Читать книгу Sudden Alliance - Jackie Manning - Страница 13

She opened her eyes and stared at the white ceiling. Far off, birds were chirping. She turned her head toward the sound. Tie-back white curtains fluttered at the slightly opened window. The air felt cold and smelled of the sea. She tried to sit up, but when the pounding in her head got worse, she dropped back on the starched pillowcase.

Her hand flew to her forehead, and she was surprised to find a bandage covering a lump on her temple. Her legs ached and she noticed her hands were bandaged, too. Her heart hammered as panic exploded inside her.

Where was she? Why couldn’t she remember how she’d gotten here? Worse, who was she? She raked her mind for answers but found nothing. She stared around the room for clues. Model airplanes hung from the ceiling. Posters of rock stars covered one wall. Black hockey skates and a West Point sports jacket hung from a peg.

What was she doing in a man’s room? The ghostly image of a tall, dark-haired stranger shattered the cobwebs of her mind. He wasn’t a ghost but a real man, the man who had rescued her in the fog. His voice had been low and gentle. I want to help you. Yes, she remembered his voice, deep yet kind. Was this his room?

Why couldn’t she remember anything else? Had she driven here? She couldn’t recall if she owned a car. Another wave of panic shook her and she forced herself to think, but her mind roared like a hollow drum. Uncertainty combated with instinct. Somehow she felt safe here, yet at the same time she knew she was in danger. Until she knew what was going on, how could she trust anyone? She had to get away. She had to run.

She bolted from the bed, almost tripping on the long nightgown she wore. Flannel. Nothing she recognized. On the top of the oak dresser were a pair of jeans, a yellow T-shirt and underwear, all neatly folded. Were they hers? If not, then whose? They didn’t look familiar, but, then, nothing did.

Slowly, she forced her feet to move, not wanting to repeat the thunderbolt of pain through her skull. When her toes reached the hooked rug in the middle of the room, she noticed the mirror over the dresser. Carefully, she inched forward until she could see into the looking glass.

She gave a sharp intake of breath as she stared at herself. Beneath her bandaged forehead, wide green eyes gazed back at her. Long, tangled red hair hung down her shoulders. Despite her scratches and bruises, she didn’t think she was seriously hurt, except for her pounding head. And the panic that she was a virtual stranger!

Who am I? I must have a name! “My name is…” Seconds ticked into minutes as she struggled to remember. She squeezed her eyes shut and forced herself to focus. Tears sprang to her eyes as she fought off the panic.

From nowhere came the sharp image of a flash of white light, with the sound of screaming…a woman’s screams.

Danger exploded through her veins. She tasted the metallic fear in her mouth as she remembered the feeling of terror. Run! Run! Run for your life!

She had to get away! Her fingers shook as she jerked the nightgown over her head. Her bandaged hands trembled as she tore into the pile of neatly folded clothing. The fresh smell of laundry soap rushed at her as she yanked the T-shirt over her head and dressed hurriedly in the jeans. Blessedly, they fit. When she’d finished, she pulled her hair back from her face and turned around, searching for her shoes. The sudden movement brought her stomach jumping into her throat. She grabbed on to the side of the dresser until the room stopped spinning. She had to get away before they—before they…what? Who was she afraid of?

Unable to find her shoes, she made her way barefoot to the door. Twisting the knob slowly, she quietly pulled it open and peered up and down the wallpapered corridor. The stairway was a few feet to the left. Listening, she heard nothing except the tick-tick of the grandfather clock at the end of the hallway.

Was she alone in the house? She couldn’t take the chance of being seen. Somehow, she knew that much. She tiptoed toward the stairs. The smooth wood felt cold beneath her tender feet. As she crept downstairs, the third step creaked loudly. She paused, then glanced behind her.

When no one appeared, she continued until she reached the bottom step. Only then did she dare glance around. The living room was to the right; straight ahead was the front door, with a window through which she could see a screened porch and trees beyond the driveway. Her heart hammered in her chest as she tiptoed across the shiny oak floor toward the porch.

