by Meryl Sawyer
Breath suspended in his lungs, he listened to the shadows. He thought he heard something. Or maybe it was nothing. The storm was just unleashing its full fury, making it difficult to tell. He opened his mouth to call “who’s there,” but the words stalled in his throat. The muscles in his neck quivered. What was he thinking? Only an idiot would give away his position.
Although the area was as dark as a dungeon, he detected movement—little more than a darker shape in a pitch-black room. The burglar must have broken one of the small panes on the French doors to get into the house. He thought he saw a shadow shift and heard what might have been a muffled thump.
Adam flattened himself against the wall, anticipating being exposed by another flash of lightning. He watched the intruder, but it was impossible to tell much. Shapes were discernible only by varying degrees of darkness. The short man seemed to be wearing a raincoat and some type of cap.
The intruder had something that glinted in his hand, probably a flashlight. No. The guy would have a flashlight turned on. He must be armed with a gun or a knife. Knowing he himself was unarmed, it took Adam only a split second to decide what to do.
Legs pumping like pistons, he charged across the room and leveled the guy with a flying tackle. Thrown off balance by the powerful thrust of Adam’s body weight, they went down in a bone-crushing jumble of limbs. With a whoosh, the air shot out of the prick’s lungs. Thunk! The weapon hit the tile floor. He scrambled to grab the man’s arms, intending to pull them behind his back and haul him to his feet. The wiry little guy contorted like a pretzel and emitted a pitiful-sounding wail, but Adam kept him pinned down.
Still trying to control the man’s arms and get them behind his back, Adam’s hands encountered something surprisingly soft. His fingers dug in, clutching a soft mound of flesh beneath sheer fabric.
What in hell?
His breath lurched painfully and his heart stutter-stepped. A female. No way! The two years he’d spent without a woman in his life must have backfired on him. He really was losing it.
Adam reached up and yanked a wet knit cap off the intruder’s head. Out spilled a tangle of blond hair, bringing with it a whiff of spring-fresh shampoo. The scent distracted him for a second. The body shifted beneath him, soft—undeniably feminine. Aw, crap.
Couldn’t be.
He double-checked, his fingers finding smooth skin beneath the open front of her raincoat. His thumb accidentally plunged into the hollow between her breasts. Man oh man, was she built. Not centerfold breasts, but tantalizing just the same.
The feminine smell. The soft skin. His brain reminded him that she was a thief, but his body didn’t give a damn. After months upon months of seeing women covered from head to toe or clad in baggy military uniforms, his one-track mind excluded everything except the erotic signals her body was sending.
A flicker of lightning in the distance illuminated the room for a split second. He had the fleeting impression of blazing green eyes. Her mane of wild blond hair tumbling alluringly across the floor. An open raincoat revealed half-exposed bare breasts. Heat spiraled through him, pooling in his groin.
He had to steel himself to keep from running his hands all over her. She twisted beneath him, arching her hips, struggling to free herself. His body tingled from the erotic sensation. In a heartbeat the iron bulge of his sex jutted against her.
“Help! Help!” She ripped out a screech that lashed through him like a razor-sharp blade. Reality returned. This was a thief, not a woman to be seduced. What was he thinking? Women could be every bit as dangerous as men—a lesson he’d learned the hard way. But what were the odds of encountering two deadly women within a few months?
She shrieked again. He jerked his hands off her breasts but kept her pinned to the floor with his body. She might be a woman, wearing a weird outfit, but she’d broken into the house.
“Lemme go!”
She bucked violently and rammed her head into his chest while she unleashed a frenzy of beating fists and kicking legs in a futile attempt to dislodge him. He held fast, trying to decide how to handle this situation. Women usually didn’t break into places on their own. A man must be lurking somewhere nearby. She cut loose with another scream that could have been heard on the far side of hell.
“Shut up!”
She clawed his face and speared at his eyes, but he ducked in the nick of time. Her fingers caught the base of his neck, raking down the tender flesh.
