“Would you please remove your bra?”

“Excuse me?” Alexandra thought she must have heard him wrong. “I thought you asked me to remove my bra.”

“I did.”

While she knew Roarke couldn’t be making a pass at her with them imprisoned in the car’s trunk, she didn’t like the idea of removing her underwear—even in the dark. She had to force a calmness into her tone that she didn’t feel. “Mind telling me why you want me to undress?”

As usual, Mr. Silver Tongue had an answer. “I want to push your bra out the taillight hole and use it as a flag.”

“Couldn’t we use your shirt?”

“Which article of clothing do you think will draw more attention?”

Dear Reader,

This holiday season, deck the halls with some of the most exciting names in romantic suspense: Anne Stuart and Gayle Wilson. These two award-winning authors have returned together to Harlequin Intrigue to reprise their much loved miniseries—CATSPAW and MEN OF MYSTERY—in a special 2-in-1 collection. Night and Day is a guaranteed keeper and the best stocking stuffer around!

Find out what happens when a single-dad secret agent has to protect a beautiful scientist as our MONTANA CONFIDENTIAL series continues with Licensed To Marry by Charlotte Douglas.

The stork is coming down the chimney this year, as Joanna Wayne begins a brand-new series of books set in the sultry South. Look for Another Woman’s Baby this month and more HIDDEN PASSIONS books to come in the near future.

Also available from Harlequin Intrigue is the second title in Susan Kearney’s HIDE AND SEEK trilogy. The search goes on in Hidden Hearts.

Happy holidays from all of us at Harlequin Intrigue.

Sincerely,

Denise O’Sullivan

Associate Senior Editor

Harlequin Intrigue

Hidden Hearts

Susan Kearney

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Susan Kearney used to set herself on fire four times a day. Now she does something really hot—she writes romantic suspense. While she no longer performs her signature fire dive (she’s taken up figure skating), she never runs out of ideas for characters and plots. A business graduate from the University of Michigan, Susan is working on her fourteenth novel and writes full-time. She resides in a small town outside Tampa, Florida, with her husband and children and a spoiled Boston terrier.

Books by Susan Kearney

HARLEQUIN INTRIGUE

340—TARA’S CHILD

378—A BABY TO LOVE

410—LULLABY DECEPTION

428—SWEET DECEPTION

456—DECEIVING DADDY

478—PRIORITY MALE

552—A NIGHT WITHOUT END

586—CRADLE WILL ROCK*

590—LITTLE BOYS BLUE*

594—LULLABY AND GOODNIGHT*

636—THE HIDDEN YEARS†

640—HIDDEN HEARTS†

CAST OF CHARACTERS

Alexandra Golden—An architect, and a woman with a painful past. As she faces danger and Roarke’s charm, can she find the courage to fall in love?

Roarke Stone—Charming, dangerous and sexy, the ex-CIA rogue is hired as Alexandra’s bodyguard. He’s determined to protect Alexandra, but will he succeed in protecting his heart?

Jake Cockran—The brother Alexandra never met. When Jake sends his sister a package from her biological parents, he inadvertently places her in danger.

Jake and Alexandra’s biological parents—Letters, pictures and diaries—secrets from her mother and cloaked in a mystery that must be solved.

Carleton Jamison—An FBI agent who owes Roarke his life. He’s one of the few men Roarke trusts.

Top Dog—Roarke’s nickname for the bald man who wants Alexandra and her secrets.

Contents

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Epilogue

Prologue

Alexandra Golden ignored the niggling worry that had shadowed her for the last two days. Ever since she’d received a package related to her mysterious past, she’d been fighting not to let it ruin her enjoyment of her latest accomplishment—a triumph she’d worked so hard to achieve.

With deep satisfaction and pride, Alexandra leaned over the finished blueprints of her architectural firm’s first skyscraper. The two-hundred-story bank building overlooking the St. John’s River in downtown Jacksonville, Florida, would boast majestic views of several bridges, the thriving waterfront and a good part of the bustling city. Best of all, it would be the first new construction project this decade to be added to Jacksonville’s elegant skyline by a female architect.

As Alexandra smoothed her palm over the graceful lines of the beautiful bank building she would create out of soaring steel, solid concrete and cool-blue glass, she didn’t regret one moment of the hard work she’d done to arrive at this moment. Just mastering the math required to become an architect had almost done her in, but she’d studied harder than many of her colleagues. Then she’d taken risks to establish her own firm, and she had even spread her finances to the limit to go after the Benson Bank project.

Early in her career, she’d made a friend. Charlotte Benson, heir to the Benson financial empire, had supported Alexandra’s firm from the beginning. Charlotte had convinced her mostly male board of directors that a woman architect would help usher in the future, a future where women dropped off their children in day-care centers in the buildings where they worked. A future where women who opened their own businesses and sought financing from a bank would feel welcome. A future where widows could come in for investment counseling and trust their stock portfolios to the competent hands of Benson Securities’s brokers.

