Caught Off Guard

Caught Off Guard Kira Sinclair Runaway heiress Annemarie Prescott vowed never to return home. Until life interfered… The Plan: Run like hell from the society chains of her past.The Reality: Run into Blake Mitchell…the most seductive one-night stand of her life. Unfortunately Blake was hired by her mother. His job? To convince Anne she must embrace the legacy she never wanted, and keep her safe while he's at it.The Bonus: Blake's touch still tempts Anne to sin! And how…The Complication: Danger looms and Anne realizes Blake does make her feel safe. Especially in the bedroom!But as soon as the bad guy is caught, Blake will be gone…unless Anne opens her heart and admits her bodyguard is more than just a hot distraction. There was no way she was going to be the only one naked here … Anne reached for Blake, pulling him into the shower. “I want you,” she whispered. “I’m fully clothed.” “I don’t care.” She grabbed the hem of his shirt, pulling the soaked cotton up his body and over his head in one smooth motion. Blake’s eyes glazed as her hot wet skin touched his own. He leaned down to her shoulder to lap at a trail of water droplets, following it to the swell of her breast. Anne whimpered as he studiously ignored the aching point waiting for him. Finally, he flicked his tongue out, taking the tiniest taste of her. She gasped, her knees buckling and her body sagging. His arms tightened around her and he reached down to lift her legs and wrap them tight around his waist. She moved against him, reaching up with her mouth to claim his lips, urging him on to what they both wanted. Dear Reader, The moment Anne Sobel stepped onto the page in Whispers in the Dark I knew there was more to her than met the eye. She was hiding something and I was determined to learn what her secret was. However, the more I got to know her the more my determination morphed into a need to find this wonderfully different and sad woman the perfect person to share her life with. It didn’t take me long to realize that Blake Mitchell was an ideal fit. A man struggling with demons of his own, not only would he understand her drive for independence, he’d protect her with his life whether she wanted him to or not. I hope you enjoy reading about Anne and Blake’s journey. I’d love to hear what you think of their story! You can contact me at [email protected] or visit me at www.KiraSinclair.com. Best wishes, Kira About the Author When not working as an office manager for a project management firm or juggling plot lines, KIRA SINCLAIR spends her time on a small farm in North Alabama with her wonderful husband, two amazing daughters and a menagerie of animals. It’s amazing to see how this self-proclaimed city girl has (or has not, depending on who you ask) adapted to country life. Kira enjoys hearing from her readers at www.KiraSinclair.com. Or stop by www.writingplayground.blogspot.com and join in the fight to stop the acquisition of an alpaca. Caught Off Guard Kira Sinclair www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk) Anne and Karyn share a bond that I can write only because of my relationship with my sister. Thank you, Beth, for showing me what love, understanding and friendship are all about. Love ya! I want to thank Lynn Raye Harris and her husband, Mike, who assisted me with my military information. Any mistakes are solely my own. 1 SOMEONE WAS WATCHING HER. Again. The sensation was … familiar. Annemarie Sobel Prescott might not have experienced it for a while but the muscles at the back of her neck still bunched in memory. This was different though. The awareness of his gaze didn’t make her feel dirty and exposed. The man staring at her from across the crowded ballroom didn’t have dollar signs in his eyes and an intrusive camera lens trained on her every sin. Nope, Blake Mitchell had lust and appreciation in his eyes. She liked that infinitely better. From the moment she’d grown breasts the paparazzi had been her constant companion. Other kids inherited red hair or a talent for singing. She’d inherited the world’s interest in every aspect of her life. Her entire misspent youth had been caught on camera. Sex, drugs and mischief had been her hobbies—and she’d been damn good at all three. Headlines had been her specialty. Hotel Heiress Caught in Torrid Affair with Married Hollywood Heartthrob. At least until she’d walked away from it all. She glanced across the room at him again. She couldn’t help herself, the weight of his eyes on her was too much to ignore. He was in a dark corner, one shoulder tight against the wall, running his fingers languidly up and down the side of a tumbler full of ice and amber liquid. She could see the beads of condensation as he absently spread them against the glass. An image of those fingers stroking her skin instead flashed through her mind. Her body melted, a slow burning heat settling into the pit of her belly. He pushed away from the wall, taking two steps toward her. The coward in her wanted to bolt. The intensity she could see churning in his eyes scared and thrilled her at the same time. He took a step forward; she took a step back, right into yards of silk. “Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.” Her best friend, Karyn Mitchell … no, it was Karyn Faulkner now, grabbed her around the waist and crushed her against the flowing silk of her white wedding gown. Anne hugged her friend back, letting her eyes stray for just a second to gauge Blake’s progress. He’d stopped, probably brought up quick at the sight of his sister giving her a bear hug. A sigh of relief—and regret—escaped silently through her lips before she returned her focus to her friend. “You’re welcome, but I didn’t do anything.” Pulling back, Karyn eyed her. “Don’t you lie to me. I know just what it cost you to get this place.” Anne fought to keep a twist of distaste from forming on her lips. “So I called in a favor.” At least it hadn’t required that she actually speak to her mother, although she was certain the senior manager of the Darby, Mississippi, Prescott Hotel had wasted no time in telling the CEO about the last-minute accommodation. Anne probably should have warned the woman that the favor wouldn’t gain her any brownie points with her mother… . But then they might not have gotten the room. While she, Karyn and Chris lived in Birmingham, the rest of Karyn’s family was still in Mississippi. And Karyn had her heart set on getting married in her hometown of Darby, surrounded by family. Unfortunately, no venues had been available. Anne would do anything if it meant making Karyn happy, even call on the family name she’d abandoned. Chris slipped up beside them, curling his hand around Karyn’s waist. It was an absent gesture of familiarity that made envy bloom in the center of Anne’s chest. “Enjoy yourself! Dance. Drink. Be merry. Chris’s cousin seems nice.” Karyn’s eyebrows waggled up and down and a smile lit her face. She was so different now that she’d found Chris, more open. “Actually, I suggest you stay away from Adam.” Chris mimed a glass to his lips and shook his head before leaning down to whisper something in Karyn’s ear. She looked up at her new husband with love and devotion and placed a kiss to the underside of his jaw. Anne watched them walk away. Chris pulled Karyn into his arms. They could have been alone in the room crowded with laughing, chattering people. They only had eyes for each other. Loneliness mixed with the envy. She was happy for her friend. Honestly, she was. But at the same time she recognized things in her world would change. Had already changed. Once again, she was alone. She glanced away from the lovebirds, feeling as if she was invading their privacy. Her eyes unerringly found their way back to Blake. He moved from the dark shadows surrounding the dance floor, almost as if he’d been waiting for her. All around her couples danced, laughed, touched … kissed. Candlelight was everywhere. Tongues of light flickered across Blake as he walked toward her. A slash of brightness across the dark planes of his face. A flash of orange-red against the black of his tux. The shadows played, revealing, highlighting and then hiding again. But the fire that flickered in his eyes never wavered. It didn’t take a genius to figure out he was heading for her. It also didn’t take a genius to know exactly what he wanted. The burning sensation low in her belly told her she wanted the same thing. That didn’t mean she was going to get it. Or take it. Or … whatever. Karyn had told her all about Blake, the middle child and her older brother. They’d talked about his relentless need to shoulder responsibility for things that weren’t his to bear—like the fact that he’d introduced his sister to the man who had raped her, and couldn’t seem to forgive himself. In Anne’s other world, the one where she’d done, said and demanded anything she’d wanted, Blake being her best friend’s brother wouldn’t have mattered. Now, somehow it did. She didn’t want to use him simply because loneliness was crowding in tonight. However, she wasn’t sure she’d be able to do the right thing. Not when his eyes burned as they traveled the length of her body. A shiver of anticipation passed slowly down her spine. He weaved in and out of people, as if the crowd between