“Well, top o’ the morning, Sara Elizabeth Regis.”

Startled, she jumped as a tall, broad-shouldered man stepped out from the living room to block her path. The man in the fog. In daylight, he seemed large enough to fill the doorway. His thumbs were looped in the front pockets of his jeans, and he was naked from the waist up.

Fear shattered her insides as she stared at him. His face would be considered handsome except for those sapphire eyes that glinted dangerously. He was smiling, but his eyes didn’t know it. His face was deeply tanned, as was all of his upper body. A black shadow of a beard covered his strong, sweeping jaw. When he folded his arms across his wide chest, his biceps bulged.

“Let me not forget my manners. I’m Liam O’Shea.” He dangled a key in front of her. “Before I give you back your key, you and I are going for a little ride.”

ARIEL ZIEGLER, known as Ziggy to the family, pulled the Cadillac into the no-parking zone in front of the Sand Dune Motel. Above the door marked Office a vacancy sign flashed on and off. He turned to his brother Vinny, who slouched beside him in the passenger seat. “Stay in the car,” Ziggy muttered. “Leave this to me, see?”

Vinny swung his head up and glared at him. “An’ why the hell should you go an’ not me?”

Ziggy glanced at the rearview mirror and smiled widely, checking his teeth. Satisfied, he frowned back at his brother. “’Cause this job takes finesse.”

“Finesse?” Vinny almost spat the word. “I got finesse!”

Ziggy ignored him as he tugged at the cuffs of his navy jacket and adjusted his gold cuff links. “Stay here with your trap shut and your eyes open. If you see her, come and warn me.”

Vinny folded his arms and slumped farther down in the leather seat. “Hurry back. I’m hungry.”

“You’re always hungry.” Ziggy slid from the driver’s seat and slammed the car door. He glanced again along the row of nearly vacant motel units. Only six cars were in sight on this side of the building. Perfect. Slight chance anyone would be around to notice, just in case the redhead was still here. If she recognized him, he’d have to act fast and that might spell trouble.

He strolled leisurely up the paved walk toward the glassed entrance. When he saw his reflection in the window, he slicked his hair back with his hand.

The skinny young punk behind the registration desk looked up when Ziggy sauntered to the counter. He chuckled. Hell, this would be like taking a lollipop from a kid.

“Hi there,” Ziggy said easily, placing his hand on the counter as he read the punk’s name tag. Harold. Ziggy flashed his three-carat diamond pinkie ring directly in front of the kid. “Say, Harold. I wonder if you can help me.” Before the youth could answer, Ziggy pressed on. “I found an expensive camera. Foreign job. The owner is a tall redhead.” Ziggy gestured, the universal sign language for a well-built broad. “She’s stacked, if you know what I mean. About twenty-five or so. She left the camera and case along the shore early today. I think she’s stayin’ here.”

“Sorry, sir. That information is strictly confidential.”

Ziggy clenched both fists on the counter. His forearm muscles bulged, straining the seams of his suit.

Harold’s eyes bugged and he swallowed nervously. “Uh, what’s the lady’s name?”

Ziggy swallowed a laugh. “Well, that’s the trouble, Harold. If I knew, I’d call her up myself. But while she was taking pictures of seagulls, I was, ah, watching her.” He smiled for effect. “She has long, long legs and I’ve always been fond of redheads.” He glanced around the alcove where the kid was standing, making sure they were alone. “I was hoping to leave my number, and when she realized that I’d found her camera equipment, well…” He winked, hoping the dumb kid got his drift. “I’m sure the lady would be most appreciative.”

“I’d be happy to hold the camera for her here at the desk. If you’d like to include a note, I’ll be sure she gets it.”

Ziggy bit back a coarse oath. “Just tell me her name and room number, kid. I want to handle this myself.”