So, with success at her fingertips, why couldn’t Alexandra shake the feeling that something was wrong? She’d always been an optimistic person. She’d had her parents’ full support ever since they’d adopted her, taking her from the foster home to live with them when she was three years old and too young to remember her past. She’d grown up loved and spoiled and encouraged to make her dreams happen. She had no bad memories of her former life and no recollections of a brother named Jake Cochran or the sister he’d claimed in his recent letter was just a baby when they’d all been separated.

At least Jake had had the good sense not to just show up on her doorstep. The arrival of his letter two days ago would let her prepare gradually for a meeting with him. And she did want to see what he was like; she wondered if he shared her dark hair, olive complexion and amber-colored eyes.

Jake’s message to her had been brief, but warm in tone and friendly. So she had no reason to feel threatened because the brother she couldn’t remember had sent her a note and a strange assortment of papers in the mail. He’d revealed nothing personal and had sent no photographs of himself. Instead he’d sent old black-and-white pictures from their parents’ era and a copy of her mother’s diary, along with birth certificates in a ten-by-fourteen-inch envelope. Alexandra had set the materials aside until she had time to go through them more carefully.

No reason to worry. So why was she tapping her short-clipped nails on the blueprints? Why couldn’t she keep her mind on the present? Why did she keep glancing at the envelope she’d left on the dining-room table as if it contained a bomb?

The items inside looked harmless enough. Although she’d never had the time or inclination to brood over her past, she looked forward to meeting her siblings. But even if she’d remembered them, she didn’t know if she would have tried to find them. Unlike many adoptees who yearned to seek out their genealogical roots, Alexandra had focused on her career and the parents who adored her.

She’d turned a page of the blueprints to look over the specs for the site layout and underground utilities when a knock on her front door interrupted her. Leaving the blueprints, she exited her home office and walked through the living room to her foyer.

As a single woman who lived alone, she habitually locked the dead bolt and chained the door after she arrived home. She’d never had trouble at the apartment complex, but she’d received a lot of publicity on the Benson project recently. Her picture had been in the paper and she’d been interviewed on local television news. While the free promotion could prove a boon to her firm and make it easier to win more projects, she remained careful of strangers.

“Who is it?”

“Package service, ma’am.”

Alexandra’s packages were usually delivered to her office. But the one from her brother had come to her home. Perhaps he’d sent another?

Alexandra peered through the peephole. The short, middle-aged, clean-cut man with a wide chest wore an ill-fitting uniform and held a clipboard awkwardly in his meaty hands. But he held no package. Maybe he’d set it on the floor.

Alexandra opened her door but didn’t unfasten the chain. “I wasn’t expecting anything.”

“I’m afraid there’s been a mixup, ma’am.”

Alexandra frowned. “What kind of mixup?”

“The package we delivered a few days ago isn’t yours. If you could return it to me, we can deliver it to its rightful owner.”

“Just a minute please.”

Alexandra needed to think. She knew the package had her correct address and that if there had been a mix-up, the company would have called. But she’d received no phone call.

Something was wrong.

Her first thought was to phone the delivery company to check on what she felt was a bogus story.

“Ma’am, if you could open the door and give me the package, I can show you the wrong address on the label.”

She knew the address was hers since she’d carefully checked it when it arrived. Her second thought was to get the hell out of her apartment.

“I’ll be back in a second,” Alexandra called over her shoulder, knowing the chain might not hold for long against a determined pounding, afraid that if she tried to shut the door and throw the dead bolt, he’d jam a foot in the doorway to prevent her from succeeding.

Heart racing, she sprinted through her living room, scooped up the envelope her brother had sent, ducked into her office and grabbed the blueprints and her purse.

The sound of the front door slamming open and the chain breaking the wood warned her that she hadn’t a nanosecond to spare.

The man had just broken into her house!

Sweat slicking down her spine, Alexandra slid across her kitchen floor to her back door. As she juggled her belongings, she fumbled to turn the dead bolt.

The lock clicked open just as the deliveryman skidded into her kitchen. “Hold it right there, lady. I won’t hurt you. I just need the package.”

She didn’t believe him. And she didn’t stop running.

Yanking open the door, she rushed outside onto her second-story terrace.

She never doubted she would get away. Never expected to be caught.

But then she slammed into something hard.

Someone hard.

Strong masculine arms closed around her. Arms way too strong to fight.

Chapter One

Two men were after her.

A team.

Sent to take the package her brother had sent her.

Alexandra’s first instinct had been to flee. Trapped in the big man’s grip, she knew her only remaining option was to fight, take him by surprise.

But, unlike the short man in the sloppy uniform who had just slid and fallen with a loud thump, this man was tall, with shoulders as broad as the Panhandle and blue eyes that pierced like a laser. Eyes that seemed unfazed at finding her trying to flee.

Her head barely reached his chin, so slamming her brow into his face to escape wouldn’t be an option. But she had no intention of giving up.

At least not without giving him her best shot.

Men may have evolved to be stronger than women, but that simply meant Alexandra had to be smarter. She slammed her foot down onto the big man’s toe. He let out a grunt and one hand loosened its grip on her arm.

As he hopped in pain, she kicked his shin and slapped his ear with the hand that still clasped her blueprints tightly.