them didn’t exist. In seconds he stood before her, a smile playing at the edges of his lips. “May I?” It had been a long time since she’d been tempted to sin. Staring up into his expectant eyes, she was afraid her will just wasn’t strong enough to overcome both the desire she saw reflected back and some instinct she’d thought long dead. She nodded slowly, and his hand touched the small of her bare back, pulling her into the heat of his body. A hiss of breath surged through her teeth at the feel of his skin against her own. She’d loved the bridesmaid dress Karyn had chosen for her. Black floor-length velvet, elegant, sophisticated and perfect for the early December wedding. Very Anne. The neckline slashed from shoulder to shoulder, revealing a hint of her collarbone. The long sleeves and unadorned style hugged the curves of her body. But the back of the gown was what she’d fallen in love with. Cut from one shoulder to the other, the curve dipped just to the bottom indent of her spine. From the front the gown was classic, from the back it was decadent. A perfect description for the two sides of her life—her past and her present merged into one. She’d never been so grateful to be showing some skin. Each of Blake’s fingers branded her as they spread against the small of her back. Hot tendrils snaked up her spine. The vision of him dipping a single finger beneath the edge of her dress thrust into her brain, and a spike of need shot through her body. “Enjoying yourself?” His voice was low and rough as he leaned into her space so he could get closer to her ear. A wicked desire to tease him rolled through her, a bubble of energy inside her chest just bursting to get out. Or maybe that was the inner wild child she’d left behind ten years ago. She leaned up onto her toes, pulling the heels of her four-inch Jimmy Choos off the floor and whispered into his ear, “Not yet,” before biting the edge of his lobe. His body jerked in surprise. But the hands at her back flexed, pulling her tighter against him. “Well, we can’t have that, can we?” She’d shocked him—and herself—but she’d aroused him, too. A satisfied smile played at the corners of her lips. His eyes, the tempting color of her favorite rich chocolate fudge—an indulgence she rarely allowed—smoldered down at her. She’d met a lot of men in her life, but none of them had ever looked at her with that expression—a mix of desire, desperation, control and promise. If he hadn’t been holding her, her knees just might have given out. Strange that. In all her past encounters, she’d been the one to wield the power. Men had come to her either because of who she was or for her stunning face. She had no idea if Blake knew her real name, or rather her full name. She wondered for a second if it mattered. Probably not. She had a decision to make. Sinner or saint? Which was she tonight? “WHERE’D YOU GET THAT TATTOO?” Blake Mitchell turned his head to look at the beautiful bombshell stretched across the bed behind him. With a long, slender finger, Anne Sobel traced the lines of the crouching tiger etched into the skin of his right shoulder. He often forgot it was even there … but that was probably for the best. “Prison.” He had no idea why he’d told her the truth … or part of the truth anyway. The tiger actually covered up a few crude markings. His family didn’t even know about the months he’d spent in jail for assault and battery. They’d assumed he was on another military assignment. Probably because that’s what he’d told them. He hadn’t wanted them to know the truth—that he’d beaten the shit out of his sister’s rapist after the man had been found not guilty. They all knew the asshole had done it. But he’d been a football star, a veritable god for Mississippi State, and the jurors had been swayed by his squeaky-clean image and abundance of press. Blake had been patient, waiting until the asshole was separated from the people and media protecting him. That patience hadn’t prevented Blake’s arrest, but at least it had kept his sister and family from knowing what he’d done. By the time the guy had come to and ID’d Blake, the press had moved on to an even bigger story and no one in California had cared that some guy had been bloodied and bruised. Blake had done what he’d had to in order to protect his sister, and even knowing what it had cost him—his career with Special Forces—he’d make the same decision tomorrow. Anne chuckled, pulling his attention back to where it should be—on her. The sultry sound of her laughter rushed through his body. They’d had sex once … but he wanted her again. With an urgency he didn’t understand. From the moment she’d walked down the aisle today he’d been unable to see anything but her. “Liar. Tell me the truth.” He should probably be grateful that she thought it was a joke. And that they were both buzzed enough on champagne and sexual satisfaction that by morning this moment would be fuzzy and far away. Maybe he’d simply needed to tell someone the truth. No one in his family could know what he’d done, and what it had cost him. He refused to add to Karyn’s pain that way. Rolling over, Blake pulled Anne beneath him on the rumpled hotel comforter and stared down into her upturned face. Bright green eyes, smoky black makeup smudged at the corners, stared back. She should have looked like a raccoon. Instead the effect made her eyes wide and slanted … mysterious. For some reason he wanted to see her naked—not just without clothes but without makeup, without anything but what God had given her. He had no doubt she’d be gorgeous. He’d seen her shoes, the expensive streaks in her golden-blond hair, the expertly applied cosmetics, and knew they were her own brand of protection. Maybe he recognized them so easily because he had plenty of his own armor in place. Or maybe he saw them because at this moment he wanted desperately to break beyond them, to see her as she truly was. They hadn’t known each other long enough for that, though. “I need to leave. It’ll be dawn before I get home as it is.” Anne yanked against his hold on her wrist, obviously uncomfortable under his silent scrutiny. “Don’t leave.” He pressed his hips into the cradle of her body, pinning her to the bed with his weight. Her nipples puckered in quick response even as anger flared in her eyes. He reached down with his mouth, placing a kiss to the soft velvet skin at her shoulder. “It’s snowing. Dangerous. Karyn would never forgive me if you wrecked.” She moved beneath him, a combination of desire and protest. He could smell the scent of her arousal. An answering haze of need bloomed inside him. “Stay,” he breathed just before his lips touched down on her wide mouth. Her eyes still glittered, a combination of pique and desire, as she opened to the onslaught of his persuasion. They warred, not with words but with tongues, thrusting, fighting, convincing. Her body undulated beneath him, loosening his hold on her hands until they finally jerked free. He expected her to pull away. Instead, her fingers brushed down the length of his right shoulder, lightly tracing the outline of his permanent souvenir. Smiling, he leaned back so he could look at her. “I would have thought you’d have some ink of your own, actually.” She’d certainly been wild enough. “Nope. Against the rules.” Trailing kisses down the center of her body, he loved the way she arched into his mouth, sensual and greedy for more. Her breath caught in the back of her throat, a little hiccup of air. “I never figured you for the straight and narrow. In fact, I could have sworn you delighted in breaking rules.” Her eyes snapped to his, her body stilling beneath him. Her skin was still flushed with the heat of his touch and yet she turned away from him the only way she could, twisting her head so he couldn’t look into her eyes. She was spread out beneath him, sensual and beautiful, but no longer in the moment with him. He didn’t like that, didn’t like knowing that something he’d said had dulled the glow of her desire. He hadn’t expected vulnerability from her. From the sophisticated and regal woman he’d watched all evening. From the sensual and demanding woman he’d had in his bed half the night. From the hellion the headlines had screamed about. His protective urges reared up and told him to fix this. Now. Tucking his finger beneath her chin, he turned her back to face him. “Does it matter? Because it doesn’t to me.” She knew exactly what he was saying. Her eyes narrowed as she studied him, looking into his eyes, searching his face. “No.” The single word was low and throaty. “I suppose it doesn’t. Karyn told you.” It wasn’t a question but he answered anyway, nodding. “She asked me to watch over you tonight.” She shook her head, a rueful smile tugging the corners of her lips. “Of course she did.” She drew in a deep breath. Blake’s eyes fixated on the rise and fall of her breasts beneath him. He wanted to lean down and pull that teasing nipple into his mouth but wasn’t sure of his reception. Anne finally let the air go on a sigh that seemed to relax her. Her eyes traveled slowly up the length of his body, her kiss-swollen lips pulling into a mischievous smile as she reached for him. It was his turn to sigh when she wrapped the warmth of her palm around his aching erection. “So, about that