Ziggy took another breath as the kid hesitated, deciding whether or not to tell him. Ziggy felt like punching the little creep in the puss. But instead, he pulled a roll of bills from his hip pocket and peeled a C-note from the top. “Here, Harold,” he said, slapping the bill on the counter. “Take your girl out tonight on me.” He winked again, then smiled when the clerk’s eyes widened at the prospect of keeping the hundred-dollar bill.

Harold glanced around the empty reception area, then looked at the crisp bill. He snatched at the cash and slid it into his back pocket. “Just a minute, sir. I’ll print out a copy of her registration form.”

The clerk spun around and punched in some keys at the computer. Within a minute, the printer whirred as the report appeared from the top of the machine.

“Here you are, sir.” The youth darted another glance around the empty lobby before he slid the copy across the counter to him.

Ziggy read her name and room number, then smiled. He pulled out a white card he had previously prepared. “Don’t you forget to give this number to Sara before she checks out, you hear?” He couldn’t quite keep his face straight as he handed the card to the clerk.

“Yes, sir.”

Ziggy’s smile faded and he suddenly glowered. “If she doesn’t call me, I’ll be back, and I’ll collect every dollar from your hide. Understand?”

Harold’s eyes widened, and damn if his skinny face didn’t turn chalky white. Ziggy chuckled as he turned and made his way toward the glass entrance. “Have a nice day, kid!” he yelled over his shoulder before he pushed open the door.

Vinny was playing the car radio when Ziggy climbed back into the front seat. “Shut that off,” he ordered, pulling out his cell phone.

“You’re not the boss,” Vinny muttered, his attention on the numbers that his brother was punching into the phone. Damn, why hadn’t the boss given his phone number to him, too? Vinny scowled, but turned off the radio, more interested in listening to his older brother’s conversation.

“Yeah. It’s me,” Ziggy said into the receiver. “I found her.”

Vinny felt a rush of excitement. He was glad his brother had chosen him as his partner. But he couldn’t let Ziggy know how much this job meant to him. Vinny needed a chance to show his big brother how clever he was. And this job was big. So big that it would sweep them into the big time. When this was over, he’d be known as Vincent Ziegler, not Ziggy Ziegler’s little brother.

Ziggy’s eyes glowed with satisfaction as he nodded. “Sure, boss. You got it.” He looked at Vinny and smiled as he snapped the lid over the phone and slid it in his breast pocket. “We get to whack her.”

Vinny took in a deep breath to cover his excitement. “How?”

Ziggy almost beamed. “Boss says he doesn’t want to know.” His smile widened, white teeth shining. “Still got those jack-in-the-boxes in the trunk from your last job?”

Vinny tried to act cool. “Yeah.”

Ziggy nodded. “Then let’s get to work.” He glanced at the printout, then at the blue Ford Sedan parked at the end of a line of cars behind the motel. It took him only seconds to confirm the license number. “Come on, Vinny. Let’s see how good you really are. I’ll give you three minutes to wire that bomb under the hood.”

“SARA REGIS? You’re saying that’s my name?” She felt a rush of hope.

Liam’s dark blue eyes looked almost black when he shot her a sidelong glance from the driver’s seat as the red convertible tore down the road. “You tell me,” he said finally.

His answer confused her. Earlier, the man had seemed willing to help her. Now it seemed as if he didn’t trust her.

“I—I don’t know who I am. If you know anything about me, please tell me.” She studied him, her hands fighting the long windblown strands of red hair that blew in her face. Finally she wrapped her hair into a thick rope, aware of his darting glances as she tucked the coil inside the neck of her T-shirt.

The way his eyes darkened as he watched her made her breath catch. Sara became aware that the T-shirt she wore seemed snug against the full rise of her breasts.

His hands tensed at the wheel, but he kept his voice even. “I called the motel where you’re staying. It’s down the road about five miles, in case you’re wondering.” He darted a glance at her, as if waiting for her reaction. When she gave none, he continued. “The desk clerk wouldn’t tell me the occupant’s name in unit 26, so I asked him to ring your room and he put me through to your voice mail. By that time it was a little after 6:00 a.m. I figured if someone was staying with you, they would have answered the phone. So I drove over and looked around.”

