I did manage to walk into the other room and say, “Stay there until I change.”

“How the hell…can I move…after your…attack?”

Good point. I hurried to throw my jeans and top back on. I didn’t worry about the outside shirt since I probably should be running down to the kitchen to get a bag of ice for Jagger.

Without my shoes on, I went back into the bathroom. “I’ll go get you some ice.”

He glared at me, freezing me on the spot.

“Okay…no…ice. Geez.” Well, obviously I had no idea how a guy felt or at least how Jagger felt and he surely wouldn’t listen to my medical/ nursing voice of reason. “Here. Let me help you to the bed.”

When I went to take his arm, he didn’t pull away but merely sat there. I couldn’t have budged him if I’d wanted to. “Okay. Stay there.” I went to the sink and poured a glass of cold water then turned to hand it to him. “Here.”

He shook his head and winced. This time I know he winced because I at least could read anyone’s body language when it came to pain. Lord how I prayed Jagger was not really injured. Really prayed hard.

For no permanent damage.

“What the hell is a glass of water going to do, Sherlock? Get me some scotch or tequila. That is what I need, not freaking water.”

I set the glass down on the sink. “Sorry. I’m fresh out.”

“Go ask Arlene.”

“You’re serious?”

He pushed himself up to stand, and when I reached out to help, he raised his hands in the air. “Stay away. Go.”

“Well. I was only trying to help,” I mumbled on my way out, but when I looked over my shoulder, I saw Jagger ease himself very slowly onto my bed.

I leaned against the door frame and sighed.

The kitchen was dark and empty, but no surprise. It was late and I knew Arlene lived in the carriage house behind the lodge. When I walked to the back door, I thought I heard someone behind me. “Arlene?” Had to practice on speaking more assuredly with possible “Sam sightings.” “Arlene, is that you?”

A shadow appeared at the door.

My hands flew to my face. I was getting very used to living in this B movie and gasping every other scene. Geez.

“Not Arlene, little lady. It’s me. Mr. Cooper. Just arrived this afternoon and got lost. Looking for the stairway to my room.”

I slung myself against the door frame and pointed. “Behind you, through the dining room and off to the left.”

“Thanks, little lady.”

I smiled although Mr. Cooper probably couldn’t see well enough in the dim lighting to discern that I was not a little lady. Pretty soon I was going to have a séance and summon damn Samuel to confront him-and tell him to leave me the hell alone.

The screen door slammed behind me, hitting me in the butt.

“Give it your best shot, buddy. I’m ready for you now.”

All the way to Arlene’s door I kept looking to the sides, behind me, and behind me again. No footsteps sounded on the gravel drive, so I figured I was alone. Still, I walked carefully, since my feet hurt, and headed onto the grass, where I was able to bite back a scream after a darn cat had darted out in front of me. “Shoo,” I whispered, looking around for its owner.

All alone.

I was all alone.

I shuddered and hurried to Arlene’s front door, grabbing the knocker and slamming it so hard the entire town of Newport probably heard it.

The door swung open. A gigantic Airedale lunged at me, pinning me against the ivy-clad arbor and started licking my face. Eeeeeeyew!

Arlene grabbed at his collar. “Get down, Delilah!”

Make that her collar. “You heard your mom, girl. Down.” I wiped my hand across my cheek. “Hey, Arlene. Jagger…well, he wants…er…needs a glass of liquor. Your choice. He’s in no shape to be picky.”

She looked at me a second, mumbled an “Excuse me” and left. Within seconds she was back with a very expensive looking bottle half full of scotch. When she held it out to me, she smiled.

Hm. She didn’t look the least bit curious as to why he’d need the liquor nor did she ask.

Interesting and so very mysteriously Jagger-like.

“Thanks. I’ll bring the rest back.”

She shook her head. “No you won’t.”

All the way back to my room I wondered if Arlene meant that I would drink some of it too-or she knew Jagger would finish every last drop.

Just how well did she know Jagger?

Once Jagger had finished his last sip of Arlene’s scotch, and wasn’t moaning any longer when he moved, I stood up from the chair near the bed and said, “Can I help you to your room now?”

He raised an eyebrow and for a few seconds only stared.

“Okay. So you don’t need my help. Fine. Go ahead and get up yourself. You know, Jagger, I feel horrible about hurting your…well I’d feel horrible no matter where I hurt you, but it wasn’t on purpose.” I had to concentrate very hard not to let my voice get shaky, and if any traitorous tears started to form in my eyes I was all set to refuse them to materialize.

“I would think you’d be proud of me for taking care of myself, remembering what you taught me, and, well, having great reflexes.”

“Beautiful.”

I wrinkled my forehead. “Excuse me?”

“I said beautiful.” He remained motionless on my bed.

Gulp. “Are you saying I’m pretty or something?” I sat back down in the chair, preparing myself for the answer. Odd that he was talking about that at a time like this though.

Jagger lifted himself up on his elbows, looked directly into my eyes and said, “Beautiful that you think I should be proud of all your accomplishments when you’ve accosted me like this. Just beautiful.” He groaned and eased himself down. “Sure you are beautiful, Sherlock. A real looker. Okay? Happy?”

The stinging in my eyes was getting way too difficult to contain. So I pulled my shoulders straight-as if that would help-refused to let myself cry and said, “Sure I’m happy with the compliment. Would be happier if it were real. Now I’d like to get some sleep. So if you wouldn’t mind returning to your room-”

He reached into his pocket, pulled out a key and flung it at me. “I’m not budging.”

I caught the key, thank goodness, and looked down at it. There usually was no sense in arguing with Jagger. He always won. So I decided to save face and go sleep in his room.

His room?

Oh…my…God.

All his stuff would be in his room! And if some identity clue happened to fall out of his suitcase…

“Good night. Sorry, and I do hope you feel better.” I grabbed my robe, threw it over my arm and opened the door.

Before I could shut it, I heard, “And I know exactly just where all my stuff is, Pauline.”

When I opened the door to Jagger’s room, I stood in the threshold for a few seconds. The place was bigger, more gorgeous and opulent than mine. Not Jagger-like in the least. But what had me pause so long was that everything in the place was so neat and in order.

Not Jagger-like at all.

Least not what I would have expected after seeing the inside of his SUV. Another thing that held me there a few seconds too long was the scent-the Jagger-scent that wafted across the room.

I’d either never sleep tonight or I’d have the best damn dream of my life.

Telling myself that I was foolish, and still miffed that he would think I might go through his stuff (okay, miffed that he knew I would), I forced my feet to move toward the bed.

Oh…my…God.

I hoped Arlene or someone had changed the sheets because if Jagger pheromones were still on them-I was a goner.

When I pulled the brown and gold brocaded duvet over, the sheets were tucked housekeeper fashion under the mattress. Good. He hadn’t used it since it was changed.

I scurried under the sheets, leaving one side tucked in and feeling as if I were in some kind of linen envelope, but there was no way I was getting up from there no matter how uncomfortable.