tattoo. I could have been lying.” She arched up, rubbing her silky thighs against him. “Maybe you should check. Just to be sure.” Loving that idea, and the chance for some payback, he grasped her waist and flipped her onto her stomach. Kneeling between her open thighs, he spread them wide, enjoying the telltale glint of the arousal that coated her sex. But he didn’t start there. Instead, he touched the base of her neck, beginning an excruciating exploration for any hidden marks. She gasped as he sucked at her nape and then blew a cooling stream of breath across the wet patch of her skin. He rolled her head this way and that, tantalizing her with his fingers and mouth. Down the length of each arm, across her shoulders. Lavishing each tiny vertebra of her spine with individual attention. Her body squirmed beneath him, inflaming his desire, which was already riding the slippery edge of control. Her skin was soft and fragrant. A delicious mixture of knowledge and need pulsed beneath the thin layer against his lips as he kissed the dip of her waist and the flare of her hips. He could almost feel the growing urgency heating her body beneath him. Finally, he allowed them both the exquisite pleasure of touching her sex. She groaned low in her throat and pushed hard against his hand when he slid a finger inside her hot and slippery core. Uninhibited, she greedily took the pleasure he gave her, forcing him back and fighting for more. He couldn’t control her or himself. He couldn’t wait to possess her, to feel her body take him in and hold him tight. Turning her back over to face him, he grabbed a condom and rolled it down his cock. He was inside her within seconds, the exquisite feel of her heat surrounding him. She reared up with him, digging her fingernails into his back, trying to bring them closer together. She bit the edge of his bottom lip, sucking it into her mouth before soothing the ache with her tongue. Meeting him thrust for thrust, she ground her hips against him, wrapping her legs around his body and holding him tight. They stayed that way, both straining for the unbelievable edge that they wanted to launch themselves over, pumping, pulling, chasing each other closer. With a guttural groan of satisfaction, Anne dropped her head against the scattered pillows, her blond hair ballooning into a soft, disheveled cloud around her beautiful face. The orgasm ripped through her body—he could feel it, see it, practically taste the sweetness of it on his tongue. He enjoyed watching her shudder with the sensations, enjoyed knowing he was the source of her pleasure. When she’d finally stilled beneath him, he let his own pleasure break free, shaking with the force of his restraint. He let the aftershocks of her orgasm haul him with her, the muscles of her inner walls massaging his sex in the most delicious way he’d ever known. He looked down at the satisfied smile on her bliss-filled face and knew he was in trouble. He didn’t want to roll away, didn’t want to lose the connection he’d found when they were locked together. He’d never had such an intense reaction to a woman in his life. Granted he was a little rusty. For the past several years he’d been preoccupied with building his business and hadn’t had the time or inclination to play the dating game. One-night stands had been the name of his game. But this was different. The woman beneath him had been the first thing to make his blood quicken since he’d stopped jumping out of perfectly functioning airplanes. She stirred, her eyes fluttering open. His entire body felt the impact as her brilliant green gaze caught his. Oh yeah, he was in trouble. 2 AWARENESS CAME SLOWLY, crawling up Anne’s spine along with a pounding headache and a sickening gurgle at the bottom of her stomach. The headache was all alcohol, although she hadn’t really drunk that much. The churning stomach, not so much. She didn’t even have to open her eyes, she could smell it. The maddening scent of professional-grade cleaner that could never quite be covered by the sickening floral spray they used to try and hide it. She’d once suggested to her mother that the hotel find another way to eliminate the smell. The woman had dismissed her suggestions. Surprise, surprise. She hadn’t noticed it last night, although she hadn’t noticed much of anything besides the way Blake made her body burn. Well, apparently it was time to pay the piper’s price. Her legs scraped against sheets that weren’t her own yet were all too damn familiar. She opened her eyes. Keeping them shut wouldn’t change things no matter how much she wanted it to. She took a halting tour of the space, trying to move only her eyeballs in deference to her protesting head. Different, and yet still the same. The bedspread and artwork changed, but the impersonal still permeated every inch of the cookie-cutter hotel room. Horrific memories slithered out from beneath the rock she’d shoved them under, making her stomach roil even faster. Maybe, if she could stay out of the bathroom, she could keep the worst of the images at bay. The vision of her brother, dangling lifeless from the bathroom ceiling of their hotel suite, slammed into her brain anyway. Her muscles went rigid. Her lungs protested their sudden lack of oxygen as she forgot to breathe, forgot her surroundings, forgot everything but the nightmare. Curling her body into a ball, Anne shoved the heels of her hands into her eyes and laid her pounding head on her knees. This was why she should have left last night. This was why she never stayed in a hotel. Not just Prescott hotels. Any hotel ever. After her brother’s suicide, she’d run away from the chaos, the guilt, the madness of the life she’d once led. She’d changed her name from Annemarie Prescott to plain Anne Sobel. It had taken her years but she’d finally built herself a new life with no help from her mother or her trust fund. A life she could be proud of. A life with meaning outside whether or not she had the latest “it” accessory. The downside was that for years she’d lived in fear of someone discovering who she really was and turning the information over for a quick buck. It had been a long time before the paparazzi had given up trying to uncover her hidey-hole. Birmingham, Alabama—not exactly first on their list of places to look. But now the world had moved on and found a new party girl to glorify, giving Anne a little room to breathe. Taking on another persona, adopting her mother’s maiden name and pretending that Annemarie had never existed was worth it for a sense of peace. And if she was lonely from time to time … well, that was a price she’d willingly pay again and again to be out from under her mother’s thumb and away from the memories and the girl she’d once been. Even though she’d been surrounded by people, she’d been just as alone in her old life, anyway. Or she would have been, without her brother. Now, if she could just get out of here. “Aspirin.” The deep voice startled her, although she hadn’t for a second forgotten that she wasn’t alone. Her mind might have been swamped by nasty images of her past, but in some corner she’d been aware of Blake’s presence in the room with her. His cupped hand appeared above her face, the long, tanned arm blocking her view of everything else. This was possibly a good thing. A water bottle slid into her line of sight, strong fingers wrapped around opaque sides. She reluctantly uncoiled her body, careful to keep the covers caught tight to her chest which seemed like a stupid thing to do, all things considered. She took the little white pills, downed them with one cold swallow and finally looked at him. Blake Mitchell. Her best friend’s older brother. The man she’d screwed six ways to Sunday last night. Oh, she could blame it on the alcohol but she’d known, one-hundred-and-ten percent known, exactly what she was doing last night. And she’d wanted this man with a passion she hadn’t felt in … years. Of course, that didn’t exactly make what she’d done right. Anne would be the first to admit that her upbringing had given her a skewed idea of what was appropriate. But even she knew that using her best friend’s brother for meaningless sex crossed the line. Especially given her history. Karyn might not care … but that didn’t take away the guilt gnawing at Anne’s insides. Inappropriate sex had always been her slippery slope. She wondered if it was seeing Karyn and Chris together that had pushed her over the edge, or just being in Mother’s hotel again. Either way, she’d obviously reverted to some very, very bad habits. Sexual pleasure could be just as much of a drug as crack cocaine. Oh, she had sex. But in a very controlled environment with single men who understood that they were both simply getting off. No one got hurt. No one staked out her house to catch a compromising photo. But with Blake, she hadn’t been able to stop herself from taking what she’d wanted. And that was probably what scared her most. She’d been so careful to control her affairs before. This one had not been planned. Even now, she couldn’t keep her eyes away from him. His hair, burnt-toast brown, was disheveled. His chest was bare, hard and lean, and made her want to reach out and touch. It would be so easy to lose herself in him again, to let him take the memories