“You went inside my room?”

His dark eyebrows lifted at her surprise. “So you remember staying there?”

She struggled to recall anything that might help her. “No, I—I don’t.” The words caught in her throat.

His large hands squeezed the steering wheel. “As I said, I looked around. Your bag was on the bed.” He took his right hand from the wheel and slid it inside his jacket pocket, then pulled out a slim leather billfold and handed it to her. “See for yourself.” He waited for her to flick open the wallet.

“Your driver’s license says you’re Sara Elizabeth Regis. The photo matches you—unless you have a twin sister.”

Sara studied the photo ID. “It looks like me.”

“The slacks and jacket I found hanging in the closet were size eight.” His deep sapphire gaze raked over her again. “I’d say that was about right.”

“Could you tell if someone else was staying in the room?”

His gaze remained on the road. “I’d say you were alone. The bed hadn’t been disturbed.”

Her mind tried to piece together the information. Her clothes? Would she recognize them even if they were hers? She glanced back at the driver’s license. “Sara Elizabeth Regis,” she read aloud, hoping the name would sound familiar. “One hundred ninety-six East Monroe Street, East Bennington, Massachusetts.”

“East Bennington is the other side of Boston,” he said. “About a four-hour drive from here.”

“Four hours?” She glanced out the windshield, taking in his words. Her gaze drifted across the endless miles of sand dunes and patches of barberry thickets that stretched toward the sea. She searched for anything that might trigger a memory, but nothing looked familiar.

“If I’m from East Bennington, then what brought me here? It’s too early for the tourist season. Why would I come all this way? Was I meeting someone?”

“Maybe if you try to think back to when I found you… Do you remember anything at all?”

“I remember you and the two kind women who took care of me. I remember a dog—a collie, I think.” She looked at him. “Or did I dream it?”

His eyes were sympathetic. “No, you weren’t dreaming. After I found you wandering along the coast road this morning, I brought you to our family cottage on the point. Bridget, my oldest sister, and Willie, the doctor next door, took care of you. My sister enjoys taking a week off from her practice in Boston to stay at the cottage while getting the place ready for the summer.”

Sara couldn’t help noticing how handsome Liam looked when he wasn’t frowning. Unwelcome shivers of awareness made her arms tingle. “Your sister Bridget,” she said, distracting herself from the inappropriate response she was having to this man beside her. “Does she have a family?”

“Her husband, David, and her kids will be coming later this morning, along with most of the O’Shea tribe. I have six sisters, all married. I was the only boy.” He shot her a smile, and her stomach fluttered.

Was he married? He didn’t have a gold band on his left hand, but that didn’t necessarily mean… She shook her head. “Does your family get together often?”

“We try. Today, almost all the clan will be congregating for the baptism of the newest member.”

She liked the way his eyes warmed when he spoke of his family. What was the matter with her? She might be married or at least engaged. Why was she reacting like this?

“Do you have…children?” she asked.

His lips curved, crinkling the corners of his eyes. “No, much to my sisters’ chagrin.” His smile broadened. “Of course, they would like to see me marry first.”

Something in the way he said that made her cheeks warm. “You and your sister have been very kind. I don’t think I’ve thanked you properly. I’m very grateful it was you who found me.”

“Try not to worry. Maybe once you see the motel and your things, your memory will come back.”

The thought of leaving the safety of Liam’s car and going into a strange place suddenly filled her with unexplained panic—at something unseen, yet so terrifying that she had to look away to keep Liam from noticing. She fought through the panic, but it was hopeless. Maybe if she concentrated on what she could remember…

Her gaze studied the corded muscles along Liam’s tanned forearms as he gripped the wheel. An image of how he had looked earlier this morning when he’d practically jumped out at her, half-naked, flashed through her mind. He was definitely athletic, with incredibly broad shoulders, muscular biceps and forearms. The thick black hair covering his wide chest had trailed down to a V inside his jeans. She felt her cheeks blush at the thought. She turned her face away, hoping he wouldn’t notice.

