Dear Reader,
Have you ever fantasized about being alone with a mysterious stranger? A man who’s dark, handsome, charismatic and yet somehow…dangerous? We bet you have! His eyes meet yours, and the look that passes between you says a thousand words. Then he speaks and his voice is as compelling as the man himself. He fascinates you, and with his enigmatic power, he draws you closer.
Magically, your lives become entwined. It’s as though Fate has ordained your meeting. He leads you down erotic paths and wraps you in a web of sensuality. But the feeling of danger lingers, and just as you surrender your heart, you discover he’s not who he says he is. The ground shifts beneath your feet, and you being to doubt your lover, now a stranger in your arms.
In this story, Will Eastman embodies all the charismatic charms of that stranger. He’s a mysterious and devastatingly attractive hero, a man of deep emotions who’s hiding a dark secret. Kasey Halliday is his match—a heroine of courage and conviction, who learns to trust her heart and the power of love.
As writers—and readers—of romantic suspense, nothing intrigues us more than a heady mix of love and danger, eroticism and mystery. We hope you find this combination as satisfying as we do.
So settle back and enter Kasey’s secret fantasy….
Sincerely,
Madeline Harper
a.k.a Shannon Harper and Madeline Porter
Stranger in My Arms
Madeline Harper
To Marion Smith Collins,
who first opened the door to
Temptation
Contents
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Epilogue
1
“HOLD THE DOOR, please!” Kasey Halliday made a dash for the elevator as the doors began to close. She managed to get her foot in the crack just in time and pulled open a space big enough to slip through.
“Close call,” she said breathlessly.
The only other passenger was a tall bearded man wearing dark glasses. He stared stolidly ahead as the elevator began its descent toward the Bartow Tower lobby, nineteen stories below.
An awkward silence surrounded them. Two strangers confined in a small enclosed space, keeping each other at a wary distance. Kasey glanced at her companion out of the corner of her eyes. She’d always been put off by people who wore dark glasses indoors. But on him, they seemed less an affectation than something more, well, mysterious, she decided.
Kasey was sure she’d never seen him in the building; she would have remembered. Tall and muscular, long-limbed and elegant, his dark brown hair fell a bit below his ears, fashionably long. His clothes were well cut and expensive: chocolate linen trousers and a rust-colored shirt that clung to his well-muscled shoulders and chest. Earth tones. Dark, sensual and very stylish, even in the summer. Of course, appearances could be deceiving, and a woman alone in New York City couldn’t be too careful. At least, that’s what she was always being told.
Ridiculous, Kasey thought. She rode the Bartow Tower elevators numerous times every day and never had the slightest problem with other passengers. ‘Course, the elevators broke down fairly often, but the riders were always courteous. Anyway, the man wasn’t paying any attention to her. He seemed lost in a private world all his own.
Then, as they passed the third floor, the elevator gave a shudder and a sickening grind before coming to a bumping halt. Kasey was flung across the car into the solid chest of the taciturn passenger.
“Sorry, I—” She attempted to disentangle her handbag, which was looped over his arm.
“What the hell’s the matter?” The question was like a low accusatory growl.
“My handbag, I—”
“Not that. What happened to the elevator?” he asked as he grasped Kasey under the elbows and effortlessly lifted her away from him, pushing the handbag into her arms.
“We’re stuck,” she said. “Between the second and third floors.”
Behind the sunglasses, his stare was dark, intimidating and focused on her. Kasey took two steps backward and pressed herself against the wall of the elevator. She could see the muscles in his neck tense, his jawline stiffen. What was going on with this guy? She watched warily as he turned from her and angrily jabbed at buttons on the elevator panel. The alarm began to sound, echoing eerily in the elevator shaft. He continued to push the buttons.
“That won’t do any good,” Kasey advised quietly. “The elevators are computerized, like everything else in this building.”
“What do you suggest we do, just stand here and wait?”