and the edge of bone-deep pain that being in this room caused her. But she’d used Blake Mitchell enough last night. She couldn’t do it again. He sat on the bed beside her, his hip rubbing against her own beneath the Egyptian-cotton sheets. She fought past the urge to reach out for him. “Good morning.” His voice was gruff, rusty. “Karyn and Chris are leaving in about fifteen minutes. Do you want to head down to see them off?” With a silent nod, the only response she could manage between the desire, self-loathing and guilt swimming around inside her, she watched as he unfolded from the bed and disappeared into the bathroom. Water sounded, the floor creaked against the weight of a full-grown male and the nightmares returned full force. She couldn’t stay. She needed out of here. Now. Anne swung her legs over the side of the bed, stood up just a little too fast for her head’s comfort and scanned the room. She was so worked up over Blake and the memories that it took several minutes to notice the bag in the corner. Her bag. The one that had been sitting in her trunk since she’d packed everything from Karyn’s parents’ place yesterday morning. Ripping into it, she pulled out the first things she could find, a pair of well-worn jeans and a peach sweater. Clean panties and a bra helped make her feel somewhat human again. She brushed her hair, applied a minimum of makeup and finger brushed her teeth all in five minutes at the dresser mirror. She wasn’t waiting. And the hounds of hell would have had to drag her into that bathroom. She grabbed her dress out of the closet—she’d spent a lot of money on it and would be damned before she left it. Besides, she really did love it. She threw a glance at the closed bathroom door, considered yelling her goodbye at Blake but thought better of it. Not very romantic. Besides, this way was better—he wouldn’t feel obligated to pretend he wanted something more than one night. Ten minutes after waking up, Anne walked out the door and right into the lobby full of Karyn and Blake’s family. Anne groaned. Any thought of skirting around the edges before anyone noticed her burned up in a flash as Karyn yelled across the large, echoing space. “Anne. What are you doing here?” “Ah.” Her brain was working at a distinct disadvantage, but as her friend rushed forward it seemed to kick in. “Snowstorm, remember. There was no way I could drive home in that.” Karyn slipped her arms around her in a big hug and squeezed tight, whispering in her ear, “Are you okay? You look a little pale.” Her friend leaned back, looked deep into her eyes and stared hard. Pinpricks of emotion she really didn’t want to deal with stung the backs of her eyes. Only Karyn. From the moment they’d met, both working at Walker Technologies, she’d recognized something deep inside Karyn—a twin to the suppressed pain and loneliness that resonated in her own chest. Karyn had been hiding the secret of her rape; Anne had been hiding the secret of who she really was. She disguised her pain with bright smiles and a bubbly personality. Karyn had camouflaged hers with silence and solitude. At least until she’d met Chris. He’d helped heal her wounds. Anne was happy Karyn had found someone who could do that for her. She knew she’d live with her own scars for the rest of her life. That was okay. Nothing and no one could wipe away the guilt she carried. “I’m fine. Really.” “I suppose you never have to worry about room availability when your mother owns the hotel.” Or when you shared. “Um, absolutely.” “Chris and I were about to leave. We’re just waiting on Blake to come down.” Karyn wrapped an arm around her shoulders and pulled her into the small knot of people standing around a conversation area. Anne tried to fight the urge to run. Leaning into Karyn she said, “I need to head out now because I’m not sure how long it’ll take me to get home in this snow and ice. You have a wonderful trip.” She kissed Karyn on the cheek, slung her bag over her shoulder and headed for the heavy etched-glass front door. Her mother had taste if nothing else. She was halfway there when the back of her neck began to tingle. As she reached the door, Anne couldn’t stop herself from turning around to look at him. His deep chocolate eyes were trained solely on her. The sensation was unnerving … and somehow left her feeling like a schoolgirl with her hand caught in the cookie jar. His only reaction was a single raised eyebrow as the left edge of his luxuriant lips dipped down into a frown. She jerked back around to face the door. Taking a steadying breath, she pushed against the cold glass and headed out into the freezing, lonely winter morning. The wind whipped by and stole her breath. It was just her and her headache as she headed away from her mother’s hotel, the memories it stirred and the first man to tempt her senses in a very long time. Running away. Again. Karyn was the only person in her new life who knew who she really was … well, and Blake now apparently. But even then, knowing who she was didn’t mean he understood. Despite the emotional trauma that had immediately bonded them, even Karyn couldn’t completely comprehend what her life had been like and always would be. Anne had learned early and quick to keep pieces of herself locked away—from her mother, from the media, from the moneygrubbing parasites that looked at her life of privilege and wondered what they could take from her. She’d used those lessons to keep her true identity safe. To close herself off from the life she wanted nothing more to do with. She’d never have a normal life. A husband who loved her. A family of proud parents and overprotective brothers. She wasn’t sure she could ever learn to trust someone enough to form the kind of bond that required. Hell, one night in a hotel room with a man had her turning tail to run. She shrugged. It was her coping mechanism, the way she kept her mind and soul safe. It was something she’d come to grips with years ago, the limitations of her life. It had never bothered her before today. So why did she now want more? It probably had everything to do with Karyn, her whirlwind romance and fairy-tale wedding. It couldn’t have anything to do with Blake Mitchell. And even if it did … it wouldn’t matter. She’d never see the man again. PETER BURG WATCHED as Annemarie Prescott slipped out the large double doors, a duffel bag slung over her shoulder. It had been easy to blend into the crowd last night, to observe as she mixed and mingled with the other wedding guests. It had been a stroke of luck when word had come into the corporate offices that she’d pulled strings to reserve the ballroom for her friend. A smile curved the edges of his lips. He knew for a fact that she hadn’t reserved a room of her own in the hotel. He had the pictures to prove that she’d shared. He wasn’t exactly certain how they might come in handy but he figured it was good to be prepared. The more dirt he had on Annemarie, the more leverage he had over her; however he was going to keep the pictures of that man pressing her back into the wall of the hallway, his hands and mouth tugging at her dress, to himself for the moment. The pictures themselves made his blood boil a little. Yes, she’d always been free with her body, which had bothered him. He’d long thought that she degraded herself for no good reason and resented the fact that the men she chose to do it with were trash. Especially when he’d been standing before her, ready to worship at her feet. Not anymore. She’d be the one groveling now, begging for his help when her world collapsed around her once more. And he’d do it, for a price. He had plans for Annemarie Prescott. And he had no doubt that eventually she’d fall in line. He could be very persuasive … and patient. Cold wind whipped inside his open coat as he quickly crossed to his car parked on the opposite side of the lot. He’d follow her home. He wanted to make sure she arrived there safely. He needed her. At least for a little while. 