“Cut it out!” His nose was just inches from hers, and he had the impression of an oval face and a trembling lower lip.
“Get off me!”
She thrashed and tried to knee him in the groin but he held her down. He needed to tie her up with something while he called the police. She grabbed a fistful of his hair and yanked. “Lemme go!”
With one hand, Adam twisted her wrist and broke her hold. “Don’t make me hurt you.”
She bit his arm, sinking her teeth into his flesh, but he didn’t relent. “I’ve got you outweighed by a hundred pounds,” he told her from between clenched teeth. She wasn’t very big, but she was a hellcat. “This is a fight you can’t win.”
She bit his arm again, clamping down for all she was worth. Pain shot up to his shoulder and he bent double, certain she’d drawn blood. Her teeth were still attached to his arm. With both hands he grabbed her neck to frighten her and make her let go. Suddenly her body went slack.
He hadn’t choked her too hard—had he? The bile rose up in his throat. He hadn’t meant to hurt her—just stop the vicious biting. He released the woman and jumped up, disgusted with himself.
She shot to her feet and torpedoed away. The little faker wasn’t escaping from him. He rushed after her, caught her in two long strides and grabbed her by the shoulders, then locked his arms around her. For a moment they moved together like dancers. She kicked backward, slamming her heel into his shin and shrieking like a demon. Undoubtedly she was attempting to alert her companion and get his help. He must be outside, where the storm masked the ruckus.
“Goddammit,” Adam roared. He hauled her backward, accidentally stumbling into the sofa and losing his balance. They landed on the cushions, but this time she was on top, still braying like a pissed-off mule.
“Don’t you dare hurt me.”
“I’m not going to hurt you.” He pushed her off him. They were side by side, breathing like marathon runners. It took him a second to tell her, “Just shut up and stay put while I call the cops.”
“You’re calling the police?”
“Hey, I don’t care if you are a woman. You broke into this house—”
“No, I didn’t.” Darkness obscured her face but he felt her long hair whipping across his nose as she turned on him. “You’re the one who shouldn’t be here.”
“What?” Adam was dead certain she was going to scream again. He put his hand over her mouth and anchored her sexy bod in place with the weight of his leg. “Listen. I’m Adam Hunter. I inherited this house from my uncle. I have every right to be here. Who the hell are you?”
He felt her soft lips moving beneath his palm. He slowly lifted his hand. And waited for another bone-rattling shriek.
“I’m Whitney Marshall. I live in the caretaker’s cottage. I just came in to get Jasper.”
Jasper, the butt-ugly show dog he’d first seen at his uncle’s villa in Siros. The little mutt who’d crawled in bed with him the moment Adam had turned down the covers. Could she be telling the truth? Was she taking care of the dog? “I heard breaking glass.”
Two beats of silence. “I know. I knocked over something with my umbrella while I was looking for Jasper so I could feed him.”
“You weren’t calling Jasper.”
“It doesn’t do any good. Jasper won’t come. He usually hides under the coffee table.”
“What about the weapon in your hand?”
“Weapon?” Hostile silence, then, “That was my umbrella.”
Umbrella? Shit. He lifted his leg off her, reluctantly admitting,
“I guess I made a mistake.”
“Do you always act like a raving lunatic when you make a mistake?”
She attempted to climb over him, and his sex-starved body again kicked into overdrive. She was caught up in the raincoat and what little she was wearing beneath. Her soft, full breasts brushed his bare chest. She jerked back and he expected her to hit him…or bite him again. She scuttled sideways and crashed to the floor, then scrambled to her feet and charged off into the darkness.
Adam slowly rose, scalp prickling, arm throbbing, blood trickling down from the base of his neck onto his chest. He could still smell her perfume and feel her sexy body beneath his. Of all the freaking luck.
CHAPTER THREE
SWEATING AND PANTING, her heart thundering painfully against her ribs, Whitney raced out into the downpour. She managed to reach the cottage, slam the door shut behind her and quickly lock it. She could still feel the brute’s weight crushing her, his huge hands locking around her neck in a death grip. She’d never been forced to physically defend herself until tonight.