Kasey bristled at his tone. “Eventually, the superintendent will throw some switches and we’ll move again,” she told him.
He turned to face her, pushing his glasses on top of his head.
Wow, she thought. Her first impression had been right. He was gorgeous in a dark, brooding way. High cheekbones, straight nose, broad forehead, presently creased in a frown. She couldn’t tell much about his mouth under that beard, but his eyes were extraordinary, brown flecked with gold-and-green. The eyes of a jungle cat. A shiver ran along her spine. She tried to look away, but his gaze held her.
“How long will our rescue take?”
“I’m not sure,” she admitted.
“What is it with this building?” There was an arrogance in his voice that told her he was a man used to getting answers. Fast. The air throbbed with his frustration.
Kasey gave an easy laugh, hoping to break the tension. “You mean you haven’t heard about Bartow Tower, the Wonder of the West Side?” she asked, mimicking the newspaper ad.
“I thought this was a new luxury high rise.” His voice was husky and low, with a dark, velvety undertone even when edged with impatience.
“It’s all high-tech, but elevators still break down, power goes out and the automatic doors often lock tenants in the laundry room. Those of us who live here call it Bartow Horror. There are times when it seems as if the computer system has gone mad, and the building is deliberately trying to be hostile to the tenants. Sometimes, I—”
She broke off; he wasn’t listening. He was studying the elevator car, his eyes tracing the limits of the small space, looking up at the ceiling as if it might present a way out. He was like a caged animal, a powerful panther trapped in a confined space. He exuded a dark, dangerous kind of energy, intimidating and fascinating.
Suddenly, he shook his head in disgust and leaned against the opposite wall. He was going to suffer and glower alone...and in silence.
The elevator car was so quiet, she could hear his deep, ragged breathing and the fast-paced beating of her own heart. There was something oddly intimate about the situation. Even a little romantic, she fantasized—a man and a woman trapped together in an elevator—except this man and woman weren’t speaking.
She looked at her watch, frowned and then surreptitiously glanced at her companion. There was still an illusion of controlled energy emanating from him—and an undeniable sexuality.
The silence grew heavier and surrounded them like a thick blanket. Kasey looked up. He was studying her, she realized, his eyes narrowed and suspicious. She was reminded again of a jungle cat observing his prey.
She ran her fingers through her blond hair and straightened the lapel of her blazer. His gaze didn’t waver, and it was unnerving. She wished she knew what he was thinking.
Ridiculous, Kasey decided. Two grown people, standing four feet apart and not saying a word. She broke the silence with the first thing that came into her head. “Are you new to the building?” God, what a stupid question, she thought, but it was too late.
&nbs
p; “Subletting,” he replied.
Again, silence. Common sense told her to keep her mouth shut. This guy had a wall around him eight feet tall. But Kasey never listened to advice, not even her own.
“I live in 1903,” she volunteered. “Great view.”
“I’m in 1905.”
Next door! Kasey was encouraged to go on. “I knew Jim O’Hara was going on a long holiday, three months in Spain and France.” She was thoughtful for a moment. “I didn’t know he was renting the apartment out. Are you a friend of Jim’s?”
He looked at her coolly, as if to say that it was none of her business. Which it wasn’t, Kasey had to admit, but she hadn’t been able to resist asking.
“I got the place through a rental agent,” he said finally. Body rigid, eyes wary, he seemed on guard.
Again she noted the low, husky voice. It went with the image of a tall, dark, handsome—and unapproachable—stranger.
“Jim’s trip is going to be great, backpacking through the Pyrenees. I’d love to travel. I—” Kasey stopped herself in midsentence. She talked too much, and she knew it. Asked too many questions, started conversations with strangers. Even after two years in New York City, she hadn’t lost her smalltown openness. It took willpower, which she tried to exert now, closing her mouth firmly. The next conversational gambit was up to him.
Muffled voices interrupted the silence echoing up the elevator shaft.
