Killian's Passion

by Barbara Mccauley

  “That does it.” Ian threw his cue on the table, as annoyed with his friends as he was with himself for letting them get to him. “I’ve got better things to do than stand around here playing games with you girls.”

  “I’ll bet you do,” Nick said cheerfully. “And don’t worry, I’ll call before I stop by next time, lover boy.”

  Ian’s response was simple and earthy, and Nick merely laughed. Ian decided he’d let them get it out of their system without him around. He stomped out of the bar into the parking lot toward the truck Nick had loaned him to drive for the two weeks he was visiting. The pickup was old, the paint worn, but the engine had been rebuilt. From a stop light he could leave a Porsche behind, reading his license plate.

  He tightened his fingers around the steering wheel, revved the engine, then spun dirt and gravel coming out of the parking lot. He enjoyed the power of the machine under his hands. She took the curves like a dream, and by the time he reached the main dirt road that led to the lake, he felt in control again. Something he hadn’t felt since that Sinclair woman walked out of his bathroom this afternoon.

  He pulled off the dirt road onto a long driveway, shut off the headlights and cut the engine as he neared the cabin.

  He needed one thing, and one thing only, from Miss Cara Sinclair—the truth. He wasn’t leaving until he got it.

  Three

  Cara washed her hair twice, then dumped half a bottle of conditioner on the tangled mess, letting it soak in while she scoured her body with a liquid raspberry gel squeezed into a puffy ball of nylon. Even a practical girl deserved a few luxuries, she thought, sighing with pleasure as the hot water rinsed away the grime and sweat of her afternoon encounter with Ian. She knew better than to let herself relax under the invigorating spray; as it was, she’d taken too much time already, and regretfully, couldn’t risk a long, leisurely shower. But even a few minutes was better than none, and at least she’d be clean.

  And she’d also be able to think straight again, something she’d had trouble with since her first tangle with Ian in the cattails. It still irked her that he’d surprised her as he had, that he’d sneaked up so quietly, so smoothly, and overpowered her. Her pride was wounded, true, but more than that, he’d piqued her curiosity. She couldn’t let go of the feeling that there was something amiss with the man, something that went well beneath the surface. And the more she thought about it, about him—which was constantly—the more curious she became.

  Still, she wasn’t here to be curious about Ian, she told herself, washing the last of the soapy suds from her skin. She’d come here to find him. The fact that he’d found her, as well, was inconvenient, but still didn’t change anything.

  Quickly she rinsed her hair, then turned off the water and grabbed one of the two white towels she’d tossed over the shower curtain bar. Bending at the waist, she wrapped her hair in the soft towel, then reached for the second one.

  It wasn’t there.

  She was reaching around the shower curtain to retrieve the fallen towel when it appeared in front of her face.

  “Looking for this?”

  Ian!

  With a small squeak, Cara snatched the towel from his hand while she darted back behind the shower curtain and covered herself. Damn, damn, damn! He’d gone through two locked doors. “Get out of here!”

  No reply. “Ian?” Still no response. After another long, silent moment, she peeked around the shower curtain. Arms folded, he stood with his back against the closed bathroom door. Steam swirled around his long, muscular body. He’d changed into a black T-shirt that stretched tight over his broad chest. His eyes were dark and narrowed as he met her gaze, and she swallowed hard. He looked like the devil himself.

  “Mr. Shawnessy, would you please remove yourself from this bathroom?” she asked tightly.

  He slowly raised one dark brow. “What happened to ‘honey’ and ‘darling’?”

  Since he obviously had the upper hand here, she’d humor him. For the moment, at least. “All right.” She sucked in a breath. “Darling, would you please get out of here?”

  He pressed his lips together thoughtfully. “No.”

  He was laughing at her! She could see the amusement in his eyes. The shower curtain twisted in her clenched fist. She’d murder him. As soon as she had some clothes on.

  “Ian,” she mewed sweetly through clenched teeth. “Honey, would you please leave this bathroom and wait for me in the living room while I get dressed?”

