Hidden Hearts

by Susan Kearney

  Roarke couldn’t know she’d never seen a picture of Jake.

  “I accepted the job over the telephone.”

  Damn! He had an answer for everything. Maybe he was telling the truth. He had fought off that other man. He had placed his body between her and the gun aimed at her. Yet, wouldn’t a bodyguard welcome help from the local authorities, not avoid it?

  When he’d offered her back her blueprints, her suspicions had abated. She knew such a small gesture shouldn’t weigh so heavily in his favor. And yet, a criminal wouldn’t be so considerate, would he? Would a criminal have stopped and explained as Roarke had just done?

  Maybe—if her cooperation would make it easier for him to get her back into her apartment…where she would be alone with him.

  She couldn’t make up her mind. If Roarke Stone was really a bodyguard, why would he want her to return to her apartment where she could so easily be found? She shook her head as once again he tugged her toward the stairs leading to her back terrace.

  Again she halted. “Why are you so insistent on taking me back to my apartment?”

  “You need a shower.”

  “A shower?”

  No way was she about to take off her clothes with him around. Not in a million years. She wouldn’t trust a locked door. With shoulders like his, he could break through in an instant. And she just knew from the determined look in those baby blues glinting with amusement that he had no intention of leaving her alone.

  “Lady, you reek.”

  She’d always objected to being called lady, or woman. As though she wasn’t an individual with her own name. Besides she wanted this man to think of her as a person with her own life. He might be less inclined to hurt her if she didn’t act like a nameless victim.

  “My name’s Alexandra.”

  “Fine, Alexandra. You stink, and client or not, I refuse to be around anyone who smells as bad as you do.”

  While she couldn’t refute the truth of his statement, she hesitated. Removing her clothes while he stood outside her door still wasn’t a viable option. She’d be way too vulnerable.

  Pretending she believed his story about being there to protect her was the best way to deal with Roarke. She tried to calm her leaping nerves. “We shouldn’t go back up there. He might have left, but he could return.”

  “I won’t leave you alone.”

  “He might bring a friend.”

  “I’m prepared for that contingency.”

  Always prepared—just like a Boy Scout. Except he didn’t look at her like any boy she’d ever known. He focused on her with an unnerving intensity that made her shiver. Exactly what she’d been afraid of.

  She needed to come up with an alternative plan. No way was she going to suggest getting into a car with this stranger. If he insisted on holding her captive, she was better off where someone might hear her scream. Such a sobering thought gave her the confidence to look him straight in the eye with a boldness she was far from feeling.

  “You can’t expect me to shower with a strange man in my home.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because I won’t.”

  “Lady—”

  “Alexandra.”

  “Alexandra, do you like the way you smell?”

  Of course she didn’t. But that was the point. As long as she wore garbage like perfume, no man would find her attractive. Not even a criminal. The stench protected her. The stench protected her from him.

  She cocked her head to the side, pretending to be puzzled and hurt by his accusation. “What smell?”

  Roarke’s very male, very hard lower jaw dropped in astonishment and then he chuckled again, the same deep chuckle that had thawed her before and made her consider whether she could trust him.

  “Nice try, la—Alexandra,” he corrected himself, definite amusement lighting up his face. “You will take a shower. But I’ll give you a choice.”

  She didn’t like the sound of his statement since it sounded too much like an ultimatum. Then again, she had little alternative but to stand here and listen while his hand manacled her wrist like steel.

  “You either shower by yourself, or, I’ll climb in with you and do the honors myself.”

  ALEXANDRA HAD NEVER heard such a harsh ultimatum sugar-coated with such silky seductive charm. What kind of man was Roarke Stone? Obviously one who didn’t take no for an answer. Obviously one used to women giving in to his every whim. Obviously one who believed she should obey his every command.

