by Diana Palmer
Automatically, her right hand went to the switch plate. She tried each of the two switches with no success. "Perfect," she said into the black stillness. "Apparently, no one is in a hurry to get the power turned back on."
But then, if she had collected the files from Patrick's office a bit earlier, she'd have been gone long before the lights went out and she wouldn't be standing there in the dark talking to herself.
"Ten o'clock at night," she muttered. "What kind of idiot works until ten o'clock when they could be home in a hot bath?"
"Just you and me, I guess." A deep voice rumbled out of the darkness.
Her heart shot into her throat.
"And honey," the voice added, "that bath sounds real good."
She choked her heart back into her chest and whirled around, her gaze sweeping across the shadowy corners of the room. Instinctively, Denise backed up, and wished she was wearing her running shoes instead of the three-inch heels wobbling beneath her. Her sharp eyes strained to find the intruder at the same time her mind screamed at her to run like hell.
Then he stepped closer, passing across a splash of moonlight shining through a window before disappearing into the darkness again. Still, she'd been able to see him. Not his face of course, but enough to know he was big.
And standing between her and the door.
Okay fine, she told herself. No escape there. They were on the third floor, so jumping out the window was quickly dismissed, as well. Think, Denise, think. Frantically, she tried to remember the self-defense lessons she'd taken the year before. Something about step into the attacker and throw him over your shoulder?
Yeah, right.
She took another step back, bumped into a chair and staggered. One of her heels snapped off and she dropped into a tilted stance. "Stay back," she warned, in her best I-am-a-trained-killer voice. "I'm warning you…"
"Take it easy, lady," that voice came again as the man took a step closer.
"I'll scream." An empty threat. Her mouth and throat were so dry, it was a wonder she could issue these whispery warnings, let alone scream.
"Oh, for…" He sounded disgusted.
She hobbled backward, listing dangerously to one side. Why couldn't she think? Why couldn't she remember something that she'd learned from that overpriced instructor? It was just as she'd always feared. When faced with a real attacker, her mind had gone blank.
Her purse swung around with her jerky movements and slapped her in the abdomen. She grunted with the impact.
"You okay?"
"Hah!" A concerned maniac! Oh God, she was hyperventilating.
"Look lady, if you'd only stand still for a second…"
"I won't make it easy on you," she countered and went into a wild series of bobs and weaves. Her broken heel actually helped in the endeavor. She banged her hip on the corner of Patrick's desk and promised herself that if this madman killed her, she would haunt Patrick Ryan for the rest of his life.
Some friend he is, she thought hysterically. Taking a vacation so that she would be forced to go into his office and get the files her father wanted for tomorrow afternoon's meeting. If she survived this, maybe she would have her father fire good ol' Patrick.
"Dammit, woman!" The huge man in black sounded angry. Swell.
She started singing to herself. Well, not really singing, more of a low-pitched keening, really. Anything to make enough noise that she didn't have to hear the man's voice as he taunted her. Denise took another few steps, then stopped cold as her purse strap snagged on the corner of the desk. Her breath caught, she leaned forward to free herself and at the same time…miraculously, an actual thought occurred to her. Hurriedly, she dug into her purse. She couldn't see well in the dark. She had to depend on her fingers finding just what she needed. Blindly, she began tossing item after item out of her bag and onto the floor.
"Come on now," he urged and came much too close. "If you'll just relax, we can straighten all of this out." Oh, sure. Relax. There's an idea! Her breath staggering, her heart beating wildly enough to explode from her chest, Denise's fingers closed around the can she had been fumbling for. Triumphantly, she yanked it free of the leather purse, held it up and pointed it—hopefully—at the intruder. Just in case though, she closed her eyes and turned her head away as she pushed the aerosol button. "Damn it!" he shouted and lunged at her. A squeak of protest squeezed past her throat. He slapped the can out of her grip and his momentum carried her down to the floor with him. They hit hard, but he had twisted them both around until he took most of the jarring blow. Immediately then, he rolled her beneath him. He lay across her, pinning her down with his imposing size and weight.