3 BLAKE STARED out his windshield at the vacant town house across the street. He knew it was vacant, because he’d asked his sister where Anne would be today. Karyn had been surprised to see him, to say the least. He lived in the next state over, so dropping by her house wasn’t an everyday occurrence. And while they talked fairly regularly, he didn’t make a habit of telling her—or any of his family—about his daily movements. At least not anymore. The family had been very close before Karyn had been raped. While that incident had pulled them together to support her, it had also caused tension among them. Whenever he’d seen his mother, she’d talk only about how Karyn was doing. How her case was progressing. And those discussions had always increased the guilt and rage that crawled inside him. Something he really didn’t need. He’d pulled away from them—a form of punishment for his part in it all and protection for his sanity. Shaking off the unwanted thoughts, he refocused on the modest brick building Anne called home. It surprised him. He’d expected her to live in a rambling mansion or an exclusive subdivision with a gate and guard shack, at least. The house was nice. Small, but she lived alone so it made sense. It wasn’t wasteful or extravagant but it was in a good neighborhood. He could easily get inside. But that wasn’t why he’d come. He still wasn’t sure that coming here had been the smart thing to do, but here he was. It had been a little over a month since he’d last seen Anne, since she’d slipped through his fingers out that hotel door. Part of him had wanted to chase after her, to ask her why she’d thought it was necessary to leave like a thief while he was in the shower. But he hadn’t. It had been a very long time since he’d had to chase after a woman. He wasn’t in the habit of pursuing females who didn’t want his attention—especially after what had happened to his sister—and it was clear that Anne wanted nothing more to do with him. If he’d thought of her—often in the middle of lonely nights—that was his own problem. Or it had been until Marie Prescott had called Mitchell Security. After being court-marshaled four years ago for his assault-and-battery stunt, he’d been dishonorably discharged from the army and had to find another way to make a living. He’d been trained in surveillance, so opening a security firm had been a no-brainer. Things had been difficult to begin with—his history made hiring him for security a tough sell. But his superior officers and fellow soldiers had helped, sending him referrals whenever they could. Their support and understanding had meant so much. Eventually his reputation and work had spoken for themselves. That and the fact that his case had been overturned on appeal—after he’d already left the army—and his discharge changed to honorable. But he’d never been so happy that the lean days were over as when he’d gotten the call from Anne’s mother. He hadn’t liked the way she’s spoken to him. She was demanding. Entitled. Egotistical. She’d offered him money—lots of it—if he’d help bring her daughter home, and he’d delighted in declining. So why was he sitting outside Anne’s house? Marie Prescott’s warnings had niggled in the back of his brain until he couldn’t concentrate for worry that the woman might be right. Marie had told him Anne refused to believe the threat was real and was ignoring her edicts to return home where she would be safe on the family compound. That he could believe. Admittedly, he didn’t know Anne all that well, but what he’d gleaned from their one night together was that she had an independent streak a mile wide and was unafraid and adventurous. Not the sort of person to be easily cowed. However, the more he’d thought about it the more he’d worried. If Marie was telling the truth and something bad happened to Anne he wouldn’t be able to live with himself. He hadn’t agreed to help Marie just yet. Why had she called him? Her answer when he’d asked had been that she thought his personal ties through Karyn might help in persuading her. That perhaps Anne would listen to someone she trusted more than she’d apparently listened to her mother. Little did the woman know he was likely the last person Anne wanted to see … or trust. But he couldn’t simply ignore the situation if she really was in danger. So he’d take a look around for anything suspicious. He’d ask her if she’d noticed anything unusual. He wasn’t exactly looking forward to the interview but life wasn’t always pleasant. And, in truth, he really wanted to see Anne again. Maybe it would help him get her out of his head. He glanced down at the clock on the dashboard—two o’clock. He had at least three or four hours before she’d be home from work, and he had no desire to corner her there. She’d made it clear she didn’t want to see him, and his reason for being here wasn’t likely to change her opinion. His showing up at her office would only add to the unpleasantness, not to mention her resistance. No sense in putting himself at a disadvantage before the conversation even began. So it looked as if he had some time to kill. Maybe he should go back and visit more with Karyn. Maybe she’d have some suggestions on how he could soften Anne up … Ideas that wouldn’t involve the use of his tongue and hands—as much as that disappointed—because something told him that he’d had his shot at her warming his bed. Unfortunately, it was all his deprived mind could come up with at the moment. Seducing her into submission. ANNE PULLED into her parking spot, turned the key in the ignition and leaned her head back against the headrest. Home. Finally. A headache throbbed at the center of her skull, the result of skipping lunch and a meeting from hell. She’d been excited to receive a promotion to VP of marketing right after the wedding. It had been a confirmation of her talent and a direct result of the hard work she’d put in at Walker Technologies over the past several years. She’d come to college late—starting at twenty—and had gone to work for Walker when she’d graduated four years later. Six years more and she was working her way up the corporate ladder. Product placement, ad campaigns, market research, sales projections and tracking. She loved every minute of her job—although developing media campaigns had to be her favorite. It gave her a chance to use her media history for something other than bad memories. The ironic thing was that it was precisely the kind of position she could have held at Prescott Hotels if her mother had ever thought she had the intelligence. Funny how she’d had to leave to find her success. Lucky for her that she’d also found contentment. Too bad for her mother, who still couldn’t admit she’d been wrong about her daughter. Thinking about her mother made the pounding in Anne’s head increase to brain numbing. Marie had been the only parent—and Anne used the term loosely—in her life since her father had died in a car accident when she was four. She barely remembered him now—nothing but a fuzzy idea of what might have been. She’d kept in contact with her mother over the past ten years, although that contact had been infrequent and as brief as possible. But suddenly that wasn’t good enough—Marie had called her every day this week. What was making her mother so desperate? Marie had been trying to get her back to the family estate for months, but something had obviously happened to increase the intensity of her machinations. The week had started with another edict, something Anne found easy to ignore. But then the cajoling had started. That was different. The concern over Anne’s safety, a revelation that Anne was in danger from a stalker—something Anne had seen no proof of—and finally the claim that Marie was ill. She wondered what lie her mother would come up with next. And as much as she didn’t want to, she wondered what the truth was. Not that it mattered. When would Marie realize that nothing she offered or threatened could bring Anne home to New York? Birmingham was now her home. She had a job she enjoyed and was usually good at—apart from screwing up a report last week and prompting the meeting from hell this afternoon. She still had no idea how it had happened… . She was independent and happy. And she was going to stay that way. One trip home and her freedom would end. She knew it to the soles of her feet. She’d needed every bit of strength and determination she had to escape the world of excess and privilege. If her mother got her hooks into Anne again she’d never let go. The only reason she’d gotten away the first time was because her mother had counted on Anne’s inability to live without money and things and people at her beck and call. Marie had been wrong, something that made Anne smile every time she thought of it. It wasn’t often her mother was wrong and she delighted in being one of the only people who’d never fallen into line. Really, running away ten years ago had been Anne’s final step in a lifelong quest to thwart her mother’s fight for control. Those first few months when the transition had been difficult, she’d used that thought to get her through. Her mother wouldn’t win. She wouldn’t let her. Not after what the woman had pushed Anne’s brother, Michael, to do. If Marie had shown one ounce of warmth or maternal concern when Michael had gone to her, Anne knew in her heart her brother never would have hung himself. Pushing back the unwanted memories, she walked inside her house, flipping switches as she went. There was something about light in the first gloom of dusk that always made her feel warm and safe. The tension that had tightened her shoulders began to ease. But the place was freezing. Shivering, she wrapped her arms around her middle and huddled further into her coat. She didn’t remember turning down the heat before she’d left this morning. Maybe the unit had finally given up. She’d been fighting with it for over a year but had hoped to baby it along until her tax refund came in sometime next month. Depositing her purse and briefcase on the hall table, she headed through the open-plan living room toward the thermostat and stopped dead in her tracks. The back door at the end of the long hallway stood wide open. The doorjamb surrounding the lock plate was shredded. The door wasn’t much better, a half-moon of splinters was all that was left of the knob. Oh hell. Panic rushed into her, squeezing her lungs and making her heart beat against the suddenly too small walls of her chest. She reached down and grabbed the first thing her hand settled on, the back of a well-loved recliner. She gasped for