  Dropping his arms, he pushed away from the door and moved toward her. She swallowed the gasp in her throat, refusing to let him see her fear, but preparing herself to fight him off if necessary. She clutched the shower curtain tightly to her, but held his gaze as he moved in front of her. Her breath caught when he reached out and captured one long strand of hair that had escaped from under the towel on her head. His knuckles skimmed her shoulders while he gently rubbed the wet hair between his thumb and forefinger.

  He leaned close, and she felt his warm breath fan over her cheek. “Call me ‘sweetheart’, and I’ll leave.”

  He was playing a game with her, Cara knew that. And as much as she wanted to kill him for it, she also found it exciting, like nothing she’d ever experienced before. She stood naked in the shower, with only a thin, plastic shower curtain and towel separating her from this stranger, a man she’d never laid eyes on until a few hours ago. Her heart pounded furiously; she could barely catch her breath. Her wet skin felt hot and tight.

  “Sweetheart,” she whispered, still refusing to break contact with his eyes.

  Immediately she wanted to snatch the single word back. The amusement she’d seen in his eyes only moments ago darkened to something else entirely. Something dangerous and primitive. It felt as if the tiny room were closing in on them. Steam swirled around their bodies like a wispy veil of desire. He still held her hair between his fingers, and she felt connected to him through the wet strands. When he brushed his knuckles over her collarbone, she shivered.

  “Tell me how you got out of those ropes,” he said softly.

  She kept her eyes steady, in spite of the fear slithering up her spine. “Are you going to tie me up again?”

  He smiled slowly. “Not unless you ask me to.”

  Frowning, she lifted her chin at him. “Don’t flatter yourself…I was the Houdini act in my neighborhood amateur talent show when I was growing up. My record for escape was two minutes, twenty-seven seconds. I won three years running. Now will you please get out of my bathroom?”

  He hesitated, then released her hair and stepped away. “You’ve got five minutes. If you haven’t come out, I’ll be back.”

  The breath she’d been holding slowly escaped when he closed the door behind him. She stared for several long seconds.

  Five minutes.

  His ultimatum seeped into her numb brain, and she sprang into action, not even bothering to dry her still-damp skin before she dragged on a pair of blue jeans and a white button-up shirt. She yanked the towel from her hair and tugged a comb through the tangled mess, thankful that she’d used’ conditioner. She could escape rope knots any day, but the knots in her hair were something else all together.

  Blast the man for catching her off guard like that!

  Hands on his hips, Ian paced the small living room. He had no idea exactly what had just taken place in the bathroom, but he knew he didn’t like it one little bit. He’d intended to rattle the woman, but all he’d ended up doing was rattling himself. He’d been messing with her when he told her to call him sweetheart, but when she had, and her voice had sounded so breathless, all he’d wanted to do was kiss her. And when her eyes got all soft and dewy when he’d touched her hair, Lord help him, he nearly had.

  Damn if he still didn’t want to kiss her.

  But he also wanted to throttle her. Not only because she’d been lying to him and spying on him, but because she was so casual about it. She could at least have the decency to appear just a little afraid. A strange man standing
in her bathroom while she’s taking a shower and she didn’t even scream or cry.

  Not that he’d actually seen anything. He’d only been there a moment before he handed her the towel, and she’d been behind the shower curtain the entire time. For all he knew, she had a gun back there, and if he’d tried anything, she would have blown his head off.

  No, he didn’t think she had a gun, nor did he think she intended to kill him. She’d been watching him, that was all he knew. And he intended to find out why.

  Right about—he glanced at his watch, followed the second hand as it swept up to the twelve—now.

  He was turning toward the bathroom when she came out, dressed in jeans and a white, untucked, buttoned shirt rolled to her elbows. She’d combed her hair away from her face and the wet ends lay heavy on her shoulders and down her back. Her skin was flushed from her shower, her cheeks rosy and green eyes bright.

  She brought the fresh, clean smell of wet raspberries with her from the shower. It filled the room, made him want to breathe deeper and drag the scent fully into his senses. Still not completely recovered from touching her in the bathroom, he decided it would be best to keep his distance.