  As she trudged beside him up to her apartment, she didn’t bother wasting her energy trying to fight him again. He’d disabled an opponent much stronger than her in less than sixty seconds, and all she would accomplish by using the few basic self-defense skills she knew was to hurt herself.

  Although Roarke hadn’t struck her when she’d attacked him the first time but had simply overpowered her with brute force, she couldn’t take a chance that he might lose his temper and knock her out if she defied him again. While he didn’t seem the type to strike a woman, he certainly had demonstrated his ability to boss her around.

  He was arrogant. Conceited. And he wanted her to get naked while he was in her apartment.

  Patience. She needed to wait for a better opportunity to escape. Besides, she’d think better and move more quickly if she remained uninjured.

  The hard part was going to be matching wits with her captor. He’d not only shown her that he commanded great strength, but he possessed a remarkable memory for details. And he had an uncanny ability to anticipate what she was about to do before she did it—as when he’d moved his thigh to prevent her landing a knee to his groin and when he’d plucked her cell phone from the cradle in her car.

  He’d also come up with a rational explanation for her every objection. And he’d carefully told her things she couldn’t check out while he remained with her. With incredible perception, he’d known exactly what to say to make her doubt her doubts about him. If she wasn’t careful to guard her thoughts, she’d start exhibiting that Stockholm syndrome where a kidnap victim begins to identify with her captor.

  Luckily she knew she could never again fall for this type of charm or lies. Let him do his worst. He could turn up the heat all he wanted and she wouldn’t respond. After being struck once by his particular kind of good looks and charm, she was now immune.

  But if she wasn’t careful, she’d soon have herself believing he could read her mind. While he wasn’t all-knowing and all-powerful, he clearly was a man used to giving orders and getting his own way.

  She had no doubt he would follow her into the shower if she protested again. So she didn’t.

  When he pulled out a shiny black gun, she restrained a gasp and managed to remain quiet as he pointed it toward her apartment—not her. Clearly the weapon was a precaution to ensure their safety as he checked every room and closet to make sure they were alone.

  He moved quickly, quietly, seemingly taking no interest in her pictures of family in the dining room. Likewise, he spent no time looking at her framed design awards hanging in the hall. He didn’t slow as they passed her expensive computer or stereo system. Roarke seemed solely focused on places where someone could hide, but whether his desire was to protect her or himself, she had no way of guessing.

  Without talking, he’d also made another point. No way would she attempt to fight a man holding a weapon as handily as he did. He handled the gun, casually, expertly. The weapon seemed an extension of his body.

  “It’s clear.” He tucked the gun back into a shoulder holster he wore under his loose-fitting jacket. “Gather up some clothes. Go take a shower. Lock the door if it’ll make you feel safer. Meanwhile, I’ll bolt the front door.”

  He released her hand but nonchalantly blocked any possible escape. She hurried into her bedroom, hoping he wouldn’t follow her, and let out a small sigh of relief when he didn’t.

  She supposed not many women would run away from a man that good-looking. In fact, she was counting on it, hoping he wouldn’t anti
cipate her next move.

  She glanced longingly at the portable phone and decided not to risk it as she heard the bolt on her front door drive home. While she might dial 911 before he stopped her, it would take the police several minutes to arrive. She could be dead by then.

  Rather than let that grave thought deter her, she worked faster. She snatched up a plastic shopping bag and dumped out the shoes she’d bought last week. Quickly she snatched the top sheet off her bed and stuffed it into the shopping bag, then she floated the coverlet back over the bed to hide the missing sheet in case Roarke got curious and ducked in for a look. Finally she grabbed a change of clothing and stuffed it on top of the sheet.

  She returned to the hallway a little breathless, hoping she hadn’t taken too long and aroused his suspicions. Roarke had angled a chair so he could watch the front and back entrances to her apartment as well as the short hallway from bedroom to bathroom.