She hoped he’d loosen the grip of his other hand on her shoulder. He did let go, but grabbed her by the waist with both hands, lifting her off her feet, bringing her up to eye level. “Woman, you hurt me.”

She kicked. Missed. “Let me go—”

“Or?”

“I’ll hurt you some more.” She drew back her foot to kick him where it would really hurt. One good knee to the groin and he’d—

“Don’t even think about it.”

She’d made a mistake by warning him. He’d sensed her intention and twisted his hips so she lost the angle needed to wreak the most damage. She considered how much hurting she could cause by ramming her elbow into his chin.

Before she could put thought into action, the man in the uniform rushed out through the back door onto the terrace. He reached behind his back and pulled a gun. A big ugly gun with the muzzle pointed at her.

As icy fear sliced her, Alexandra’s heart froze. She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move.

The big man dropped her so fast she stumbled and fell to her knees. Suddenly, her opponent shifted his body between her and the guy in the uniform.

As if to protect her?

Confusion mixed with fear. Weren’t the two men working together? Why had he let her go? Why would he place himself between her and his partner?

A shot fired and her ears rang. Burnt smoke singed her nostrils. Fear shook her legs. She expected to feel pain or to see the big man go down. Neither happened.

Her captor lunged and kicked the gun from the smaller man, then tackled him.

Alexandra still didn’t understand why he’d let her go. She didn’t understand why the pair were fighting. She didn’t question her good fortune. Didn’t stay around to ask questions. Without a backward glance, she fled down the stairs on watery knees. In her haste, she tripped and dropped her precious blueprints, which rolled onto the sidewalk and partially into the shrubs. She tugged on them and realized they’d snagged. They weren’t worth her life. She kept running.

Above her she heard the sound of flesh smacking flesh, grunts, a groan of pain. A potted plant crashed onto the concrete patio beside her, the shards whizzing by her legs.

She raced around the apartment complex. Heard footsteps clanging down her terrace steps. Her heart jackhammering up into her throat, she sprinted toward the parking garage. She couldn’t count on a neighbor hearing the shot and calling the police. She needed to escape now. If only she could make it to her car.

As she ran around the building’s corner, she fumbled in her purse for her car keys. The steps behind were coming closer. He was catching her. She wasn’t going to make it to her car and had only seconds to plan another course of action while her pursuer still couldn’t see her.

The apartment building had been built on piers and pilings over the parking area. Two elevators provided access to the upper floors. In the middle of Monday afternoon, most people were at work. There weren’t enough cars to hide behind, and she couldn’t reach the next building or the woods behind the apartments before he caught up with her—whoever he was. Although she didn’t know who had won the fight, she’d bet on the big man.

And she didn’t want to take him on again. Kicking his shin had hurt her foot. Slapping his ear had stung her hand. He’d been one giant slab of solid muscle.

Looking around wildly for a hiding space, she saw the garbage Dumpster. Yanking open the lid, she ignored the awful smell, tossed her purse and her brother’s envelope inside and scrambled over. She landed softly on her feet, making little noise. Her pursuer pounded around the corner just as she ducked out of sight.

She had no time to close the top. But if she had, the smell might have suffocated her. The Dumpster had been emptied recently and contained only a few tidy plastic garbage bags in one corner, a few rotting onions, rotten banana peels and maybe some decayed meat. She tried to convince herself that the odor wasn’t so bad. The foul smell helped her control her ragged breathing as she tried to remain still, quiet.

If only she hadn’t come home from work, but she’d needed a shower after inspecting the dusty job site. And then she’d gone over the plans again…Now she really needed a shower.

She held her breath as her pursuer walked past. She didn’t dare peer over the side to see which man still pursued her. She didn’t dare call out for help. In the middle of May, at the beginning of the week, the kids were still at school, their parents at work, the complex mostly empty.

And she’d left her cell phone in her car.

She heard the footsteps retreat and let out a quiet sigh of relief. But then the steps returned, steady, measured steps. He was heading straight for the Dumpster, and her heart raced so hard, she thought it might burst through her ribs.

She crouched low next to the filthy side, ignoring the grease, old dirt and who knew how many billions of germs. When the big man peered inside and his eyes found hers, she expected to see anger or annoyance. She expected him to grab her. Shoot her.

But he chuckled.

Chuckled?

It was a deep chuckle without the least hint of malice. She didn’t care how nice a chuckle he had, she backed up until her feet tripped up against the plastic bags.

Alexandra tried not to stare but couldn’t help herself. When she’d been struggling in his grasp, she hadn’t really looked at him. Now she saw that he was absolutely stunningly gorgeous, a fact she’d missed in her battle with him on her terrace. Terror alone could have made her unaware of his movie-star attractiveness as she’d fled from him earlier. This guy’s face was the kind women fantasized over, and, naturally, the extraordinary face came packaged with a body worth dying for.

He smiled at her, and of course he had perfect teeth, too. And he knew it. His smile seemed to say come out, come out, I’m really one of the good guys.

“You can come out now.”