air, but couldn’t seem to get enough of it. Stop it, she told herself. Hyperventilating won’t get you anywhere. Glancing quickly around her, she took stock. A couple of the bottom doors on her built-in were hanging wide open, books and papers falling out in a messy pile to the floor. Shards of glass glittered against the carpet. Who knew which knickknack they’d once been. But her expensive TV still sat on the stand on the far side of the room. Too heavy to carry out? Something long, slender and glinting silver lay in the hall at the archway to her kitchen. Big, sharp, dangerous knife or the handle to her frying pan? She wasn’t going to stick around to find out. Anne backed slowly toward the front door, snatching her purse and cell phone off the hall table as she went. Outside to call the police. And Karyn. And possibly stay with her … and her brand-new husband of four weeks when they’d just returned from their extended honeymoon a week ago. Yeah, probably not. She’d figure something out. Reaching behind her, Anne felt for the doorknob, letting out a silent sigh of relief when her searching fingers finally touched it. But a single sound stopped her. Mrreow. “Shit!” Slapping a hand over her mouth to hold in any other sounds, she stood with her back pressed tight against the door and waited … for what she wasn’t sure. For some masked man to come barreling into the room and throw her to the ground? For ninjas to erupt through the back windows? For her cat to silently pad from the kitchen to wind her skinny, wrinkled body around her ankles. “Prada.” The name pushed out of her lungs as she leaned down, grabbed her cat and buried her face in the hairless skin. Okay. If Prada was fine she could deal with the rest of it. After finally exiting the house, Anne raced to the safety of her car, slammed all the locks shut, placed Prada on the seat beside her and called the police. Pressing the phone to her ear, Anne tried to calm her breathing so she could hear through the harsh in and out. “Nine-one-one. What’s your emergency?” “I’d like to—” Her words were cut off midstream by a scream so loud it echoed off the windows and bounced through the car. The response was involuntary, a knee-jerk reaction to someone tapping loudly on the window next to her head. “Ma’am? Are you all right? Ma’am? What’s wrong?” The voice on the other end of the line sharpened with concern. “I’m sorry.” Anne’s eyes narrowed as she looked through the driver’s side window of her Miata to find Blake Mitchell staring back at her. What the hell was he doing here? Now? At the exact moment she needed him? No, that wasn’t right. She didn’t need him. She didn’t need anyone. She was fine. Glaring at him, she turned away and continued talking to the dispatcher. “Someone just scared me. I need to report a break-in at my town house.” “Are you in any danger? Are you inside the home? Is the intruder still there? “ “No, I’m fine. I’m outside in my car. I’m not sure if anyone is still inside. I didn’t stick around to find out.” The dispatcher took her address and said an officer would be there shortly. After assuring the woman that she didn’t need to stay on the phone with her until their arrival, Anne shut off her phone and sat staring through her windshield for a moment. Her pulse was finally dropping, which was good because she wasn’t sure her heart could handle any more ups and downs in one day. Taking a deep breath, she turned her head to find Blake right where she’d left him, leaning against the side of her car, one arm propped on the roof, positioned slightly behind the window so he’d been out of her line of sight. She wasn’t entirely certain that had been an accident. His dark-chocolate eyes stared down at her, watchful, assessing. She wasn’t sure she liked that at all. It gave her the sensation of being weighed and measured, as if he could see everything inside her even if she didn’t want him to. Definitely not pleasant. She much preferred when his eyes smoldered. She dug in her purse for keys, then popped them into the ignition and cranked the car for power before rolling down her window. For some reason, she wanted to keep the closed door firmly between them. His eyes narrowed and one eyebrow lifted. She had the distinct impression he found her caution amusing. Cold January air gushed through the opening. Another reason to keep her butt firmly in the car. She turned the heat up. “What are you doing here?” “I came to see you. And I’m guessing by the way you bolted out of that house like your ass was on fire that you’re in a bit of a jam.” A bit of a jam. Ha! “Why?” “Why are you in a bit of a jam? I don’t know. You tell me.” “Why did you come see me? Now.” Four weeks, three days and nine hours after he’d let her walk away. “I was in Huntsville for a consultation, thought I’d stop by and see Karyn since I was so close.” “She’s not here.” “Apparently. I talked to her earlier.” So if he wasn’t here to track down his sister … “How did you know where I live?” Her brain, sluggish from the scare, finally caught up. Waving her hands, she cut off his response, answering her own question, “Never mind. Karyn told you.” A deep sound rolled from the center of his chest. It reminded her of the sound Prada made when she deigned to allow Anne to pet her. It wasn’t an outright laugh … more of a quiet admission of amusement. “No, actually, she didn’t. I own a security firm. Finding people is part of my job.” “So … what, you looked me up on the internet?” His only response was a shrug. Damn it. She could only guess at the shit he’d found. Because surely he hadn’t resisted the urge to look up the exploits of her alcohol-and-drug-soaked sexcapades. After all, everyone else wanted to know. “Entertained?” Her lip curled up in disdain, for both him and herself. Anger and embarrassment twisted inside making her a bit harsh. “So you decided to pop by for an unannounced visit a month after we screwed each other’s brains out, why?” And why now? It wasn’t exactly the most convenient time for her to receive visitors. “Well, that’s a flattering visual.” “You prefer sex? Just sex?” “I don’t think you can call it just sex when the marathon session goes for five hours and leaves my brain fuzzy the next morning.” What the hell was she doing? She was fighting—and flirting if she was honest—with a man she barely knew, sitting in her car outside her very broken into town house, while she waited for the cops. “Forget it. I don’t care why you stopped by. Now isn’t a great time. Go away.” “No.” “What do you mean no?” Had she exited her house into an alternate universe? Or maybe she was still asleep. That was it. It would certainly explain the crappy sales report she’d gotten raked over the coals for—she never made mistakes like that. A nightmare tied to hearing her mother’s voice every day for a week. If she lost her job, her mother would only insist harder that she come home. And the ransacked house. Another dig at her security. And the sexy-as-hell devil with the deep chocolate, bite-me eyes and stubborn demeanor who had shown up on her doorstep after a month? That was just too many lonely nights of lustful thinking. This was all a nightmare … or maybe this last part was more a dream. She’d wake up any minute, Prada would beg her for breakfast and she’d race off for her morning Starbucks. “Not until you tell me what’s going on.” Or maybe not. Sighing, she said, “Someone broke into my place. I’m waiting here for the police to show up. Thanks to you scaring me half to death and making me scream in the dispatcher’s ear, I would guess they’ll be here shortly.” Blake reached inside her open window, ran his hand a little too close to the side of her breast for sanity, and unlocked the car doors. It was a sad state of affairs. Her brain shortcircuited at the nearness of his hand, leaving her stupid and powerless as he walked around to the passenger side, opened the door and plopped his butt into her front seat. She’d clearly had enough time to lock his ass out in the cold. If she’d thought of it. Instead, a laugh—probably hysteria—bubbled up inside her chest at the look of absolute horror he gave the spitting, clawing sack of skin in his hands. He held the cat as far in front of him as the console would allow. “Why do you have a skinned squirrel in your car?” Reaching over, she snatched her baby from his hands. “Prada is not a squirrel.” She turned her focus to the cat and held her up to coo at her, “Are you, baby?” She did it more because she knew it would bother him than for anything else. How she knew this, she had no idea, but she was dead certain it would. And the curl of his lip and squint in his eyes proved her right. “She’s a hairless cat.” Placing the cat in her lap, the black-pink-and-white mottled ball of skin curled up, keeping her eyes firmly on the man who’d dared to pluck her up from her comfy seat. He watched, a mixture of horror and bewilderment on his face. “Why do you have a hairless cat?” She shrugged, continuing to run her hand down the rough skin in rhythmic strokes. “Her original owners bought her because it was trendy, but then decided she was too much trouble to keep, so they took her to the shelter. But no one wanted her. The shelter volunteers said everyone thought she was ugly.” It had broken her heart to see