Helplessly, Denise heard her can of pepper spray hit the plank floor and roll into the far corner. She inhaled sharply, hoping for a good, long scream, then felt a large, very strong hand clamp down hard on her mouth.
The mingled scents of Old Spice, tobacco and what smelled like motor oil surrounded her.
"Take it easy, will ya?" he said angrily.
Yeah, that's what she would do, she thought frantically as she fought to draw a shallow breath into her straining lungs. Take it easy. Simple enough for him to say. His body lay full-length atop hers. She felt his belt buckle digging into her stomach and the hard muscular strength of his thighs pressing her legs down.
Why hadn't she gone home when everyone else in the building had?
Her mind raced with questions she didn't really want the answers to. What was he doing in Patrick's office? This was an accounting firm for heaven's sake. There was no money to steal. And what was he going to do to her? God, she suddenly remembered every horrifying newspaper article she'd ever read about the rising crime rate.
And now she was going to end up as nothing more than a grainy photograph beside a short sad story on page five.
Even as she thought it, her captor eased slightly to one side of her. Still keeping one of his legs tossed across hers, he captured both of her hands in one of his and held them tightly. As he shifted position, he moved into a patch of moonlight.
Denise closed her eyes and told herself not to look. If she couldn't identify him, maybe he would leave her alone. But somehow, her eyes opened into slits and her gaze drifted to his features anyway.
She gasped and felt a bit of her fear slip away.
He had the nerve to grin at her.
Surprise battled with temper. What was going on here, anyway? Except for his too long hair, a week's worth of stubble on his cheeks and the black leather jacket he was wearing, her intruder looked an awful lot like Patrick Ryan. In fact, she thought with a growing sense of disgust, enough like him to be his…twin.
"Finally," he said and nodded at her. "If you hadn't been so damned eager to spray pepper into my face, I could have introduced myself a while ago."
"You're—"
"Mike Ryan."
"Patrick's twin," she said and tried to twist out of his steely grasp.
"Actually," he countered with a crooked smile, "I prefer to think of Patrick as my twin."
Dammit, she thought. Why was Patrick's brother loitering around his office?
"How did you get in here?" she demanded.
"Security let me in."
"Great. Why were you standing around in a pitch dark office?"
He snorted a laugh. "The power went out. Remember?"
"Well, you might have said something," she snapped and tried once more to yank free of him. Again, she failed. For some reason, he seemed reluctant to let her go just yet.
"You didn't give me much of a chance."
"There was plenty of time to yell, 'Don't have a heart attack, I'm Patrick's brother'," she countered. Her heartbeat slowed from its trip-hammer pace as she added, "Or do you enjoy scaring women?"
He scowled briefly. "There are lots of things I enjoy doing with women," he told her in a voice so deep and rough it scraped along her spine. "Fear has nothing to do with any of them."
She swallowed and found her mouth dry again.
<
br /> "So," he went on and dragged the palm of one hand over the curve of her hip. "We both know who I am. Who the hell are you? Does Patrick have a girlfriend I don't know about?"
Denise fought to ignore the sensation of wicked heat that trailed in the wake of his hand.
"Maybe," she countered thickly. "But if he does, it isn't me."
"Glad to hear it," he murmured.
She shifted slightly, trying to move away from his disconcerting touch. He followed her.
"Name?" he asked.
"Denise Torrance." She gritted her teeth and redoubled her efforts to get at least one of her hands free. "This is the Torrance Accounting firm. Patrick works for my father. I needed to pick up some of his files… Why am I explaining any of this to you?"
He shrugged. "Beats me. Am I supposed to believe any of it?"
She drew her head back and glared at him. "Frankly, I don't care if you believe me or not. But, why would I lie?"
He shrugged again and let that wandering palm of his slide across her abdomen. Her stomach muscles clenched. Deep inside her, a curl of something dangerous began to unwind.