  “We’ve got to stop meeting like this, Mr. Shawnessy.” She tossed him a smile. “People are going to talk.”

  “Thanks to you, they already are.” He ignored the drops of water sliding down her neck into the vee of her shirt and kept his gaze carefully locked with hers. “Nick’s a regular Gertrude Gossip.”

  “I didn’t think it would benefit either one of us for me to drag him into our—” she hesitated “—situation.”

  “Tell me, Miss Sinclair, what exactly is our situation?”

  “That’s what we’re going to talk about.” She padded toward the kitchen in her bare feet. “But I’m starving and we have to eat first. Are you hungry?”

  Incredulous, Ian watched her walk away. Cara Sinclair was one cool woman. In spite of himself, she fascinated him. And anyway, he thought, turning on his heels to follow her, he was hungry. He’d left Tanner’s before ordering food, and he hadn’t eaten anything since the ham sandwich he’d made around noon, exactly eight hours ago.

  But even if he had eaten, the smells emanating from the kitchen were so incredibly mouthwatering, he would have been tempted, anyway. His stomach grumbled as he drew in a lungful of the delicious aroma.

  Cara stood at the stove with a wooden spoon in her hand, stirring a large pot. The back of her shirt was wet from her hair, nearly making the fabric see-through, and he realized she wasn’t wearing a bra. The woman was as mouthwatering as the smell of food and equally tempting, he thought reluctantly, which triggered another response from his body, lower than his stomach.

  Annoyed at his unwanted reaction to her, he looked away and noticed she’d set the small kitchen table for two. He glanced back sharply at her. “Expecting company?”

  “I knew you’d be here sooner or later,” she said with a shrug. “I hate to eat alone.”

  He didn’t. In fact, he preferred it. He’d had a couple of steady relationships over the years, but his job kept him away for long periods of time, and even the most patient woman had her limits. He’d gotten used to living alone. It was easier—fewer complications.

  But this woman was intent on playing out this little scenario her way, so he sat. For now he’d let her have her way. Short of violence—which he still hadn’t ruled out—it seemed to be the quickest way to find out what he wanted to know. And if what she was cooking tasted half as good as it smelled, the wait just might be worth it.

  She set two bowls of steaming chili on the table. “Dig in.”

  He hesitated. “How do I know it’s not laced with arsenic?”

  She smiled. “You don’t.”

  He decided she didn’t look like a murderer and scooped up a big bite. It was all he could do not to moan with pleasure as the spicy concoction rolled over his tongue.

  He suddenly felt ravenous.

  He was on his second bite when she moved back to the stove and, using a kitchen towel as a hot pad, pulled a tray of corn muffins from the oven. Plucking them carefully into a small wicker basket, she then scooped another bowl of chili and set everything on the table.

  “Good?” She sat beside him.

  He shrugged. “It’s all right.”

  Scooting her chair in closer, she grinned at him. “It’s better than all right, Flash. I didn’t win the Bloomfield AllCounty Chili Bake-off two years running for nothing. Consider yourself lucky.”

  He reached for a muffin. “I’ve been spied on, had my vacation interrupted, bruised and nearly lost the ability to ever have children. Of all the things I consider myself, Miss Sinclair—” he broke open the muffin and slathered it with butter “—lucky is not one of them.”

  “I apologize for all that. You shouldn’t have sneaked up on me like you did.” She took a muffin herself and nibbled on it. “But you shouldn’t have tied me up, either. That was incredibly rude.”

  “Sweetheart, if you think that was rude, you ain’t seen nothing yet.” He was getting tired of bantering with her. And now that his stomach was nearly satisfied, there were questions he wanted answered. “Cut to the chase, darlin’. I want to know who you are, who you really are, and I want to know who sent you here.”

  With a sigh Cara got up and retrieved two cans of soda from the refrigerator. She handed him one, then popped the top of her own and sat back down. “My name really is Cara Sinclair, just like my driver’s license stated. Give or take a pound, I won’t say which way, my weight is also accurate. So is my height and address.”