Squeezing her eyes shut and leaning back against the door, she willed her body to stop shaking. She hadn’t been able to get a good look at the creep, but even now she could see his fiendish eyes glittering as if he were on some controlled substance. His features had been obscured by the darkness but she had the impression of white teeth the size of tombstones.
Just when she thought her life was turning around this had to happen. She’d counted on living here, but with that monster in the main house, it would be impossible. She could understand him mistaking her for a burglar—after all, the house had been hit during Calvin Hunter’s funeral—but the creep’s marauding hands…inexcusable.
The big goon probably had a felony record for sexual assault. She heaved a sigh, attempting to catch her breath, and assured herself the man was nothing more than a letch. Still, how could she live here with him so close? She would never get a good night’s sleep.
Where could she go? Her bank account was down to less than a hundred dollars. Her only alternative was to hang in there until Miranda returned, then borrow money from her cousin to rent another place.
Whitney gingerly touched the throbbing lump forming on the back of her head from when he’d knocked her down on the hard tile. The bump was so tender that her eyes watered. The salty tang of his blood was still on her lips from biting him. She’d been dead certain he intended to rape and kill her. So what if she’d drawn blood?
“Serves the creep right,” she muttered out loud.
Lexi and Da Vinci were hovering at her feet, tails swishing in the darkness. She slipped out of the lightweight raincoat and let it drop to the floor. All she had on beneath was the sheer nightie. When she’d thrown on her raincoat to get Jasper, she’d never dreamed she would run into anyone.
“Okay, okay, out of the way,” she told the dogs, her voice shaky.
She bumped into a box and stubbed her toe on the way to the chair beside the sofa, which was loaded with clothes and things she’d heaped there while unpacking. She dropped into the welcoming cushions, feeling slightly nauseous. A panicky feeling returned in a wave of fear that surged upward from the depths of her queasy stomach.
The electric power returned with a blinding flash and the cottage lit up. Not being alone in the dark calmed Whitney a little. She checked the locks on the front and back doors. She was safe.
Briiing-briiing. The telephone rang, and Whitney tensed. She let the machine Miranda had left behind pick up the message.
“It’s me again.” Ryan’s disembodied voice filtered across the room. “Call me no matter how late you get in. It’s really important.”
Naturally, Ryan presumed she would do as he told her. Let him rot in hell along with the beauty queen. They’d married two days after his divorce from Whitney became final. She removed the receiver from the hook. If he called back, he wouldn’t wake her. Let the jerk wait.
Whitney sent the dogs out the back door to do their business before going to bed. Clouds tumbled across the moon as the wind herded them inland. The rain had slackened to a mist, but it dripped off the trees and bushes, plopping onto the small used brick patio behind the cottage.
Whitney wiped off Lexi’s paws with one of Miranda’s old towels. “Good girl. Ready for bed?”
Lexi scampered off for her doggie bed at the foot of Whitney’s bed. Da Vinci was still sniffing around and trying to decide which bush to bless by lifting his leg on it. She allowed him to take his time, remembering Miranda’s warning. They’re called Chiwee-wees for a good reason. Da Vinci was evidently prone to boo-boos and often left suspicious stains on the rug. She waited until the Chihuahua finally selected a spot and hoisted one little leg. She dried him off, then put him on the floor.
Whitney knew she’d locked the front door, but she double-checked anyway. Peering through the small panes of glass, she saw the light upstairs in the main house was still shining. Just knowing the pervert was there creeped her out.
Now the rain had stopped, leaving a somnolent dripping from the eaves. The storm had passed, thunder only a distant rumble, lightning a flicker to the east. A lone coyote howled. Its bleak call struck her as overwhelmingly lonely.
Something about the emptiness of the night disturbed her, which was silly. She wasn’t alone. Granted, the place was a good distance from the next house, but this was suburbia, for God’s sake. She flicked off the porch light, unable to shake the feeling her world was no longer familiar. Or friendly.