  Without meeting his eyes for fear he’d guess her intention, she hurried into the bathroom. As soon as she closed the door behind her, Alexandra dumped the clothing on the floor. Quickly she tied one end of the sheet to the towel bar. Praying the bar would remained attached to the wall and would hold her weight, she tugged hard.

  The knot held.

  She turned on the shower. The water would disguise any noise she made opening the window. She closed the toilet seat, climbed on top and threw the end of the sheet out the open window. Although the sheet wouldn’t reach the ground, she believed she could drop safely to the grass when she reached the sheet’s end.

  She didn’t allow herself the luxury of thinking how surprised Roarke would be to find her gone. Palms sweaty with a combination of fear of discovery and fear of dropping out of a second-story window, she placed one leg through the window and started to ease herself through.

  The bathroom door opened.

  Alexandra froze, her hands on the sheet, still half inside the bathroom.

  He took in the dumped clothes, the sheet and her awkward position in one quick but thorough glance and let out a long, low whistle. “Going somewhere?”

  “How did you—”

  “Know?” He lifted one insolent eyebrow. “You didn’t lock the bathroom door.”

  “Huh?”

  In one swift move, Roarke tugged on the sheet and pulled her into the bathroom, backing away as he got a good whiff of her odor. “As nervous as you were about taking your clothes off around me, if you’d intended to take a real shower, you would have locked the door.”

  Damn him. Damn his know-it-all-superior grin. Damn his mind that didn’t overlook a detail. Damn him for the glimmer of respect she’d read in his eyes.

  How did he already know her well enough to predict her actions? Could he have been stalking her for weeks? She’d read about some weirdo stalkers who weren’t ex-boyfriends but simply casual acquaintances who fixated on a woman for no logical reason. Could she have seen this man at the bank? At work? On a construction site?

  Ignoring her completely, he untied the sheet and tossed it into the hallway. He took one last efficient look around the bathroom, peering through the tempered-glass shower doors as if searching for any other means of escape. He must have decided she was trapped and walked out.

  In frustration she kicked the door shut behind him and viciously twisted the lock. When it clicked, she heard his disturbing chuckle.

  She supposed she should count herself lucky that he hadn’t followed through on his threat to stay in the shower with her. He could have…

  Better not to think about what he could have done. With those large hands and powerful arms he could do just about anything he wanted.

  She was wasting hot water. But did she dare get naked even with a locked door between them?

  Why not? If he wanted to remove her clothes he could already have done so. But maybe he was just waiting until she washed away the awful smell.

  She sensed that he was capable of violence. And yet…he seemed more amused by her defiance than angered. Almost as if he respected her ingenuity.

  A look in the mirror made up her mind. Her hair had escaped the neat French braid and something dark and sticky oozed at her temple. Several smudges stuck to her cheek and chin. And her blouse and slacks were filthy. Knowing she’d never wear them again, she stripped, tossed the soiled clothing into the plastic trash-can liner and tied a knot to keep down the odor.

  Within seconds she ducked into the steamy shower, her hands reaching for the soap. With resignation, she realized she could no longer fight Roarke’s wishes as well as her own. She longed to feel clean. Besides, she rationalized, even if she managed to escape Roarke, no one would help her if she looked like a bag lady.

  Alexandra wanted to take a quick shower, but once she stepped under the glorious flow of water, she decided that if Roarke Stone had violent intentions towards her, a longer shower wouldn’t make that much difference. If she was going to wash away some of the stench that might have protected her, she might as well wash away all of it.

  She soaped down, rinsed and soaped again. Next she attacked her hair, using double her normal amount of shampoo and letting it soak as she washed herself squeaky clean.

  Besides, how could she think clearly when she stank? Every time she’d turned her head another awful smell had assaulted her, distracted her. And Roarke might listen to her if she changed her appearance. If she looked respectable, then maybe he’d treat her with respect.

  Not that he’d mistreated her—if she didn’t count forcing her to take a shower and taking away her cell phone, her only means to call for help. But why didn’t she sense any real menace in him? Because he treated her gently? Because she’d seen amusement in his eyes when she’d expected anger?