the tiny, shivering thing stuck in a corner cage, away from everyone else. She’d watched as several children had ignored Prada, opting for the cute and cuddly kittens with their wide take-me-home eyes. It had stirred something inside her. Prada deserved a chance to have a warm and loving family. “That thing is ugly.” She looked over at him in disgust. No one ever looked beyond Prada’s unusual exterior to the fiercely loyal soul beneath. Just another reason they never would have worked. Want her body? Love her cat. “She’s not ugly… . She has personality.” Prada sighed, a discordant sound that cut through the car, and closed her eyes for a nap. Anne wouldn’t admit it out loud, but the cat was sort of a spoiled brat. The silence stretched out around them. It wasn’t a comfortable silence, the kind that left you lax and somehow in tune with the person next to you. There was too much friction, too much male sexuality emanating off him for her to be comfortable. What she wanted was for him to go away. No, that wasn’t true. What she wanted was to take him upstairs—to hell with the ninjas—and let him give her libido another mind-blowing workout. What she needed was for him to go away. Because she couldn’t deal with this—with him, too—right now. She wanted him with a fierceness that had apparently sharpened in the month since she’d seen him, not lessened. The problem was that she shouldn’t. They weren’t good for each other. He made her feel things she’d left in her past. He made her want to abandon everything and lock them both into a room with a bed for the next month … or twelve. She couldn’t think of anything but him when he was so close. So he needed to go. Turning her head, she looked at the man sitting beside her. Comfortable. Cocky. Solid as a damn bull. “What do you want, Blake? You didn’t come here looking for Karyn. It’s way too late to contact me about our night together. Why are you here?” He opened his mouth to answer her. She could see it would be something pat. It was written in his eyes. You could never lie to a champion liar. “No bullshit.” He snapped his mouth closed again and stared at her for several seconds. She realized the minute he decided to tell her the truth, because his face took on a pinched look and his eyes went all soft and apologetic. The expression shouldn’t have looked good on him. Blake Mitchell was made to be a hard man. He had the body—tall, broad and thick with muscle. He had the attitude—confident, as if he was ten feet tall and bulletproof. But that touch of softness, of regret, made him more human somehow. It also tied her stomach in knots. She wasn’t going to like whatever he was going to say. “Your mother asked me to bring you home.” 4 BLAKE WATCHED as her entire body went rigid. Her jaw. Her hands. Even the muscles in her thighs. Not that he should be looking. Not now anyway. It was like lighting the fuse on a bomb and then getting distracted by the beauty of a sunset. Stupid and pointless. “Funny. I don’t remember Mother having an office in Huntsville.” “What?” Shaking his head, he realized he needed to focus. He had no idea what she was talking about and that was a quick way to disaster. He was probably already headed there but … “You said you met with a client in Huntsville before coming here. I didn’t realize Prescott Hotels had an office in Huntsville.” The lightbulb flipped on. Damn she was quick. “They don’t.” The sirens of a police cruiser wailed in the distance, saving him from having to come up with more of a response. Those sirens were the perfect reminder that Blake could no longer question her mother’s words. Anne was in serious trouble. And he was going to help her whether she wanted him to or not. He would not let someone hurt her. He still wasn’t certain that meant taking her home to her mother, but one issue at a time. The first one being her look of skepticism. “I didn’t lie. I met with another client. A government contractor worried about securing classified documents.” “Uh-huh.” The sounds became louder as the police car pulled into the parking lot for Anne’s complex. “Go away, Blake. I don’t need or want you here. I don’t care what my mother wants, either. I’m not going home.” Hopping out of the car—that drowned rat cradled to her chest—she slammed the door in his face. Frowning, he followed slowly behind Anne to where she and a cop stood close together. The man was middle-aged with his blue Birmingham Police Department uniform shirt stretched over a slightly bulging belly. He was listening intently as Anne shared the details of the break-in. Taking a step closer, Blake positioned Anne in the shelter of his body, almost touching her shoulder with his chest. He used his height to protect and claim. He couldn’t say why, but the urge had been there and no desire to fight it had surfaced. The maneuver earned him a glare from Anne, something that actually made his mouth twitch into a grin. What was it about needling her that made him smile? He kept his mouth shut though. He had nothing of importance to add to the conversation and he’d learned a long time ago that listening always netted more information than talking. “Let me take a look around first, then if everything is clear we can go inside and speak some more.” Anne nodded and they both watched as the officer strode toward her house. The tension was back in her muscles. Hell, he could have cut wood across her shoulders they were so tight. Without thought, he reached for her, offering the comfort and support of his arms. This was harder for her than she was letting on. He could only imagine the turmoil and sense of violation she must be fighting, something that had likely been a daily part of her life when she’d been Annemarie Prescott. But she’d put that behind her until today. To his surprise, she let him tug her close. His arms wrapped around her stomach, her back nestled snuggly to his chest. “I’m sorry, Annie.” A shiver tore through her. His reaction was immediate and intense, his cock jerking stiff at the smallest rub of her body against his own. He fought back a groan and hoped she was too preoccupied to notice. Her chest expanded on a deep inhalation of breath. She held it for a second before finally letting it all go in a slow, smooth stream of air. Then she stepped free of his arms and turned to face him. Her expression was blank. Her eyes, deep, dark green, were dull in a way that concerned him. “I’m fine, Blake. I’ll be fine. You can go.” He wondered who she was trying to convince, him or herself. “I’m not going anywhere. You shouldn’t have to face this alone.” “I’ve dealt with a hell of a lot worse alone. One amazing night in the sack does not give you the right to barge into my life. I’ve managed just fine without you for ten years, without anyone. I can manage this, too.” He had no doubt that she could. Beneath the blond-bombshell exterior, the designer pumps and the tailored clothes was a spine of steel. He admired that about her, her own inner strength. The officer came back. “Whoever broke in is long gone. Why don’t we go inside out of the cold, ma’am, so I can ask you a few more questions?” It didn’t slip his notice that the other man hadn’t included him in the suggestion. He followed anyway saying, “Amazing, huh?” to her back. “Yeah, that’s a good description for that night. I probably would have used spectacular, though.” WHY WOULDN’T HE go away? Didn’t she have enough to deal with? Anne wasn’t happy about his reasons for coming to see her. Okay, she’d admit that her ego had taken a bit of a hit over that one. He hadn’t come because he’d been unable to get their night together out of his mind. Instead he’d come because her mother had probably paid him an obscene amount of money. Why Blake? Why now? Why couldn’t her mother leave her the hell alone? “It appears the intruder forced entry in through the back door.” No joke. The officer seemed to be waiting for a reply. What could she say? Brilliant deductive reasoning, Sherlock? Glancing over at Blake, she realized he would be no help at all when he simply lifted an eyebrow at her. Mumbling something appropriate, she waited for the officer to continue. The picture he made was almost comical—he was so out of place sitting on her dainty rose-velvet sofa. His butt was barely on the edge of the thing and he looked as if he was either ready to bolt—not what you want from the cop handling your case—or he was afraid the sofa would collapse beneath him. Again, not reassuring. She liked her furniture set. She’d found it at an estate auction and reupholstered the pieces herself. They were very feminine and frilly and far from the heavy lines and modern furniture her mother had always insisted on. They were old, had a history. They’d belonged to a family who had laughed, cried and lived life on them. And now they were hers. In contrast to the police officer, Blake was kicked back on one of the matching chairs, a boot-clad ankle crossed over his knee, intense eyes taking in every last detail before him. If anyone should worry about crushing the delicately carved wood and fabric, it was him. Was he worried? Nope. Ego or confidence? Did it really matter? The man looked right at home in her precious space. Damn it. “Is anything missing, Ms. Sobel?” Anne tore her attention away from