Imagine that. He’d just told her she was safe—so naturally he expected her to believe it. If she hadn’t been frightened half to death and partly mesmerized by his gorgeous good looks, she would have laughed as he actually put her thoughts into words. Naturally he had a deep, melodic knock-your-socks-off baritone to go with the rest of his perfection. Not once did she take her gaze from his face. Besides the bluest blue eyes she’d ever seen, he had an olive complexion, the kind that didn’t require hours in the sun to tan, a straight aristocratic nose and gleaming white teeth. His black hair was cut short, neat and tidy over the ears. And he wore clothes as if he was born to model. A navy sports jacket emphasized broad shoulders, a white shirt accentuated his acre-sized chest, and khaki slacks, not the least bit rumpled from his fight, showed off slender hips. The only thing menacing about him, besides his huge size, was the five-o’clock shadow that underscored his tough-guy jaw.

“Look, I’m Roarke Stone. Didn’t your brother tell you to expect me?”

His voice was as deep and non-threatening as his chuckle, but she didn’t trust Mr. I’m-a-Good-Guy for a second. “My brother?”

“Jake Cochran.”

“What about him?” She told herself not to let down her guard. Not to trust his seductive smile. Not to trust one thing he said just because he knew her brother’s name. If he was after the envelope, like the intruder in her apartment, of course he would know her brother’s name. And he’d try to feed her a line to convince her to hand it over.

He looked slightly puzzled but ready to smooth over her misconceptions. Oh so casually, he spoke. “Jake hired me to protect you.”

Damn, he was good, coming up with a creative twist—one she hadn’t expected. Still, she didn’t believe him. And she couldn’t quite believe his audacity either. He’d spoken with such conviction, as if he believed his own lies. Despite his charming good looks, those devastating blue eyes and the absolutely divine cheekbones, all she had to remember was how easily he’d lifted her off the ground, how easily he could hurt her, and she shivered.

Staying out of Roarke Stone’s very long reach, Alexandra picked up her purse and the envelope she’d tossed into the Dumpster. Maybe if he had to jump inside to pursue her, she could climb out the other side before he grabbed her.

Meanwhile, her brain was thinking at warp speed. She’d keep him talking, distract him. “Who are you here to protect me from?”

“Maybe the man upstairs.” His eyes narrowed at her accusingly. “Why did you let him into your apartment?”

Go figure. Now Mr. Perfection was trying to convince her he cared about her safety. Yeah right. But she played along. “Give me a little credit. The guy kicked in the door.”

“What did he want?”

She couldn’t believe she was standing inside a Dumpster having this unreal conversation with a man who looked as if he belonged in Hollywood, starring with Cameron Diaz. She noticed that despite the heat, he hadn’t broken a sweat. He didn’t seem to be breathing hard either, but his massive chest indicated he probably had the lung capacity of a distance runner or a marathon swimmer. However he was trying real hard not to breathe through his nose, and she didn’t blame him. It really stank here, and she would dearly love to climb out of the Dumpster and take a three-hour shower—but not so much that she’d risk him grabbing her again.

She recalled how quickly he’d defeated the other man, how big his biceps were, how fast he’d moved and kept him at arm’s length. Trying to refrain from glowering at him for displaying all that perfection which she was supposed to find irresistible, she attempted to clear up her confusion. “You weren’t working with the man in the uniform?”

Roarke shook his head and smiled that sexy smile again. “I already told you. Your brother hired me.”

His smile bounced right off her. “You can’t be serious. And I suppose Jake wants back the stuff he sent me?” she muttered sarcastically, failing to believe this wasn’t simply another ruse to persuade her to turn over the envelope to him. But what could be so valuable about the envelope’s contents that her brother thought she needed protection?

He shot her a look loaded with reasonableness. “Jake didn’t mention wanting anything back. He feared he might have inadvertently put you in danger.”

Don’t believe him. No matter how he smiled at her, Roarke Stone—if that was his real name—was making up a story, trying to coax her into trusting him so she’d give him the envelope. Mr. Perfection could take his charms and sell them elsewhere. She wasn’t buying his explanation. Wouldn’t her brother have called her if he’d thought she needed protection? It seemed rather extreme to hire her a bodyguard without even talking to her first. Of course, she hadn’t been home much since she’d been working over eighty hours a week on the new project, but Jake could have left a message at her office.

If he had the number. She didn’t have any idea if her brother knew what she did for a living or if he knew where she worked.

Roarke reached into his back pocket, pulled out a wallet and extracted a business card. She refused to step forward to take it.

He looked surprised and shocked and a tiny bit hurt at her obvious reluctance to believe him. “I can think of much more pleasant places to have this conversation.”

She was sure he could. This guy was too much. But he was so good that she almost believed him. However, she had absolutely no intention of going anywhere more pleasant with him. Not now. Not ever.

“I see no reason to talk to you at all.” Alexandra ignored the slight flush on his face as he stewed over her rejection, as if this was the first time a woman had ever turned him down. He looked so uncomfortable she almost felt sorry for him. Almost. “Why don’t you just turn around and go back to wherever you came from?”