Dear God, but this man was attractive. Maybe she didn’t have the right to look at any man like that. Was she married? Did she have a lover? Children? Her gaze flew to her own hand. No ring. No watch on either wrist. No jewelry of any kind. Nothing.

Her hands weren’t callused. What did she do for a living? Was she good at what she did? Why would she think of such a thing?

Sara turned toward him. “Did you say the older woman who helped your sister take care of me was called Dr. Willie?” She shook her head. “It’s all so fuzzy. Like a dream.”

He nodded. “Dr. Wilhelmina Prescott. She’s an internist who summers here on the island who still makes house calls. Dr. Willie is a legend around these parts.” He raised his brows and glanced at her. “You weren’t very cooperative. You refused to go to the hospital. Willie and my sister think you should be x-rayed, and I was hoping that later you’d let me take you to the E.R.”

“No!” Gasping, she clutched the dashboard with one hand and the armrest with the other. Her eyes squeezed shut as she fought the white panic, like a snowstorm in her mind.

“Are you okay?” He pulled the car to the side of the road and parked, his eyes filled with genuine concern. “Take deep breaths. You’re having a panic attack.”

She struggled for control, gulping air. “I—I don’t know what’s wrong with me. All I know is that if I go to the hospital, something terrible will happen.” Even to herself, she knew her reasoning wasn’t making sense.

Liam put his strong arm around her shoulders. She leaned into his hard chest, fighting the overwhelming terror with his comforting embrace. Was she a fool to trust him? She didn’t know. Yet something about him made her want to believe she could. Ignoring her pounding heart through willpower alone, she forced herself to focus on the man beside her.

She breathed in the clean scent of his aftershave. His black leather jacket was open, and against her cheek, the soft cotton fabric of his black T-shirt felt comforting. Blue-black stubble covered his strong jaw. A thin scar creased his chin left of the cleft. She stared at his firm, chiseled lips. Lips made for laughing, for teasing, for kissing.

She blinked free of the trance and pushed away. “I—I’m okay,” she said, her voice a scratchy whisper.

His piercing blue gaze questioned her. “You’re not okay. Let me take you to emergency.”

“No!” Sara took in several deep gasps, aware of his arm still curled firmly about her shoulders. “Maybe later,” she added, not wanting to appear hysterical. “First, let’s go to the motel. Maybe if I see something familiar…” She held on to that hope as she stole another sidelong glance at him.

His arm uncurled from her shoulders, and he straightened, restarting the engine. The wind tousled his thick black hair as he pulled the convertible onto the road.

She drew a wisp of hair from her face and turned to stare out the windshield.

“The motel isn’t much farther,” he said finally. “Officially, we’re on an island, Bellwood Island, which is connected to the mainland by a causeway. The island is surrounded by sand dunes, which makes a great tourist attraction. The town of Bellwood Harbor has a winter population of 260, swelling to 20,000 between the Fourth of July and Labor Day.”

She glanced at the lobster boats bobbing in the harbor. “Nothing seems familiar.” She stared out the window, her head reeling in an effort to remember anything. Along Main Street, empty colonial homes and vacant boutiques lined both sides, silently waiting for their owners to return with the warm weather. Empty flower boxes hung from the storefront windows, waiting for summer’s red geraniums, blue verbenas and white petunias to spill from the planters. An empty flagpole stood in the park square, and she could imagine Old Glory waving proudly as the Fourth of July parade streamed past.

So she knew about small New England towns, after all. Was her memory coming back? The idea filled her with excitement and dread. Dear God, why was everything so confusing?

Judging by the dashboard clock, it had taken them less than five minutes to drive through the village. Now more sand dunes stretched along both sides of the road. To the east, the Atlantic glistened, a blue horizon. When her eyes turned back to the road, an L-shaped single-story building appeared ahead. She stared blankly at the white block letters painted across the black slanted roof: SAND DUNE MOTEL.

Now maybe she’d find some answers.