  Cara knew this wasn’t exactly what Ian meant when he wanted to know who she was, but she was getting to all that, and since she had no idea how he was going to accept what she was about to say, she hardly felt that she should just blurt it out.

  “I moved to Philadelphia from Bloomfield County almost two years ago and took a position with Myers and Smith, they’re—”

  “Security specialists.” Ian popped the lid of his soda, took a swig. “High-level stuff. Wealthy clients and large corporations are their main clientele.”

  She nodded, but couldn’t help wondering why a man who owned a small company manufacturing cellular phones would be familiar with Myers and Smith. They didn’t exactly advertise in the phone book. “That’s right. They brought me into their research department. I’d been working for an insurance company in Bloomfield, tracking down addresses of people who’d filed questionable claims. It was boring, tedious work, but I was good at it. When I saw the ad for Myers and Smith, I jumped at the chance to move into something more interesting.”

  Ian’s legs were long, and it was impossible not to bump knees with him under the small table. He didn’t seem to notice, but the repeated contact was making her edgy. The more she told herself to ignore him, the more aware of him, of his size and his closeness, she became.

  “They hired me—” she cleared her throat when it cracked slightly “—and then I found out the work was just as boring as my old job. Stuck in a cubicle all day, basically doing the same thing I’d done at the insurance company. Every training position I’d apply for that sounded interesting, whether it was surveillance or internal security or even alarm setting-up, always went to a man.”

  “Are you going to get to the point sometime soon?” Ian asked, pushing his empty bowl aside. “Or do I have to time this story with a calendar?”

  Cara pressed her lips tightly together, but refused to let Ian’s impatience sway her. “Fourteen months ago, a multimillion-dollar accounting firm in Philadelphia, Muldoon and Associates, hired Myers and Smith to quietly flush out an embezzler. For obvious reasons it was important that the investigation be kept quiet. After two months, the field agents hadn’t found a thing. The firm’s owner, Margaret Muldoon, had turned over company management to her nephew, Peter Muldoon, three years earlier, and he became increasingly angry with the investigation and its lack of progress.”

  Ian rolled his
eyes. “I know the feeling.”

  Ignoring him, Cara took a bite of chili and intentionally chewed slowly before she went on. “Without authorization, I followed up on the banking and spending habits of the employees who weren’t suspect. Details are my specialty and I dug deeper, followed every possible lead, and some not so possible.”

  “And you found your man,” Ian said, pointing his can of soda at her. “Or woman, let’s say, just to keep the story equal opportunity.”

  “It was a man. Turned out he was Peter Muldoon’s secretary. He’d been with the company for over twenty years, a quiet, hardworking man no one would have ever suspected. Myself included, but the evidence was overwhelming.”

  She shook her head and sighed. “Unfortunately, when we got too close, the man ended his own life. None of the money was recovered.”

  “So you saved the day and were rewarded justly,” Ian said dryly.

  “I was fired for not following procedure.”

  He lifted a brow. “That so?”

  “I was packing up my things in my cubicle,” Cara went on smoothly, “when the most elegant, sophisticated silverhair woman appeared at my desk.”

  “Don’t tell me.” Ian mocked her. “Your fairy godmother, come to rescue you from sweeping ashes and take you to the ball.”

  In spite of her exasperation, Cara couldn’t help but smile. “Close. It was Margaret Muldoon herself. She’d come by to personally thank me. She didn’t know that I’d been canned and was furious when I told her, insisted she’d have my job back immediately or there’d be hell to pay.”

  “Feisty old broad,” Ian murmured and found himself reaching for another muffin.

  Cara chuckled softly. “You don’t know the half of it. Anyway, I thanked her for her concern, then turned her down. Told her that she’d done me a favor. She insisted on taking me to lunch, then made me an offer I couldn’t refuse.”

  “The fairy godmother turns into a mafia godfather. Is there a horse involved here?” Ian brushed the crumbs off his hands and looked at her blandly. “And even more important, is there a point to all this, or are you trying to kill me through sheer boredom?”