His body, taut with need, was urging him to cross the room and take possession of her mouth. He took another slug of whiskey and felt it burn all the way down. But what if she didn’t abandon her baby? What if something terrible happened? Maybe she miscarried, or the baby died. Sarah had looked so heartbroken, so devastated, when the subject had come up. Are you going to be the asshole who rubs salt in the wound?

“I’d like to make a long-distance call,” Sarah said. He nodded to acknowledge he was listening. Didn’t look over. Didn’t want her to read his thoughts. “Will be only a minute or two. Would you mind if I used the phone?”

“Sure.” Mick set his drink down on the mahogany-and-granite wet bar. The ice cubes clinked against the crystal tumbler. Besides, it’s none of my goddamned business. I’m helping her sort out a problem. That’s it. “Be my guest.” He nudged his cell phone along the bar top, keeping his eyes on his forefinger pushing his phone. It was self-preservation. Couldn’t look at her straight on, knowing she was likely naked under that robe. It would be akin to staring directly at the sun—tempting, but one runs the risk of permanent damage to the corneas.

She shook her head. “I know hotels charge an arm and a leg, but it would be better if I used their phone. Just in case, so the call can’t be traced to your cell phone.”

He tipped his head at the phone sitting on the desk in the living room. “Have at it.”

Sarah crossed the room. He tried not to notice the gentle hypnotic roll of her hips and failed miserably. “I’ll pay you back someday,” she said, tossing the damp towel over her shoulder. “I swear.”

He waved her off. Forced his body to swivel around on the barstool so he was facing forward. Could still see her reflection haunting him in the damned mirror. He wrapped his hand around his ice-cold drink and took a healthy swallow, relishing the burn as he watched her sit at the desk. She crossed her legs, leaned forward to pick up the phone, and began to dial. Her robe, tightly cinched at the waist, gapped open slightly, revealing long, slender limbs, her knees, and a portion of her thighs. Mick tore his gaze from the mirror and stared at his drink, watched condensation trickle down the side.

Sarah was listening intently now, eyes wide—her hand rose to her mouth as if holding words back. Then abruptly, she hung up the phone, her body motionless. Her hand was still on the receiver, as if she was reluctant to break the connection.

“Are you okay?”