She went into the bathroom to get ready for bed. As she brushed her teeth, she thought about Ryan’s call. What could he possibly want? They hadn’t spoken in months. Rather than hire expensive attorneys to split what little they had, she’d agreed to arbitration. She’d allowed him to keep the house with the huge mortgage.
Whitney had taken the Grand Cherokee. Although the SUV wasn’t new, it was paid for, and she needed transportation. They’d had little else except a full service of china and a worthless piece of property that Ryan—who didn’t have a head for business—had insisted they purchase as an investment. The land turned out to have toxic waste in the soil and couldn’t be sold without going through an expensive decontamination process. She’d quitclaimed the land to Ryan along with the house in order to keep Lexi.
And to get Ryan Fordham out of her life forever.
WHITNEY AWOKE THE NEXT MORNING with Da Vinci licking her face and wagging his tail. The spoiled little dog had slept on the bed with her.
“No,” she groaned, looking at the alarm and realizing she’d failed to set it properly. She’d overslept. “You have to go out, don’t you?” At the sound of her voice Lexi popped up from her bed and shook her head. The movement made her ears flap, Lexi’s signal that she had to relieve herself.
“Let’s hit it.” Whitney shrugged into a robe and escorted them to the back door. The small fenced patio and patch of grass were still wet from the rain. When they’d finished, she quickly fed them, showered and threw on some clothes. She did not want to be late to Trish Bowrather’s on the first day.
She walked to the carport attached to the single-car garage that was so crammed full of Miranda’s stuff, there wasn’t room for the SUV. Whitney glanced up at the main house. All the curtains were drawn. If she didn’t know better, she would think no one was home. The jerk must still be asleep.
She loaded the dogs and was backing out when she realized a car had pulled in behind her, blocking her exit. She didn’t know anyone who drove a silver Porsche. It might be Adam Hunter, she thought, then wondered why he would be using the back driveway when a four-car garage was located on the other side of the house. Of course, after last night, there was no telling what that maniac might pull. But a man in a suit stepped out of the sleek sports car.
Ryan.
In a heartbeat, her world shifted and became out of focus. Just the slightest patina of sweat sheened her forehead. She could have blamed it on the bright morning sun and the humidity in the air from the
storm, but she knew better. How could he have this effect on her? Hadn’t the pain of his betrayal made her a stronger person?
Lexi immediately stuck her head out the window and barked a happy greeting. Why me? Whitney asked herself as she slid out of the SUV. Whatever Ryan wanted had to be really important for him to drive out to Torrey Pines from San Diego when patients would be waiting in his office at nine.
“You didn’t call me back.” Ryan sounded genuinely shocked, but then, he always was when he didn’t get his way.
“What do you want?”
His mouth quirked into a smile, but she knew him too well. He was merely flashing his chemically whitened teeth. The man could turn on the charm like a searchlight, when it suited him.
Tall and imposing, with surfer blond hair and a golden tan, Dr. Ryan Fordham made women’s hearts pound just by walking into a room. He was a shade shy of pretty, Whitney told herself, something mean curdling inside her. A tide of heartbreak rushed in, sweeping away rational thought.
“There’s a little problem.” He reached into the open window of the Jeep and stroked Lexi’s head. The little turncoat couldn’t wag her tail fast enough.
“What’s the matter?” She battled the urge to tell him to get his hand off her dog. Although Lexi adored Whitney, the retriever had always been very fond of Ryan. Why not? He’d never had a cross word for the dog.
He stopped petting Lexi and turned to Whitney. “I’m joining a new practice. I need to sign a lease for an office building and finance some equipment. The credit check showed your name is still on the house and the property in Temecula.”
“I thought the settlement agreement handled the transfer of title on both places. The judge accepted the documents.”
Ryan studied the tips of his highly buffed shoes. “Apparently the judge was in a hurry and didn’t notice it wasn’t notarized. So it couldn’t be recorded. I have the papers in the car. All you have to do is sign in front of a notary. I’ll take them right to the county recorder’s office to be legally registered.”