As if he could read her mind, a deep-throated chuckle rumbled up from his chest.
She felt the flush of embarrassment stain her cheeks and for the first time since entering Patrick's office, was grateful the power was out.
"I don't see a thing funny in any of this," Denise said through her teeth. Especially, she added silently, her body's reaction to him.
"No," he agreed. "I don't suppose you do." As he finished speaking, his hand moved up her rib cage, slipped beneath her sensible linen blazer and strayed dangerously close to her breast.
"Okay, that's it," she muttered, wrenching violently to one side. She wasn't about to lie on the floor being mauled by a virtual stranger…no matter how much her body seemed to enjoy it.
"You son of a—" Denise gave a furious heave and wrenched one hand free of his grasp. Curling her fingers, she drew her arm back and then let it fly. A fist too small to do any damage clipped him across the chin.
Immediately, he released her and Denise rolled far away from him. Scrambling to her feet, she tugged at her wrinkled, pin-striped business suit until she felt back in control. Then she lifted her gaze to his and glared at him. The bastard had the nerve to laugh at her? Rubbing his chin with one hand, he nodded at her slowly. "Not a bad right, for a girl."
"I'm not a girl. I'm a woman."
"Oh yeah, honey." His gaze swept over her. "I noticed." The overhead lights flared back into life and Denise blinked, momentarily blinded by the unexpected brightness. When her vision had cleared again, she looked at the man standing so casually just a foot or two away from her.
A relaxed, half smile curved his well-shaped mouth as he watched her. His nose looked as though it had been broken more than once—no doubt by some furious female, she told herself. The whisker stubble on his face gave him a wicked, untamed look, which she was somehow sure he cultivated purposely. His too long black hair hung down on either side of his face and lay across the collar of his jacket. As she looked at him, he reached up with both hands and slowly pushed the mass back out of his way.
Tall and muscular, he wore a spotless white T-shirt beneath the leather jacket that seemed to suit him so well. His worn, faded jeans rode low on his narrow hips and hugged his long legs with an almost indecent grip. Scuffed, square-toed black boots completed the picture of modern-day pirate.
She lifted her gaze back to his face and saw sharp green eyes assessing her. It was as if he knew what she was thinking. Amusement flickered in those eyes and she wanted to smack him. Again.
No one should be that sure of himself.
In an instant, his gaze swept over her, mimicking the inspection she'd just given him. Instinctively, she pulled the edges of her navy blazer together and balanced herself carefully on her one good heel.
When his gaze lingered a bit longer than necessary on the fullness of her breasts, Denise shifted uncomfortably. She could almost feel his touch on her body. Her traitorous mind wandered down a dangerous path and imagined what it would feel like to have his fingers caressing her bare flesh. At that thought, another onslaught of heat raced through her, leaving her unexpectedly shaky.
"Well," Mike said as he eased down to perch on the edge of his brother's desk. "I've got to say, I've never been hit by anyone as pretty as you."
"I find that hard to believe."
He chuckled again and folded his arms across that magnificent chest.
Good Lord, she groaned silently. Magnificent?
"Most women don't find me as…distasteful, as you do, Denise."
The sound of her name, spoken in that voice, made her knees weak. Instantly, she wished heartily that she was already in the elevator on the way to the parking lot.
"What do you say we try it again?" he asked.
"What?"
"Oh," he nodded congenially at her. "I'll let you hit me again too, if it makes you feel better about enjoying my touch."
"I can't believe you!" Another flush rose up in her cheeks, but this time, she was sure it was just as much anger as embarrassment.
"You can believe me, honey. I never lie to my women."
"I am not one of your women."
His gaze raked over her slowly, deliberately, before coming back to stare deeply into her eyes.
"Yet," he said simply.
"You're incredible!" She gasped and fought to ignore the surge of heat flooding her. Something flashed in his eyes and was so quickly gone, she couldn't identify it. But it had almost looked like a teasing glint.
