Intimate Strangers

by Rebecca York

  “You bitch!”

  His fingers clutched her straps as he reared back, ripping the thin fabric.

  She tried to ignore the sensation of cold air on her breasts as she raised the scissors for another thrust. Her attacker grabbed her arm with one hand. With the other, he slapped her hard across the face before wrenching the scissors away and swinging the weapon at her, as she had swung it at him. Ducking quickly, she felt the blade part her hair, just before she heard someone else surge into the room.

  “Mark, watch out. He’s got my scissors,” she screamed.

  Her rescuer made a savage sound as he threw himself on the man, pulling him away from her. They both landed on the bed, rolling and slugging at each other in the dark. She pushed herself up, holding up the front of her gown with one hand and scrambling to find another weapon. The iron cat she used as a doorstop would do, she decided. Rounding the bed again, she tried to get in a blow on the other guy’s head. But he wasn’t still long enough for her to connect with any part of his anatomy without getting Mark instead.

  She heard a curse in response to a punch from Mark. Another punch had the man grunting as he wrenched free and dragged himself to her side of the bed, sliding his body along the wall.

  She backed away, giving Mark room. It looked as if he had the guy cornered. Probably Mark thought so, too, until the man flung himself sideways across the bed and onto the other side. Seconds later he was standing on the floor and heading for the door. By the time Mark had reversed his position, the assailant had dashed down the stairs. When Mark tried to follow, she grabbed his shoulder.

  “No. You can’t catch him.”

  He spat out a curse, then went absolutely still as he saw her torn nightgown in the light from the hall. She saw the shock on his face. “Oh Lord, Molly. What happened?”

  She tried to tug at the gown, thinking she should be embarrassed by her near nudity. But with him, she wasn’t. She was only trying to cover herself as a kind of automatic reaction.

  “You don’t have to feel embarrassed with me.” He stopped her from tugging at the gown by reaching out and pulling her into his arms.

  A small sound welled in her throat as she melted into his embrace. Her head dropped to his shoulder, and she clung to him, feeling her body begin to shake. The danger was over, and now the reaction had set in.

  “Molly, tell me what happened,” he demanded. “Did he try to rape you?”

  She shook her head quickly, because she didn’t want him to think the attack had been sexual. “No. Nothing like that. He just tore my gown because he grabbed the strap.”

  “You called me when he broke in.”

  “Yes. I heard him in the house. I did what you said. I locked myself in the bedroom,” she explained, her voice becoming stronger as she spoke.

  “And he broke in,” Mark added, his hands soothing over her shoulders. “Then what?”

  “I was hiding on the floor on the other side of the bed. My sewing box was there and I took out the scissors. I cut him, but obviously not enough.”

  “No. You’re lucky. If you’d killed him, they could have gotten you for murder.”

  “But it was clearly self-defense.”

  “Mike Randall didn’t murder his wife, and they got him for murder.”

  She nodded, then muttered, “I hope I hurt him good. I hope he’s got a scissors tattoo on his fat stomach.”

  “Yeah.” Mark gave a short laugh. She joined him, both of them relieving some of their tension.

  Mark sobered first. “Do you know why he was here?”

  “No.” She raised her head, her eyes searching his. “Do you believe me?”

  “Yes,” he answered, but she couldn’t be sure it was the truth, not after the way he’d walked out on her at lunch.

  Perhaps it was that memory that made her ask, “Are you thinking that I staged an emergency exclusively for your benefit? That would be the perfect way to get you to trust me, wouldn’t it?”

  Chapter Eleven

  He knew she was waiting for his answer, and there was only one reply he could give. Not just intellectually, but emotionally. The thought of what had almost happened tonight had shaken him to the core. As he held her in his arms, he was profoundly grateful that she’d called him—and that she was unharmed. “No!” he answered in a thick voice. “I think I got here in time to keep something bad from happening.”