“Sounds as though help is on the way,” he said. “It took them long enough.” Impatience vibrated in his voice.
“Mr. Lemnos, the superintendent, is down in the basement checking the cables. Pretty soon, we’ll be moving again.”
“You seem to know the routine. How long have you lived here?”
“About a year.” Kasey was encouraged by his question, which gave her the opportunity to get an introduction going. “I’m Kasey Halliday. Your next-door neighbor.”
To her surprise, a half smile played around his lips. Gone—at least for the moment—was the suspicion.
“I’m Will Eastman.”
“Nice to meet you.” Silence again. She checked her watch once more and spoke a little defensively. “I’m anxious to get out of here, too. I don’t want to be late for work. I’ve just gotten a promotion, and I’d hate to start out this way.”
“Do you work nearby?”
“Not too far. I work in a restaurant down near Columbus Circle. Walk-by-Windows. I’m the assistant manager.”
“I’ve seen the place,” he admitted.
“You should come by for dinner sometime. We have a great French chef. But he makes other dishes, too, not just French cuisine. Everything we serve is good. No, not just good, formidable, as the French would say.” Kasey knew she was babbling.
Amusement glittered in his eyes. “Your enthusiasm is contagious, Ms. Halliday.”
Again, his eyes held hers. She had the strangest compulsion to move toward him. Nervously, she wet her lips and swallowed hard. He looked at her with a gaze that was now interested, appraising.
Then, with an unexpected lurch, the elevator started, hurtling rapidly downward.
“Hold on,” Will warned. “Who knows if the damned thing will stop.”
Kasey grasped the shiny brass handrail as the elevator stopped smoothly and slowly, as if it had never been interrupted in its journey. The door slid open. Will Eastman didn’t move.
“The lobby,” Kasey said unnecessarily. The gleaming black-and-white marble floor stretched before them.
She saw the sudden surprising and charming quirk of his lips again. “I know, but I’m going to the basement,” he told her.
She looked at him questioningly and was surprised when he decided to explain. “Have to see Mr. Lemnos about repairs on O’Hara’s apartment.” He touched the Open button and held the door for her.
“Thanks. It was nice to have company.” Kasey stepped through the door. It shut before she heard his answer. If there was one. Well, she thought, so much for the interlude with her mysterious neighbor.
“Hey, there, Ms. Halliday.” The doorman waved at her. “So you were trapped on number two.”
“Again.” Kasey stopped by the doorman’s desk where Tim balanced on his stool. Round, rotund and nosy, he was noted for his obsessive interest in the tenants’ lives. “The second time this month.” She thought for a moment and then plunged ahead. “There was a guy on the elevator with me. Eastman, 1905.”
There was nothing wrong with trying to find out about him, she told herself. After all, they were neighbors.
Tim made an officious show of checking his tenant list. “Yep, that’s his name. Sublet 1905, but I didn’t see him move in.” He scratched his chin. “Must have done it at night.” He made that sound ominous. “Well, we got so many people coming and going now, who can keep up?” Tim sighed eloquently. “Keeps me on my toes. Still a lot of vacancies. Two on your floor—1901 and 1906.”
“Maybe people are catching on that Bartow Tower can be hazardous to their health. I ought to report the latest breakdown to the tenants’ committee but I’m late, as it is. Would you get me a taxi, Tim?”
“Right-o. Anything for my favorite tenant.”
And for a tip, Kasey thought, pulling a bill from her wallet. But why not? She had just received a promotion and a raise. The assistant manager of Walk-by-Windows could afford to take a cab now and then. She even had a good excuse for being late. An adventure, kind of, with Will Eastman—tall, dark, handsome and becoming more fascinating by the moment.
* * *
WILL EASTMAN temporarily disappeared from Kasey’s mind as she became swept up in the whirlwind of work. At its core was Carl Dandridge, who tracked her down in the cubbyhole that she used as an office.