"So I've been told." He pushed away from the desk and took a step toward her. "What do you say, honey?" He rubbed his chin with two fingers and said softly, "That little punch of yours was worth it, you know. To touch you again, I just might be willing to put up with anything."
Her stomach dropped to her feet and her heartbeat hurtled into high gear. She limped backward a step, never taking her eyes from him. She wasn't frightened. At least not of him.
Whether he was teasing her or not, she knew she wasn't in any physical danger from him. He hadn't had to let her go.
She knew as well as he did that her fist hadn't done the slightest bit of damage to him.
The only thing worrying her now was her reaction to him. Mike and Patrick Ryan were more different than she had at first thought. Oh, they looked alike, there was no denying that.
But she had never experienced this sizzling rush of desire for Patrick. Not once had she imagined rolling around on the floor of his office with him…burying her fingers in his hair…feeling the scrape of his whiskers against her skin.
As those images rocketed around in what was left of her brain, she took another uneven step back in self-defense. What in the world was happening to her? Only moments ago, she had been fighting him, sure that he was some maniac out to destroy her. Now, she trembled at the thought of being kissed senseless by that same maniac?
Oh, she was in big trouble.
Mike smiled. A slow, seductive smile that told her he knew where her thoughts were going.
And that he approved.
Short, shallow breaths shot in and out of her lungs.
She grabbed at the remaining bulk of her shoulder bag and clutched it in front of her as though it were a magic shield, designed to keep lechers at bay. Her fingers worked the leather, locating her wallet and car keys. One corner of her mind realized just how much of her stuff she'd thrown onto the floor. Her purse only weighed about half as much as usual.
The hell with it, she thought, keeping one eye on the man opposite her. She could get the rest of her things later.
"I'm leaving now," she said and took another hobbling step. "I assume, since you're Patrick's brother, you're not here to rob the place?"
"Good assumption," he countered and moved a bit closer.
"Then why are you here, anyway?"
"How about we go get a drink and get acquainted?" Mike asked and took an
other step toward her. "I'll tell you everything you want to know about me."
All she wanted to know was why he had such a strange affect on her. But she wasn't about to ask him that.
He smiled at her again.
Run, her brain screamed. Run now, before it's too late.
It was the rational thing to do.
It was the only thing that made sense.
So why did a part of her want to stay?
"What do you say?" he repeated. "A drink?"
He reached out one hand toward her.
Denise looked from that hand to his eyes and shook her head, more disgusted with herself than she was him. She mentally shoved her raging hormones aside. "Ryan," she said slowly and distinctly, "if this was the Sahara and you had the only map to the last Oasis in existence, I still wouldn't have a drink with you."
Then she turned and clomped inelegantly from the room and down the hall with as much dignity as she could muster under the circumstances.
As the elevator doors slid soundlessly closed behind her, she heard him laughing.
Chapter 2
Mike stood in the doorway looking after her for a long moment, then turned around to stare at the mess strewn across his brother's office. In her hurry to find her pepper spray, Denise Torrance had thrown the contents of that huge purse of hers all over the room.
He snorted another laugh and shook his head. Next time he volunteered to fix his twin's air conditioner, he'd make sure to find out if there was going to be a pint-size tornado dropping by.
Of course, if the tornado happened to have short blond hair, wide blue eyes and a dusting of freckles across her nose, he wouldn't work too hard to avoid her.
From down the hall, he heard the discreet hum of the elevator as it carried her farther away. He'd thought about chasing after her, but then realized that he didn't have to.
He'd see her again.
As he bent and scooped up some of her belongings to stack them neatly on the desk, he muttered, "She has to come back. Hell, she left half of her life behind."
Quickly, he went around the room, snatching up the items she'd tossed. As he grabbed the can of pepper spray, he winced and told himself it was a damn good thing he was quicker than she was. He almost set the can with everything else, to be returned to her, then thought better of it and stuffed it into his jacket pocket instead. No sense in arming the woman, he told himself.