“I’d like to, but I’m afraid I’ve already been paid.” A flash of amusement at her predicament and something else, maybe guilt, flickered in Roarke’s blue eyes. “Besides, I do have a business reputation to maintain.”

Without waiting for her reply, he bent and straightened, picking something up off the pavement. When he raised his hand higher than the lip of the Dumpster, she could see he held the blueprints she’d dropped.

“I thought these plans might be important to you. Are these papers why that man was after you?”

Alexandra uttered a very unladylike word. She’d been hoping to return to where she’d dropped her precious blueprints and recover them. Now he’d ruined that plan, too.

When he offered her the blueprints, she scampered over the edge of the Dumpster’s far side. Roarke made no move to pursue her. Instead he offered the blueprints again, that half-puzzled, half-hurt expression he did so well trying to convince her he was harmless.

When she stayed away, he shrugged. “Can’t say I blame you. I wouldn’t want bits of garbage all over them either. But then again, I wouldn’t want that man upstairs gaining free access to my apartment.”

Alexandra knew better than to return to her apartment where the other man could be waiting for her. What she wanted was to go to her car, use her cell phone and call the police. Keeping the Dumpster between them, she watched Roarke warily, hoping she might distract him enough so she could make it to her car.

As if sensing how much she distrusted him, he held up his hands and backed away another foot or two. “Don’t worry. I don’t intend to come any closer than I have to.” But he kept smiling confidently at her. A perfect smile. An interested smile. An…interested smile?

By the way he scrunched up his nose, she knew she smelled. And it just went to show how fake his offer had been when he’d suggested going somewhere pleasant to talk since he’d made it while she stank just as badly as she did right now. And if she smelled so bad, that smile plastered on his face that indicated interest was likely forced. Fake.

Mentally, she rolled her eyes. As if she’d ever believe Mr. Perfect would consider her even a remote candidate for pleasant conversation. “If you hadn’t chased me, I wouldn’t have had to climb in there.”

“I needed to make sure no one else was waiting for you downstairs.”

Yeah, sure. He cared about her safety. Uh-huh. She edged slowly toward her car, asking questions and somehow knowing he’d have a perfectly logical and innocent-sounding answer no matter what she asked. “What were you doing on my terrace?”

“The man at your front door didn’t look like any delivery man I’d ever seen.”

She strolled toward her car, and he maintained a good eight feet of distance from her. “What do you mean?”

“How many delivery guys can afford a Rolex watch and Air Jordan sneakers? His jacket bulged as if he was carrying a weapon. And he drove a rented Saturn instead of a truck.”

More lies? Or was Roarke Stone really that observant? It didn’t seem fair that the perfect face and magnificent body should have a working brain behind them to boot.

She kept walking toward her car, keys in her hand. “You still haven’t explained why you were on my back stoop.”

“Instinct.”

“What do you mean?” Casually, she unlocked her car, hoping to slip inside and lock it before Roarke prevented her from escaping.

“I figured if you were home, the man was trouble. It seemed likely you might try and leave out the back—just like you’re trying to abandon me now.” Roarke advanced, leaned inside and plucked her cell phone from the cradle and held it up. “Instinct. This what you’re looking for?”

Damn his instincts. She’d almost relaxed, thought he’d been relaxed, too. He was that good. She realized her mistake after he’d taken away her phone with lightning speed, moving too fast for her to block him.

Fear came back, sinking and swooping in her stomach. “I need to report the break-in to the cops.”

“Why?”

“Well, duh! So they can catch him.”

“That’s an admirable idea but a naive one.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “But it’s my job to protect you, and I can do that better without the local authorities interfering.”

She didn’t like the way his eyes had gone from calm to stormy, making her feel as though she was barely keeping her head above high seas. “You can protect me better than the police?”

“Absolutely.”

His self-assurance pumped another jolt of fear into her veins. This couldn’t be happening to her.

“I suggest we return to your apartment. Together.”

Together? She didn’t like the purposeful look in his eyes. Eyes that expected her to melt simply because they focused on her. And why would he take her back there? She started to back away. When he moved, he acted with a blur of speed, bracketing her wrist with his hand before she’d had a chance to jerk back.

She tugged, but might as well have tried to move a front-end loader. “Let go.”

“No can do. I’m responsible for you now.”

Sure he was. She didn’t like the sound of that self-confident declaration one bit. It was too take-charge, too commanding and way too macho, reminding her of another man in her past, one who’d hurt her badly.

Roarke tugged her gently away from her car. She stiffened her legs and almost fell on her face as he dragged her forward, her resistance futile.

Suddenly he stopped, and she almost ran into him. Roarke’s incredible patience seemed to be running out. He grimaced with distaste at her smell. Right now she was very glad she smelled, because the last thing she wanted was for this too-perfect man to find her attractive in any way.

His charming tone now held an edge. “This would be easier if you cooperated.”

“Cooperate?” She didn’t bother to hide her growing panic. Didn’t care that he looked truly sorry for causing her fear. If he didn’t want her to be scared, he could let her go. “Am I supposed to read your mind and know where we’re going? Am I supposed to know which way you intend to tug me and when?” She didn’t want to go anywhere. Especially to her apartment.

