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passenger window and
released a long breath. “He used me for a quick fuck to fill in the gap between
Willow sessions.” Why was she talking to Brent about this? Had she
subconsciously chosen to warn him of her sexual inadequacies before giving him
the opportunity to find out for himself?
    Spending the night together suddenly turned into a bad idea.
“You know, I think I’m just going to go home.”
    “No, Annalee, you’re not,” he stated firmly.
    Okay . Issue resolved.
    The tightening of his fingers returned her gaze to her lap.
She placed her free hand on top of his, which barely concealed half of its
size, and caressed the skin in between his knuckles before sliding her
fingertips along the length of his thick fingers.
    “Too innocent, huh?” he asked.
    She shrugged her shoulders. “Yeah, I suppose.”
    “And if he had asked you to experiment?”
    She nodded shyly. “I’m not afraid to try anything once.”

Chapter Three
     
    Brent escorted Annalee into his hotel room, turned on the
light and twisted the lock to secure the deadbolt. She stood beside him with
both hands clasped around his arm at the elbow. The instant he guided her
through the short foyer and into the heart of the room, her grip tightened. He
halted and glanced at her, but she stood wide-eyed, staring at the bed,
oblivious to everything else. Either she had second thoughts about spending the
night together or she couldn’t wait to hop under the sheets. He hoped to hell
it was the latter.
    Rather than giving her additional time to dwell, he sat down
on the mattress to pull off his boots.
    She cowered past the bed and sat down on the couch.
    “What’s the matter, Annalee?”
    “I’d rather we go to my house. Is that okay?”
    “Why?” He glanced around the room, looking for something
that may have spooked her. The only thing out of place was the duffel bag he’d
left on the floor with clothes piled on top. He hadn’t expected to fly into
town so late, which delayed his arrival at Whiltby’s party, so he hadn’t taken
time to unpack. If something that trivial upset her, it was a problem. “What’s
wrong?”
    “It’s silly.”
    “What? The room?” He glanced straight ahead at her reflection
in the oval mirror and his blood stirred. She fascinated him—she always had.
    “No, it’s cute. Three rooms in one. I like it.”
    Okay, that narrowed things down. If she didn’t mind the
room, that left him . “I’m not going to force you to do anything you don’t
want to.”
    “It’s not that.”
    “Then what is it?” He kicked his boots beside the bed and
joined her on the couch, where she, without looking at her fingers, picked at
the cuticles. He steadied her hands between his palms. “Bedbugs?”
    “No.” She shook her head and slightly laughed. “I told you,
it’s silly.”
    “That’s your opinion. Talk to me.”
    “It’s,” she took a deep breath and slumped her shoulders,
“the bedspread.”
    “What’s wrong with it?”
    “It’s yellow.”
    His brows arched as he glanced at the bed then lowered his
eyes to her face. “Okay. A yellow bedspread. I don’t understand the
significance.”
    “I, um,” she looked down at their hands in her lap, “have a
slight fear of the color yellow .”
    He’d never heard of that before,
but what did he know about fears and phobias? “That’s it?”
    Her bottom lip trembled while she nodded.
    “There are a lot of yellow things
in the world. How do you cope?”
    She battered her lashes and
sighed. “I can tolerate most things, but I freak if yellow cloth touches my
skin.”
    “Blankets, towels, clothes?”
    “Yeah. I told you it was silly.”
    “Unusual maybe, but not silly. Why
would that fear be any different than the fear of spiders or snakes or heights?
Obviously you can’t help it.” He brought her hands to his lips. “What causes
it?”
    Her gaze danced across his face. “Different
things.” She smiled timidly and a pink flush rose to her cheeks.
    It