or been in Virginia. I live in a small town outside of Denver, Colorado. Why would you be looking for me in Virginia?"

"Because that's where you are. Stoney Creek, Virginia," he said as he turned to her and eyed her with suspicion, his head tilted to one side. "Now come clean, damn it, and tell me who you really are and what you want from me."

The hair on the back of her neck bristled as she heard the anger in his voice. Panic raced through her, as goosebumps broke out on her arms, and dread drowned her ability to think. Despair flooded her mind, her thoughts in turmoil. Her body shuddered when she inhaled. The tears threatened, then spilled over, streaming down her cheeks, unchecked. She couldn't stop them. They were tears of fright, of anger, of disbelief.

How? How could I have gotten from Denver, Colorado, to Stoney Creek, Virginia? Who would want to do this to me and why? Why would anyone want to torture me like this?