Especially with Roarke Stone.

Chapter Two

Alexandra glanced sideways at Roarke and wondered how to persuade him to head anywhere but back upstairs. Clearly, the man was used to getting his own way.

But she needed to stay in public view. Sooner or later, someone might come by, someone she could call to for help. Or maybe calling for help wouldn’t be believable—not if anyone came close enough to see Roarke’s too-handsome face. Maybe she should yell Fire.

Roarke seemed oblivious to the possibility of rescue. He stood calmly, supremely confident that everything would go his way. Yet when she looked more closely she noted that despite the stillness of his head, his eyes scanned from side to side as he half-led, half-pulled her around the building and out into the sunlight.

The big jerk. If she wouldn’t cooperate, he’d use force. No problem seemed to deter him. Alexandra gasped and yanked him to a halt.

“Now what?” Roarke sounded as though he suspected she was up to mischief.

If he was a bodyguard, which she still very much doubted, he wasn’t taking her situation seriously enough to suit her. But he seemed just too handsome and too supremely confident to be a bad guy. Alexandra had to remind herself that Ted Bundy had looked handsome throughout the trial in which he was convicted of killing several coeds. He’d looked good right up to the day the State of Florida had fried him in Old Sparky, the electric chair. Good looks had nothing to do with morals or whether one chose to be a criminal. Neither did confidence. Or arrogance.

She really didn’t like Roarke Stone. She didn’t like the way he assumed she would go along with whatever he said. She didn’t like the way he used his smile to try to convince her he was a good guy. And she especially didn’t like the way her pulse quickened at his extraordinary looks and kept making her forget how dangerous he could be.

Still, if she had to be manhandled, she preferred Roarke to the man he’d fought upstairs. The man who might have recovered and might even now be waiting for them to return. “That man might still be up there.”

“Don’t worry about him. He’s long gone.” Roarke didn’t blink one long black eyelash at her suggestion that they might be about to walk into danger. He tugged her along the sidewalk toward the steps leading up to her terrace.

“You can’t know he left,” she insisted, knowing that trying to change Roarke’s one-track mind was probably futile.

“I saw him drive away in his Saturn while you were in the Dumpster.”

Ha! She’d caught him. “So you lied to me when you said he was upstairs ransacking my apartment?”

“I said I wouldn’t want that man upstairs having free access to my apartment.” He repeated his earlier words exactly. He didn’t even bother with a sheepish grin when he added, “I didn’t say he was there.”

But he’d implied it. And his excuse seemed too convenient. Roarke must have been born with a remarkable memory to recall his own words with robotic precision. Only there was nothing robotic about the way his eyes lit up with desire when he glanced her way. Nothing robotic about the way her tummy fluttered in response.

Alexandra had met several men like him during her career. Smart. Good-looking. Self-assured. Unfortunately, one was a past boyfriend. And she’d learned not to trust a word Patrick said.

Her ex-lover had been so convincing that she’d often wondered if he had believed his own distortions of the truth. He’d been too handsome for her good—just like Roarke. She’d been naive back then. Before she’d realized that his gorgeous face hid a rotten character, he’d broken her heart. She’d learned a lesson she hadn’t forgotten.

If she could just keep Roarke spinning his tall tales, surely someone would come along soon. Someone who would notice she wasn’t willingly walking alongside him. Someone who would call the fire department when she shouted. But she didn’t yell yet, waiting for the right moment when she’d spy one of her neighbors, knowing she might only have one chance.

She tried to keep her tone conversational. As if every day strange men pulled her along the sidewalk with them. “Why didn’t you go after the man who broke into my apartment?”

“My job is to protect you.”

“Well, I’d feel a lot more protected if the bad guy was in jail instead of driving away.” Her words might be sarcastic, but in truth, she was starting to shake inside. Since she rarely came home during office hours, she hadn’t realized just how deserted the apartments were during the day. Not a curtain moved. No kids played outside.

He spoke with a confidence that didn’t reassure her. “I have the license-plate number.”

“You do?” If he’d written that down, it would help her believe he really was a bodyguard sent by her brother to protect her. Her hopes rose a notch. Surely she couldn’t be lucky enough for this guy to be legitimate. “Let’s see the number. We can call it in to the cops and let them trace it. They might lock the guy up before lunchtime.”

“First of all, I didn’t have time to write down anything.” Her hopes plummeted. With his free hand, he pointed to his temple. “I memorized the number and letter combination. And second, you have unfounded faith in a police department that’s overworked and underpaid. Have you ever reported a crime?”

“My car was stolen once.” It had taken the officers hours to come out and take her statement.

“And?”

“They found it.”

“How long did it take?”

“Three months,” she admitted, wondering how else she could stall. “If my brother Jake really hired you, tell me what he looks like.”

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 anticipate 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 who 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.

His five-o’clock shadow was sexy as sin, as was the way he focused all his attention on her with warm approval.

She gave herself a mental shake and recalled that he’d just asked her a question about Amelia Island, a popular resort just north of Jacksonville, and she had yet to respond. “You want to go to Amelia Island?”