  She was staring up at him, and it was the most natural thing in the world to lower his mouth to hers and tell her how thankful he was that he had arrived in time.

  Their lips touched, held. He had meant only to express his relief, but one taste of her, and he was lost. He angled his head, intent on getting more of her, and her quick indrawn breath told him she was just as eager as he for the contact.

  If she had stopped him, he would have made himself pull back. But her hands flattened against his back, pressing, stroking, urging him closer. He obliged by pulling her more tightly to him, even as the taste of her, the scent, the intensity of his need swamped him.

  His desire for her had started out as lust, but it had changed into something far more profound. He couldn’t name the emotions he felt now. Or perhaps he was afraid to name them. He didn’t want to need her. He didn’t want to lose control. But he felt it slipping from him.

  “Molly.” He lifted his mouth enough to whisper her name, just a puff of breath against her lips. She seemed to drink in the syllables and gave them back to him, only now it was his name on her lips.

  The brief exchange was like a pledge, he thought in some dim recess of his mind. But conscious thought was rapidly fading away. The only thing he knew was that he had waited so long for her, and she was finally in his arms. In a dark, private bedroom where no one was going to stop them from doing anything they wanted. He angled her away from him, sweeping down the loosened bodice of her gown so that his hand could cup her breasts, stroke over them, find the hardened nipples with his fingers.

  She made an incoherent sound and pressed herself into his hands. He felt her skin heat, felt his own body temperature rising.

  She was his now. Giving herself to him without reservation. He accepted that gift, praying that he could return it to her in kind. It had been so long since he had made love. And now that Molly was in his arms he was humbled and a little afraid.

  He felt his body trembling as he took a step back, easing the two of them toward the bed. His breath was ragged now, and he knew that waiting for fulfillment had become impossible. He must have her now.

  But as he steered her across the room, his foot came down on something hard, and he stopped with a jerk.

  Looking down, he saw the shiny blades of a scissors, and he cursed.

  When he tried to pull away, her arms tightened around him. “Mark, please. Don’t stop this time.”

  He lifted his head and stared down into her passion-drugged eyes, and he knew at that moment he could take anything from her that he wanted. But he also knew that making love with her here and now would be the worst kind of betrayal.

  “We can’t,” he managed to say, hearing the thick, gritty quality of his voice.

  “You don’t want me?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

  “Of course I want you! But the last time I looked, your kitchen door was open. Now a big guy with a scissors wound is outside in the darkness. I know we think he drove away, but he could have come back.”

  She drew in a quick breath, her eyes going from soft and unfocused to alarmed. “I wasn’t thinking about that. I was only thinking about making love with you.”

  He cupped his hands over her shoulders.

  “That’s all I was thinking about, too. But the danger has finally filtered into my brain. We have to get out of here. For all I know, he could be coming back with reinforcements.”

  “Oh, Lord,” she said.

  “Get dressed.” As he spoke, he reached to pull up the bodice of her gown, noting in some corner of his brain that his hands weren’t quite steady.
For a second she covered his fingers with hers. Then she grabbed the fine fabric and stepped away from him. He stood beside the bed, feeling as though he were in the grips of a dream that was part heaven and part hell. But this was no dream, and he shook his head to clear it. He needed to think, to make plans that went beyond seducing the woman he’d been wanting for as long as he could remember.

  She was back in what seemed like moments, wearing a pair of light slacks and a knit shirt.

  “Pack your toilet articles and a couple changes of clothing,” he told her.

  “Why?”

  “Because you can’t stay here.” He ran a hand through his hair. “Someone tried to hurt you. I’m not going to let it happen.”

  She looked at him with large, questioning eyes. “Mark, what’s happening? What’s going on?”

  “Either someone’s after you or they know you’re mixed up with me.”

  “And what are you doing in Perry’s Cove?”

  “I’m not going to talk about that now. We don’t have time for a long explanation. We have to get out of here.”