“NOTHING LOOKS FAMILIAR?” Liam asked, relieved that his voice didn’t betray the skepticism he was feeling. From what Willie had said, Sara hadn’t suffered enough of a physical head trauma to produce complete amnesia. He found it hard to believe she couldn’t remember something.

He jammed his fists into his pockets and studied her as she examined the slacks, cotton turtleneck and wind-breaker hanging inside the closet.

“I obviously wasn’t planning to stay long,” she said finally, removing the jacket from the hanger and sliding her arm through the sleeve. So far, she’d said very little about what was going on inside that lovely head of hers.

Damn, but he couldn’t figure her out. Was she for real, or was she putting on an Academy Award performance? Sara was hardly his idea of a covert operator, yet he couldn’t rule it out.

Only last week, Interpol had notified the TALON-6 headquarters in New York City that a terrorist had been arrested in London and plea-bargained with them, offering information about a plan to steal the Land-Net 17, Liam’s latest design for an electronic security net. Was Sara part of that plan? He thought of that silky red hair and those long, incredible legs. Hell, everyone including the local priest knew that Liam O’Shea had a weakness for tall, beautiful redheads.

Anything was possible. Until the schematics for his security net were safely in the hands of the Defense Department’s Advanced Research Projects Agency, Liam knew he couldn’t leave anything to chance. Especially a disarming redhead who looked as though she’d just stepped out of his most erotic dream.

He felt like a bastard for doubting her, yet he wouldn’t put it past the terrorist mentality to think they could infiltrate TALON-6 with a woman like Sara. He’d made no secret of the fact that he was a self-proclaimed protector of alluring, downtrodden women. Especially a woman with sexy-as-sin looks combined with innocence and vulnerability. He was the first to admit it would be his favorite way to go down.

She turned toward him as she took a seat on the edge of the king-size bed. Her fingers sifted through the meager contents of a straw bag. She was truly stunning, he decided. Her hair hung down her back in a lustrous curtain of red. Long eyelashes swept her cheekbones as she studied the set of keys, the billfold and a tube of lipstick, as though she could piece together the framework of her life from these few articles.

What must it be like to lose a lifetime of personal memories? What was it like to feel mentally naked and completely vulnerable? He felt a tug of compassion for what she must be going through. Yet how could he possibly imagine the depth of her fear and panic?

Was there a special man in her life? Had the guy told her how very desirable she was? For a brief, insane moment, Liam wanted to be that man.

He swallowed against the surge of heated desire. He’d better get some sleep. He was becoming delusional. He shook away the thought and strode toward the window. Across the road he could see an expanse of sun-bleached sand, then cold gray sea for miles. A sailboat tilted back and forth in the breeze. For an odd moment, Liam was reminded of when he was six years old and had found a stray kitten after Labor Day along the sand dunes. Some bastard had abandoned the animal. His mom had let him keep it and he’d called it Tiger. He glanced back at Sara, whose head was bent over the assorted items in her hand. Would tender loving care heal her as it had his pet?

She must have sensed him watching her because she lifted her head and that megawatt green-eyed gaze fixed on him. He fought back the urge to pick her up and cradle her in his arms.

She wasn’t a lost kitten. And until he received the results of the background check that he’d asked his TALON-6 partner, Clete Lawton, to run, Liam needed to keep his emotional distance.

“If you’re about through,” he said, giving his watch a glance, “I think we should leave.”

“Nothing looks familiar,” she said, brushing her hair away from her face. “It’s as if these things belong to someone else.” She put the gold cap back on the tube of coral lipstick, then opened the billfold and stared again at the driver’s license and her photo. She lifted her gaze to his, and if she was acting, he sure as hell admired her talent.

Still, she hadn’t noticed one thing. He picked up her straw bag from where she’d left it on the bed and pulled out the picture of a man in his early thirties, standing in front of a palm tree. Liam had found the photo hidden in a side pocket in the lining of her bag when he’d gone through her possessions earlier that morning. At the time, he’d wondered if the photograph would trigger her memory. “Know who he is?” Liam asked her.

