Watching For Willa. Helen Myers R.

the metal trim. No, he’d let himself worry for nothing. Apparently, she was only thirsty and had come down to get a drink. He watched her fill a glass with ice cubes, then bottled water from the refrigerator.

      His confidence returned and with it came lust. But all too soon he had to press himself back against the unyielding stone because her skimpy top and panties left little to the imagination.

      He wanted to touch her breasts. He rubbed his hands over smooth mortar and stone pretending it was her flesh. He wanted to hurt her, knowing she would be aroused; he wanted to hear her beg him to stop, though he knew she wouldn’t really mean it.

      He owed Judith for teaching him that secret. If not for her, he might never have discovered his hidden talent, his great power. And soon beautiful Willa would know it, too…would know his power.

      He imagined the ecstasy that moment would bring, the feel of his hands around her creamy throat as she drew him deeper and deeper inside her body. That would be the best moment because the harder he squeezed, the sooner her face would become Judith’s…desirable, untouchable…cruel, untouchable Judith. Only then would he let the fiery red sea of excitement and pleasure consume him.

      If only he could tell Willa now how fantastic it was going to be. But it was too soon. “Much too soon,” he groaned in misery as he rocked his feverish forehead against the night-cooled stone. His pelvis, too.

      Then he stopped. Another idea was forming.

      If he hurried, he could do something. He could be her first thought in the morning. It wasn’t enough, not nearly, he thought as the house went dark again, but it was a beginning.

      Eager to get started, he stumbled off into the night.

      CHAPTER THREE

      She stretched, as far as the sleeping bag allowed, and took her time before opening her eyes. Waking had always been a sensual experience to her, much like indulging in a long bubble bath, slipping into something sleek and silky or making love. Something to be enjoyed thoroughly or not at all. Her mattress hadn’t been ideal—now thirty, she had to admit she preferred the comforts of a conventional bed to roughing it with the equipment she and A.J. had used back when they’d been hikers and campers—but there was nothing like the sleep that followed a day of all-out physical labor to make a hard floor inconsequential.

      Ready for some coffee and round two, she finally flipped back the top of her unzipped sleeping bag and rolled herself up onto her feet. She stretched again as she padded to the bathroom. By the light already spilling in through the windows she estimated it was around six o’clock, her favorite hour to start the day. All she needed now was coffee and a banana, her breakfast almost every morning. After that she would be ready to start painting.

      When she came out of the bathroom, still toweling her face dry, she thought about the newspaper and hoped she would find one on her driveway when she got downstairs. Thank goodness the paperboy had been running late yesterday; she’d intercepted him and he’d agreed to add her to his route starting today. She liked to ease into her mornings with the paper. Not via the front pages, though. After A.J. died, she’d stopped giving herself an ulcer over what they printed there.

      What appealed to her was browsing through the home and living sections, the fashions and finally the comics. Who cared if her accountant brother-in-law rolled his eyes at that? Willa smiled as she hung up the single bath towel she’d brought from the duplex. Jack could chide and lecture all he wanted about how a business-woman needed to pay attention to the financial news. As far as she was concerned, her “business” was understanding women and their fantasies. Nothing she’d ever read in the so-called serious sections of the paper had ever helped her or anyone she knew have a happier more satisfying relationship with a lover or spouse. In fact, from her vantage point, those killed romance.

      An article about how more people were adding fountains into their homes for their ornateness as well as their soothing effect, inspired her to invest in one for the entryway of her store. As anticipated, it soon lured passers-by, who then became intrigued with the sensual massage and bath products she displayed around the fountain.

      And that hadn’t been an isolated experiment. The fashion sections of the paper helped her determine upcoming color trends and styles for her lingerie and loungewear inventory. The comics gave her a lift on days when being an entrepreneur seemed to be the most insane choice a woman in her situation could make. Let the financial moguls posture and pontificate on the business section’s pages; she’d never met one who understood how to tell his slightly plump wife that he would love to see her in a sexy item of lingerie or robe.

      Willa bent at the waist and brushed her long hair forward from the nape. Thinking of robes reminded her that she needed to call Starla and remind her about the short silk ones they were going to bring out of stock to add to the sale merchandise today. Then again, maybe she shouldn’t. Her young assistant manager would utter a funny, theatrical groan, but underneath would be a subtle accusation about not being trusted. Willa knew she’d already pushed her luck. Yesterday she’d dialed to pass on her new number, then she’d phoned to check how sales were going. And she’d called again later that night to make sure Starla remembered to lock up securely.

      No, she wouldn’t do it. Everything was under control. If she felt like a mother away from her baby for the first time, that was her problem, one she’d better keep to herself—unless she wanted to risk losing a valuable employee, as well as someone she’d come to care for as a friend.

      Straightening and flinging her hair back over her shoulders, her gaze settled on the windows of her bedroom…and beyond. To his house. Those windows.

      Her heart gave a jolt as she saw the dark silhouette behind the net draperies. It was him. For a few blissful moments she’d actually managed to push yesterday’s disturbing incident to the back of her mind, and now the man had the gall to be spying on her like some…Peeping Tom!

      She felt the strongest urge to hide behind the bathroom door, and an equally strong impulse to throw her brush at him. It wasn’t a matter of being self-conscious about her body. Good grief, her tank top and briefs were more concealing than what women wore on the beaches these days. But just because she didn’t have her draperies and blinds yet, did that give him a right to invade her privacy like some voyeur?

      Well, he’d picked on the wrong woman if he thought he could intimidate her this time, in her own home. Losing A.J. had forced her to toughen up in a great number of ways. She knew how to stand up for herself and not let anyone boss, shame or bully her.

      With indignation and fury building, she matched him stare for stare. She could almost feel his gaze shift and linger. Never had she met anyone with such audacity.

      “You won’t intimidate me again,” she muttered, fuming.

      But her defiance didn’t have much effect on him, either. The only movement came from the birds flying between their houses in search of breakfast for themselves and their hatchlings. Cardinals, chickadees, wrens and bluebirds sailed by, singing their praises of the May sunshine. Farther off she heard a woodpecker work diligently at a dead pine tree; the staccato, hollow tapping that came through the screen echoed the pulse pounding in her throat and at her temples. All that sweet innocence only made the broad-shouldered shadowy figure next door all the more surreal, and menacing.

      Feeling her confidence wavering, she tossed her brush onto the counter. Back in the bedroom she grabbed her leggings, and shoes, and shot through the doorway. Awful, awful man, she seethed, stomping down the stairs. She wished her bare feet and modest weight created the thunderous acoustics that her annoyance craved. Did he sleep by that confounded computer? Was this what she had to look forward to from having him as a neighbor?

      To think she’d been so pleased to have double windows in the master bedroom. It meant she could better enjoy the view of the ancient wisteria that rose from Zachary Denton’s backyard and nearly engulfed everything in its path as it crept over fences and trees in search of sunlight. Bad enough to have missed this year’s blooms; was she going to have to keep everything tightly shut and lose the view altogether?