Blake, berating herself for getting distracted by him … again. “Not that I’ve noticed on this floor. There are several things out of place but nothing I can find missing. The electronics are still here.” “What about upstairs?” “Well, I haven’t been up there yet, but I can’t think of anything impor—” With a gasp and a feeling in her stomach as if someone had tied a rock to it and thrown it over a bridge, she raced upstairs. Tearing into her bedroom, she opened the closet doors and let out a sigh of relief when she pulled down the bins—full. Everything right where it was supposed to be. Her designer collection: Jimmy Choo, Manolo, Prada, Herm?s, Louis Vuitton, Kate Spade. These were the only things she’d kept from her previous life. Slipping into those shoes, pulling out a new designer handbag … it always made her feel pretty and special. Each new purchase had cost her months of saving, but it was her one indulgence. Sitting heavily on the bed, she balanced one box on her knee and sighed. A sound at the door caught her attention and she snapped her head around to find Blake standing in the doorway to her bedroom. She was an idiot. There was just no other way to explain why her body responded to the thought of him here, in her space. Her breasts began to tingle and an ache she’d been ignoring for weeks settled deep and hard at the center of her sex. But apparently she was the only one experiencing the need for a quick repeat of their night together, because instead of undressing her with his eyes—which is what her body wanted him to do—he was shaking his head in disbelief. “Shoes. Purses.” “Hey, buddy, don’t knock the importance of designer leather goods. In fact.” An idea sparked as her eyes raced across the contents of the box on her lap. Snapping open the lid, she dug into one of the neatly arranged boxes and lifted out a pair of Prada pumps, nothing fancy from the front, but the heel was spindle thin and shaped like the stem of a flower. The petals, a throbbing hot pink, unfurled around the heel of the shoe. They were sexy and sophisticated. She always felt like a million bucks when she wore them. If there was ever a time she needed an extra boost of confidence, it was now. “What are you doing?” “What does it look like? Changing my shoes.” “Now?” She shrugged. He wouldn’t understand. Placing the box back on its shelf, she pushed past Blake and went downstairs. “Nope, nothing is missing.” She wasn’t a complete idiot. She had glanced inside her office on the way past to make sure that the computer, printer and fax were all still there. However, those could have easily been replaced. Some of the shoes in her collection she’d had since she was sixteen. They were irreplaceable works of art. A scowl marred the officer’s face as he followed her progress back to her seat. “Can you think of any reason someone might want to scare you? Upset you? Hurt you?” They spoke at the exact same time, Anne saying, “No,” Blake blurting “Yes.” She glared across at him, telepathically telling him to shut his big mouth. “No.” He ignored her. “Do you know Anne’s real name?” The other man looked startled for several seconds before his face shuttered and he slowly answered, “Apparently not.” “Meet Annemarie Sobel Prescott, the heir to the Prescott Hotel fortune.” The officer’s eyes went huge in his face and Anne just sighed. Another person who knew her identity. Another potential leak. Another person who might contact the gossip rags and reveal her location. Sure, it had been ten years, but she could just see the headlines now—Missing Heiress Found in Podunk, Alabama. Some people might view her certainty at being front-page news as egotistical self-aggrandizing. She saw it as reality. The way she’d disappeared … hell, Mother hadn’t even known where she was for months. Besides, Prescotts were always newsworthy. “Her mother recently asked me to bring her back to the family compound in New York. There have been threats against her life.” “Bullshit.” Both men turned to stare at her. She supposed the phrase hadn’t been exactly ladylike. Too bad. “My mother simply wants me, and you—” she looked pointedly at Blake “—to dance to her tune. She’s been trying for months to get me home and that lie is just the last in a long line of them. Have you seen proof of these supposed threats against me?” It was Blake’s turn for pointed glances as he stared behind her, at the splintered edges of her back door. “Coincidence. No one knows I’m here.” “I found you. Rather easily.” “You knew where to start looking. It wasn’t exactly a needle-in-a-haystack hunt.” Apparently deciding to break up the heated discussion before it escalated, the officer cleared his throat and asked, “Has anything else happened recently?” “No.” She glared at Blake. “Well, this report will be on file. I’m sorry to say that I don’t expect much to come of it. Nothing was taken. Although, I will send a crime-scene tech out to collect evidence.” He rose from the sofa, sticking his hand out. “Ms. Prescott.” “Ms. Sobel.” The smile on his face faltered for a moment before he regained his composure. “Ms. Sobel. Please be sure to report anything else out of the ordinary that occurs, no matter how small it seems. If Mr… .” “Mitchell.” “If Mr. Mitchell is correct, then establishing a pattern of harassing behavior will be important.” “Thank you.” Anne walked the man to the front door and stood staring at it for several seconds after she’d closed it behind him. She didn’t want to turn around, walk back into that room and deal with Blake. Or rather, she didn’t want to deal with the fight she knew was coming. Holding out against her mother was one thing. Would she be able to stand her ground against Blake, too? Especially when all her body wanted to do was melt into him? He didn’t give her much time to build her defenses. His voice sounded behind her, forcing her to face him. “Go pack whatever you need. I’ll call around and make a hotel reservation.” No, he wouldn’t. “I am not staying in a hotel.” Her voice was adamant and disdainful, more so than she’d meant it to be. It was a knee-jerk reaction, reverting to what she’d always thought of as the Prescott Tone of Voice. When she was growing up, it had gotten her whatever she’d wanted. She immediately regretted using it. She’d learned that simple courtesy went much further than any regal facade she’d perfected. But when she was cornered. “Oh? The local Motel 6 not good enough for little miss silver-spoon-in-her-mouth?” His attitude wasn’t helping any, either. “Let’s just say that the last time I was in a hotel it did not end well.” Blake’s face hardened. Her stomach tied in knots, her body catching on to the problem long before her brain did. “And whose fault was that?” She was taken aback by his tone and the way he’d referred to her brother’s suicide. “Is that supposed to be a comment about my brother?” “Your brother? How would he have anything to do with our night together?” With a groan, she realized they’d been talking about two completely different things. Understandable from his point of view. How to explain it to him, though, without bruising his ego? The only experience she immediately linked to a hotel was finding her brother’s lifeless body. Of course, to him that would probably mean their night together had been completely forgettable. So far from the truth. But she wasn’t sure he needed to know that. “Sorry. I always associate hotels with finding my brother after he committed suicide. That’s what I think about first, last, always. Honestly, it has nothing to do with you.” He took a step towards her, his outstretched hand offering her comfort she didn’t want to take. He started in on the normal platitudes, “I’m so sorr—” But she cut him off before he could finish, unwilling to accept the compassion she knew would be lurking in his eyes. She didn’t deserve it. Instead she filled the silence with random words she really hadn’t meant to say. “You were amazing. More than amazing. The best sex I’ve ever had. And trust me, I’ve had plenty of sex. Good sex. Bad sex. Forgettable sex. Nothing about you is forgettable.” Her voice trailed to nothing before she finally snapped her mouth shut. Better late than never. “Well, I suppose that’s something. Fine, no hotel. Karyn’s place?” “No. I am not barging in on your sister and her four-week-old marriage. The last thing she and Chris need right now is an unexpected guest.” “You know the minute you tell her what’s happened she’s going to insist you come to her place, especially because I’m guessing she already knows about your. phobia.” “Which is why I’m not telling her. This is my problem. I’m a big girl. I can handle this.” He frowned. “I never said you couldn’t. But you don’t have to do it alone. I’m here and we’ll figure this out together.” It shouldn’t matter that he was being nice and supportive. But it did. It meant a lot to her that there was someone here to … not lean on, but at least share the burden with. And she was being nasty and snide. Sighing, she said, “I suppose you could help me secure the door. I’ll call around in the morning and see if I can get a replacement. Until then …” Конец ознакомительного фрагмента. Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес». 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