“I meant the Caribbean Islands.”

He wanted to take her out of the country? “You can’t be serious.”

But that was a dumb thing to say. She could see by the upward lift of his eyebrow that he was dead serious.

“I don’t have a passport.”

“You only need a birth certificate.”

“Look, my work is at a very delicate stage. And while you think I’m in danger—”

“Your brother’s a private investigator. I don’t think he’d have hired me if you weren’t in some kind of trouble.” Roarke stepped back enough for her to exit the bathroom. His massive shoulders almost touched both walls of her narrow hall, leaving her only enough room to head toward her bedroom. “The best way for me to protect you is to hide you someplace where you would never go.”

“The Caribbean Islands are out of the question—not unless you drug me and carry me onto the plane, and then someone might be suspicious.”

“Be reasonable, Alexandra.”

“Reasonable?” She placed her hands on her hips and spun to face him. “You want reasonable? How about the fact that I signed a contract to oversee the construction of a skyscraper that is going to be the finest building south of the Mason-Dixon line? How about the fact that work will stop if I don’t show up tomorrow? How about the fact that everything I’ve worked my whole life to achieve will be ruined if I go off and hide in the islands with you?”

“And how about,” he threw her own words back at her, “that you’re risking your life to stay here?”

“There’s a major inspection of the building coming up in a few days. I have to be there—”

“I thought architects drew up plans. Why do you have to go to the site?”

“Designing the blueprints is only one part of my job. I’ve been hired to oversee the project to ensure the contractors adhere to my design specifications. And to do that, I have to be there when the city inspectors—”

“Look, that man came to your house, he likely knows where you work.”

“And if it’s your job to protect me, then it’ll be up to you to figure out a way to keep me safe,” she insisted.

“I’m not a miracle worker. The best way to keep you safe is to hide.”

“No can do. I designed that building with clean lines and graceful curves, so people would have better places to work. If I miss the inspections, some man may think the day-care center isn’t necessary and turn it into an exercise room.”

“Is the building more important than your life? Are you determined to end up dead?”

Chapter Three

Alexandra sank onto the bed and dropped her face into her hands. Some things were worth dying for: protecting a loved one; fighting for a just cause; defending one’s homeland. But an inanimate object such as her beautiful skyscraper wasn’t worth her life.

And yet, Roarke could be blowing matters out of proportion to make her more malleable. When he couldn’t sweet-talk her into doing what he’d wanted, he’d changed tactics. He gone from charming to take-charge so fast that her thoughts spun. And he sounded so sure she was putting her life at risk that he’d almost convinced her. Almost.

Yet, the man who’d broken through her front door had only wanted the envelope Jake sent her. He’d specifically said he wouldn’t hurt her. She might not be in any danger at all.

Roarke stood quietly inside her bedroom door, allowing her time to think. While she appreciated his silence, she wondered if it was a deliberate attempt to frighten her into doing what he wanted.

His presence alone seemed to be wearing her down. An hour ago, before her shower, she’d worried that Roarke might physically assault her. Now he stood in her bedroom and she had little fear of him. Of course he’d just oh-so-sweetly, oh-so-innocently warned her that she might risk her life unless she did as he asked, and she couldn’t help wondering once again if he’d done so deliberately. Was his intention to keep her off balance? Frighten her into leaving her work?

She dropped her hands to her lap, squared her shoulders and lifted her head until their eyes met. Usually she was good at reading people, but he stood so still, so composed, letting his gorgeous face do his persuading for him. And his blue, blue eyes gave away nothing.

“I’m not leaving the country.”

“Then we go to plan B.”

He surprised her by adapting to her refusal so easily. “Plan B?”

“We find a place to hide here. I’ll find someone to keep you safe while I figure out who wants to hurt you. And why.”

Alexandra shook her head. “I can’t go into hiding.” She’d already lost most of the afternoon, a good part of her work day. Her construction schedule demanded that she keep to it or cost overruns would occur. She needed to complete her first building on time, within budget. “I should have gone back to my office this afternoon. But I must be on the job site tomorrow morning at 6:00 a.m. sharp.”

Roarke let out a long sigh and glanced at her sideways, no doubt checking to see if she noticed his extraordinary patience with her. “I don’t like plan C. It’s risky. It means hiding you someplace different every night. It means you wear a bullet-proof vest. It means protecting you—”

“I don’t think anyone is after me.” Alexandra stood, turned toward her bed and kneeled. She pulled a small suitcase out from under her mattress.

She could feel his eyes drilling into her back searchingly. When she glanced up at him, his plastic expression changed to one of feigned interest in her opinion. “Why?”

“Because as that man chased me through my house, he said he only wanted the stuff my brother sent me.”

He shot her a conspiratorial smile as if they shared a joke. “And you believe him?”

“I’m not sure what I believe.” She shrugged and unzipped the carry-on bag. She kept travel-size toiletries ready to go, so she just needed to pack a few changes of clothes. “But I don’t intend to spend another night here where I can be easily found.” She glared at him defiantly. “I’m going to a friend’s house.”