She stared at the photo, then shook her head. “No.”

“Is he Gregory Urquhart?”

“I—I don’t know. Should I?”

“Urquhart is listed as the person to contact in case of emergency.” Liam lifted a brow as he showed her the ID card inside her wallet. “Think this is an emergency, Sara?” He couldn’t quite hide the sarcasm from his voice.

Her lips opened slightly. “I don’t know. Y-yes. Yes, it is.”

Was Urquhart her ex-husband? Lover? Why else would she be hiding his photo? Was she running from him? Or to him?

Sara put her head in her hands. “Liam, I’m trying the best I can. I don’t know why I came here. Was I passing through? Was I planning to meet someone?” She leaned over and reached for the phone on the bedside table. She glanced at Urquhart’s telephone number, then lifted the receiver.

Liam stopped her. “If you’re calling Urquhart from this phone, I don’t think it’s a good idea.”

“Why not? He must know who I am.”

“Okay, but let’s not use this phone.” Liam took the receiver from her fingers. “I’ve got a cell phone in my car. Why don’t you pack your things, and if you want, I’ll drive you back to the cottage? You can call Urquhart on the way. By the time we get there, my family will have left for church. The place will be quiet and you can rest.”

She rose, picked up the set of car keys from the top of the dresser. “I obviously own a car. I’ll follow you back to the cottage.”

“Good idea.” Liam slid the mirrored closet door open and pulled out a small floral piece of luggage that he’d seen when he first checked out her room. Opening it on the bed, he stood back.

She pulled a blue, long-sleeved T-shirt from a hanger and began folding it into the suitcase. “I feel like these are someone else’s clothes and I’m stealing them,” she said with a weak smile. When she looked away, a jab of sympathy charged through him and he had to physically stop himself from touching her.

“Don’t worry, Sara,” he said instead. “The answers will come when you’re ready. Just relax.” He picked up the photo of the smiling young man and slipped it inside her open bag.

“Can you guess why you might have come to Bellwood?” he asked as she finished packing.

“No.” She gave a slight shrug as she closed the lid of the suitcase.

No? Not even a feeble attempt at a guess? He felt slightly irritated with himself. Should he have let her call Urquhart? Or would that have signaled her accomplice that she had made contact with Liam? He was beginning to doubt his own instincts. Was she playing him? Well, damn it, there was one way to find out, once and for all.

Something flickered in those pretty green irises when he came over and pulled her to him. His body brushed hers, and he felt her tremble when he wrapped his arms around her. She didn’t resist when he pulled her closer. He found himself breathing in the scent of the sea in her hair.

Her breath caught; he felt her stiffen, but her eyelids fluttered shut. Morning sunlight slanted through the window, making a reddish halo of her hair. He could feel her heart hammering in her chest, or was it his own?

He was afraid that if he kissed her she might bolt out of the room, into her car and out of his life. That is, if she was innocent…

And if she wasn’t? He took in a slow breath as he dragged the tip of his tongue along her full lower lip. Testing. Teasing. Taunting.

She didn’t bolt. She didn’t throw herself into his arms, either. Those ripe lips parted slightly, and he was lost.

He hadn’t expected her mouth to be so warm, so sweet, so trusting. Kissing her was like slipping into a deep, delightful abyss. The kiss deepened, and the groan he heard vibrating low was his own.

This was no femme fatale. This was a flesh-and-blood woman. A beautiful, appealing woman who had stepped out of his fantasies and into his world. But at what cost? A woman like this could be more dangerous to a man than a thousand land mines.

He released her and stepped back, wanting to shake off the fog that had settled over his brain. What a foolish thing to do. He should say something. Instead, he made a helpless gesture with his hands.

Her green eyes were wide, confused. He made fists of his fingers to keep himself from pulling back a glistening red strand from her cheek. “I’ll wait for you outside,” he said, ignoring the underlying reason that he had to leave. If he didn’t get out of that room, he’d take her into his arms again.