  Alexandra rinsed her hair, applied conditioner and gave her underarms and legs a quick swipe of the razor. The soothing routine lifted her spirits. When she finished, she brought a few locks forward to her nose and sniffed.

  All clean.

  She dried herself and dressed in fresh underwear, blue jeans and a shirt, before quickly rebraiding her hair. Her fingers worked smoothly, easing the wet strands off her face and working her hair into the braid until she fastened it all with one scrunchy at the back of her neck.

  She brushed her teeth and applied moisturizer to her skin before she realized she was stalling. While Roarke hadn’t interrupted her, giving her the privacy she so desperately needed, she dreaded dealing with him again.

  Hating the uncertainty of whether he was friend or foe, she vowed to try and clear that matter up first, before she made any other decisions about her predicament. But what would make her believe him? Even if he allowed her to call her brother and Jake confirmed that he’d hired Roarke, how would she know that the other man on the phone was really her brother?

  She and Jake had never met. At least not since she was three and he was five years old.

  And even if Jake was her brother, how could she know if he was being honest with her? Brother or not, he could be some kind of con man with his own agenda. But what kind of swindle could anyone try to pull on her?

  She wasn’t wealthy. She could think of nothing she owned that anyone would want. Which made her think that Roarke Stone might be who he said he was—someone hired by her brother to protect her. He had saved her from the man in the uniform…unless they were playing good guy/bad guy so she would trust Roarke. Now her thoughts were really flying out there.

  She had to pull herself together mentally as well as physically. And she could only do that by admitting the truth to herself. Roarke Stone reminded her of her painful past. A past where another man’s good looks, easy smile and charm had betrayed her. She found Roarke’s self-confidence alarming. And even worse, she wasn’t quite as immune to him as she would have liked.

  Apparently Patrick hadn’t done the number on her she’d thought. Or she’d recovered enough to once again find herself reacting to certain traits. What was wrong with her that the only men she found attractive were the ones w
ho couldn’t be trusted?

  Giving herself a good talking to had only made matters worse. Now she had not only to escape from Roarke but from her own thoughts about him.

  A soft knock startled her. “You about done? We should be moving out.”

  Moving out? Was that an army term?

  “Almost ready.” She unlocked the door with a deep breath and faced him.

  He stood so close that she had to force herself not to retreat. She hadn’t expected him almost to overwhelm her simply by occupying the space around him so completely. Nor did she expect a head-to-toe inspection as if she needed to pass muster.

  He nodded slightly, and she realized he’d been holding his breath. Slowly he sniffed and the tightness around his mouth eased.

  “Ah, much better. Pack some clothes and toiletries, we need to clear out.”

  She should have been offended, but how could she be when she had smelled so awful? Besides, she might obtain more information if she once again pretended to cooperate. “And where are we going?”

  “I’ve been thinking it over. What do you think about heading to Amelia Island?”

  He’d just asked her opinion, so she decided not to point out that he still stood much too close. Maybe he hadn’t noticed that he was close enough to hear her ragged breathing and smell her fear. Only now her fear wasn’t over her own safety, so much as her reaction to him. She didn’t want to notice this man’s masculinity. But how could she not with his broad chest and tanned throat less than twelve inches from her face? She was close enough to see soft swirls of dark chest hair peeking out from beneath the V of his shirt. For the first time, she could breathe in his scent—none. He must use odorless shampoo and deodorant and no cologne.

  “You look good,” he told her in his too-sexy voice.

  Not as good as you. “Thanks.” She played along, pretending to accept the compliment she knew was insincere. She’d bet her blueprints that this man dated women of super-model beauty. She’d bet her bank contract the last woman in his bed had breasts that overflowed his large hands. She’d bet he was simply trying to manipulate her into doing something else she didn’t want to do. But she could handle it since she understood the game.