“Enjoying yourself, Kasey?” He stood at the door, arms folded belligerently across his narrow chest, his fists positioned in an attempt to create biceps. Hostility glittered in his pale blue eyes.
Kasey stood up, her eyes level with Carl’s. “I’m working, Carl, and I understand from Fred Tomlinson that you already picked up your severance check.”
“Yeah, I got my check, but I’m not finished here.”
She heard the veiled threat but decided not to be intimidated by it. “All right, Carl. What do you want?”
“My job back.”
“That’s not within my power, and even if it were—”
“Yeah, you got me fired so why would you want me back?” he asked with a sneer.
“I never—”
“You lied about me to Tomlinson.”
“Carl, that’s not true. I never said a word to Fred about you—even though I was onto your game. When he offered me the job of assistant manager, it was because I earned it.”
“I was framed,” he yelled, “and you know it. You and that Judy Fiore bitch conspired against me. You got my job, and she got yours.”
He took a step forward. Kasey could smell the liquor on his breath, but she held her ground and kept her voice steady. Yet she was trembling inside. Why? He was small and skinny—but wiry. His threats—and the hatred in his eyes—were real. And her office was at the end of a narrow hall that led to the pantry. Even if she screamed, no one would hear her.
“When Fred comes back, you can take this up with him. I can’t do anything about it.”
“You took my job, you blond bitch.”
“No, I—”
He made a low guttural sound deep in his throat. “That Tomlinson bastard, firing me and then leaving town, afraid to face me.”
Kasey kept her voice firm. “He’s on vacation, Carl.”
“He’ll be running if he knows what’s good for him, and you better run, too.”
“I’m not afraid of you, Carl.” Kasey reached for the phone. “And if you don’t leave right now, I’ll call the police.”
His lips curled in an ugly grimace, and his eyes challenged hers.
Kasey lifted the receiver, praying her fingers were steady enough to dial 911. Her eyes remained locked with Ca
rl’s. She was determined not to look away. But she had to look down at the phone to punch in the numbers.
That’s when Carl reached out to stop her. Still holding on to the phone, she drew back, her bravado replaced by heart-pounding fear.
Suddenly, an unexpected clink of crystal on crystal filled the silence and a busboy appeared from the pantry, pushing a cart of champagne glasses. Kasey let go of the frightened breath she’d been holding.
The boy stopped at the door, gave Carl a hard look and then glanced at Kasey. “Everything all right?”
“Yes, Bobby. Carl’s leaving now.”
Carl’s eyes never lost their hard edge. “This isn’t over, Kasey. I want my job back and I’ll get it even if I have to go over Tomlinson’s head. So stay out of my way. I’m warning you.” He pushed past the busboy and stomped down the hall.
His mouth hanging open, Bobby watched Carl’s retreating back and then looked at Kasey. “I—I had to go to the pantry to get extra glasses,” he stammered. “For that special party.”
“Oh, yes, the engagement party.” She paused and took a deep breath, as if to calm her racing heart. “Was I glad to see you! Thanks,” she added with genuine feeling. Her knees were still shaking. She hated confrontation of any kind. And the run-in with Carl was particularly upsetting.
She closed the door, wishing she could lock it. For a moment, she thought about escaping to the warmth of the kitchen or finding Judy in the dining room, but she decided against it. After all, the busboy knew she was here, and that fact alone would keep Carl away, she hoped. Anyway, one look at her desk told her that she wasn’t going anywhere.
The desk was a disaster. An explosion of telephone messages covered its surface, as well as patron comments and complaints, time sheets and staff schedules—all the details that the manager, Fred Tomlinson, had left behind for her to handle. Walk-by-Windows opened for dinner at five-thirty, and there was a lot to do before she could leave the office.
She glanced at the door, still not comfortable with the idea that Carl might be lurking around somewhere. She dragged a chair over and secured it underneath the doorknob then gave the knob a pull. The door remained firmly shut, and she sat down to work.
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