  “But you just expect me to go with you? Isn’t that taking a pretty big chance?”

  “It’s taking more of a chance staying in your house. Is there someone you can go to? Someone out of town, because I wouldn’t trust anybody around here. Especially not Dean Hammer.”

  “I never trusted him.”

  “And not your old friends from the antique gallery.”

  He watched her process the information, watched her silent debate. “Okay. For now I’ll play by your rules.”

  He released the breath he’d been holding. He was sure that if he told her who he was now, she would never come with him. But he didn’t want her going to someone out of town. He wanted to keep her with him, and he knew his reasons weren’t entirely honorable. “Then get ready as quickly as you can.”

  She did as he asked, disappearing into the bathroom to gather up her toothbrush and other essentials. Then she opened dresser drawers, getting out comfortable clothing. A few minutes later she was following him downstairs. She paused when she saw the open door.

  “I guess it won’t do much good to lock it.”

  “Do it, if it makes you feel better.”

  “You said not to trust Hammer. You’re saying I shouldn’t call the police?” she asked in a voice that had turned unsteady.

  “I wouldn’t.”

  She answered with a tight nod, then took a step into the living room and stopped short. Hurrying to the credenza, she ran her hand over the top. Then she looked in back and inspected the floor at the front and sides.

  “What are you looking for?” Mark asked her.

  “The box is missing!”

  He stared at her. “The puzzle box?”

  “Yes.”

  “What else?”

  She switched on the light, glancing around the room. When she raised her head to him, her face was strained. “Just the puzzle box.”

  “What’s so important about that damn thing?”

  “I don’t know! I mean, it was one of the last things Phil gave me, so it was valuable to me for that. But I don’t know why someone else would single it out.”

  “What’s in it?” Mark demanded.

  “If I knew, I’d tell you.”

  “Would you?”

  “Yes.” Her face turned hard as she searched his eyes. “It always comes back to the same thing, doesn’t it? You can’t force yourself to trust me. Oh, you try. And maybe it lasts for five minutes.” She made a snorting sound. “But then you go back to your old way of thinking.”

  He spread his hands, trying to make her understand, even as he strove to contain his frustration. “I came here thinking there was too much at stake to trust anyone. I didn’t count on getting tangled up with you.”

  “That’s an interesting way to put it.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “And why should I trust you?”

  “Maybe you shouldn’t.”

  She made an exasperated sound. “We should leave. So where are we going?”

  She had called a truce. He wasn’t going to break it now.

  “I was thinking about taking you to my room at the East Point Lodge. Then I figured that might not be any safer than your house.”

  “You have a better suggestion?”

  “I was hoping you would. Are there any vacant properties where we could camp out?”

  He watched her think about that for a moment. Really, he loved the serious look on her face when she was grappling with a problem—as long as it wasn’t the issue of trust.

  “I can do better than that,” she finally said. “Our company handles time-share condos in Perry’s Landing. I can see which of them are free.”

  “Okay. Good.”

  She started for the door, and he put his hand on her shoulder. “Wait a minute. Let me go first and make sure it’s safe.” He felt her stiffen, and he was sorry he had to frighten her. But better safe than sorry. Stepping outside, he scanned the area in front of the house and around the side, but saw no one. That didn’t mean someone wasn’t hiding in the bushes. Returning to the door, he told her to give him another thirty seconds, then hurried to the car, where he opened the passenger door before motioning for her to follow him.

  As soon as she jumped in and closed her door, he pulled out of the driveway before she had a chance to fasten her seat belt.

  When they were away from the house, he slowed to a normal speed. From the corner of his eye he watched her buckle her seat belt and cast him several sideways glances, but she said nothing.

  She was probably wondering why she was willing to trust him—if she was an honest citizen caught in some plot she didn’t understand. Despite their unspoken truce, he was grappling with his own uncertainties. In his heart, he wanted to believe in her. He was ninety-five percent sure that she was mystified by what was going on. But he couldn’t dismiss that five percent of doubt—because it could get him killed. He tried to keep those thoughts off his face as he drove toward the real estate office. When they reached the building, it was not quite dawn, but there was already a car in the parking lot.

  His mind jumped back to the previous hour. They’d been together almost all the time, but he’d left her alone while he’d gone out to check on the exterior.

  Could she have made a phone call to someone and said where they were going? He didn’t think there had been time. And if she had called, it wouldn’t do much good to ask. Instead, he said, “Who the hell is here at this hour?”

  She glanced at him, probably reacting to the sharp tone of his voice. Then she studied the car. “Doris Masters.”

  Molly had mentioned her before, he remembered. “What is she, a workaholic? Does she usually come in so early?”

  “I don’t know. I don’t keep track of her movements. And I’m not usually here this early, so I can’t really answer your question.”

  “Right. Well, make sure she can’t figure out where we’re going.”

  She gave him a tight nod and started to exit the car. He put a hand on her shoulder. “I’ll come with you.”

  “Why?”

  “I don’t like leaving you alone.”

  “Or you’re interested in what I have to say to Doris.”

  He didn’t bother to answer, only followed her to the door. It was locked, and she searched through her purse for a key before they could enter.

  Inside, most of the lights were off in the front, but he could see illumination coming from down the hall. Moments after they walked in, a blond-haired woman hurried into the reception area, her expression registering alarm.

  “Who’s there?” she asked, then stopped short when she saw who had come into the office.

  “Oh, it’s you,” she said, addressing Molly. “You gave me a start. I wasn’t expecting anyone so early.”

  Molly gestured toward him. “Mar— Mr. Ramsey and I had arranged to start early.”

  “I see,” the woman answered.

&nbs
p; “Mark Ramsey, Doris Masters,” Molly said.

  “Nice to meet you,” he said automatically, his gaze squarely on the other real estate agent. She was staring at him, just as he was staring at her. The moment he’d set eyes on her, he’d known she was the woman making love with Oliver Garrison at the antique mall. Only, they hadn’t done the dirty deed because Garrison had answered a phone call, and she’d rushed out, intent on some urgent mission.

  The way she was focused on him made his flesh crawl. What? Did she know he’d been outside in the dark, watching her and Garrison? Did she know about the recent break-in at Molly’s house and the subsequent fight between the intruder and Mark Ramsey? Was that why she was at work so early?

  There was no way to answer any of those questions now. But he was pretty sure that finding her here at this hour of the morning was significant. She turned to Molly, her voice pleasant and even. It was low for a woman, and the effect was a little jarring. “Can I help you with something?”

  “No. You don’t have to bother,” Mark answered for Molly. “But I would like your opinion on the rental market in Perry’s Cove.”

  “Isn’t Mrs. Dumont helping you?” she asked, her voice sharpening. “When you start with one agent, you’re supposed to stick with her.”

  “Of course, but it’s always good to get another opinion.”

  Molly took her cue, slipping into the back of the building while Mark kept Doris engaged. The woman flicked a glance over her shoulder, looking as if she wanted to follow Molly. But there was no way to do that without ignoring Mark’s direct question.

  He saw her take a breath as she turned back to him. “What do you want to know?” she asked.

  “What would you rent if you were new in town?” he asked.

  She stared off into the distance for a moment. “It depends on your price range.”

  “Would you say that property here is more expensive than in other areas?” he asked, the question coming off the top of his head. He wasn’t anywhere near as interested in the answer as he was in the woman. He’d been distracted the last time he’d seen her. Now that he was face-to-face with her, the husky quality of her voice teased him, and her features twanged at some memory chord that he couldn’t catch onto. He studied her face. It was generally rounded, with her nose a bit sharp and her eyes wide set. They were brown. And somehow he thought they would look more natural blue. But he couldn’t say why.