She tossed the envelope Jake had sent her onto the bed along with clothes, a second pair of shoes and a long T-shirt to sleep in. She expected Roarke to protest. Instead he walked over to her bed; she ignored him. Without a doubt, a man like him didn’t get ignored often. He shifted from foot to foot, and she gave him six seconds to try to change her mind.

“You’d be safer if you stayed with me.”

He’d lasted two and a half. But she remained silent, knowing if she gave him reasons, he’d argue and wear her down.

When she said nothing, he eyed the envelope with curiosity. “Did that come from your brother?”

She saw no point in denying it when he need merely flip it over and read the return address. “Yes.”

“May I look?”

He was sweetly asking her permission? She didn’t understand the man. He’d ordered her to take a shower, threatened to do it himself if she didn’t, then when she’d boldly said no to his plan A and plan B, he hadn’t argued. Much. Hadn’t insisted on doing everything his way.

And now he was asking permission to look at her personal papers? He seemed capable of adapting faster than she could take her next breath.

Maybe he would see something important in the papers that she had missed. “Sure, go ahead and take a look. I have no idea what the fuss is all about. Maybe I should just have given the intruder what he wanted.”

“That wouldn’t have been a good idea.”

“Why not? Then he’d leave me alone.”

He picked up the envelope. “Jake thinks your mother gave her life to protect this information.”

She frowned at his serious expression. Once again he’d surprised her by directing the topic of conversation in a brand-new direction. “My mother?”

“Your biological mother.”

“Oh.” Alexandra had no memories of the woman who’d given birth to her and thought of her adopted mother as her Mom. Although she’d never been told how her biological mother had died, Roarke spoke as if she’d been involved in some kind of crusade. Alexandra had gone through the pictures and read some of the papers that Jake had sent, but she’d seen no obvious cause that her mother might have been caught up in.

To think that the woman who’d given her birth had felt so passionately about something that she’d risked her own life gave Alexandra a measure of pain and pride. Pain that she and her siblings meant less to her mother than a cause. Pain that the family had been split up. Pride that her mother believed in something so strongly she would risk her life.

Roarke removed the documents and looked at the old black-and-white photographs first. He studied each one for a long time, as if memorizing details before moving on to the next. Eventually he put them aside and perused the birth certificates. Finally, he turned to the pages from her mother’s diary.

Alexandra finished packing as he skimmed, wondering if he’d find them more interesting than she had. The pages seemed dull to her, full of chitchat about people she didn’t know. None of the material seemed terribly important, nothing controversial or political.

Roarke looked up suddenly but his thoughts seemed far away. He carefully placed all the items back into the envelope and handed them to her. “On the surface, the information seems innocent enough.”

“What do you mean by ‘on the surface?”’

“The diary pages seem stilted. Either your mother was a poor writer or she might have been using a code. It’s also possible that a microdot might be imbedded in the paper.”

She looked up sharply. “What?”

“It’s a decades-old technique used to send covert information.”

How did he know this stuff? Suddenly she wondered just why her brother had picked this man to protect her. What kind of life had he led? Where had he come from?

Obviously, he was well educated. And just as obviously he knew about guns and electronic microphones. She suspected he used that face and body to hide his keen intelligence.

She focused on the new details, thinking hard. “Who would care about old information after so many years? And besides, my brother said these papers are copies.”

“Just because they’re copies doesn’t mean they shouldn’t be carefully guarded.”

“I don’t understand. Why can’t we make copies, keep one set, give the other set to the bad guys and hope they leave me alone?”

“Look, suppose the papers include the directions to make some kind of weapon? Would we want our enemies or terrorists to have a copy?”

Weapons? Terrorists? She swallowed hard. “I see what you mean.”

“Eventually we may have to take these papers to a friend of mine who is good with codes, but meanwhile, I suggest we make a duplicate set and put them in a very safe place. We have to make sure neither copy falls into the wrong hands.”

He’d said we, and she wasn’t sure if she wanted him to know where she was going to conceal the documents. But then again, if he’d come for the papers, he could have taken them. While his verbal attempts to convince her to trust him had failed, his actions spoke louder. For the first time she really thought he might be telling her the truth. Her brother might indeed have hired him. And that meant her brother really did think she might be in danger.

As she thought over the implications and considered several hiding places, she lifted her packed bag onto the bed and then picked up her phone. “I need to phone my friend and tell her I’m spending the night.”

Again he plucked the phone from her fingertips. “Not from here.”

Just when she almost believed his story, he did something suspicious. She didn’t want to ride in a car with him until she’d told at least one person where she was and who was with her. “Why not from here?”

“Just a precaution. Your phone might be bugged.”

Another silver-tongued lie? Or was he really trying to keep her safe? “Why don’t you open the receiver and check?”

“Because while there might be a device placed inside your phone, there are several other ways to eavesdrop electronically. A satellite could pick up your call if you use a portable phone like this one. So could a van parked two blocks away. Or a device could be placed in the line connecting your house to the phone company.”

He had an answer for everything. Who was this guy? He sounded like a master spy or a very convincing storyteller.

And she had no idea what she should do next. Go along with him and hope he stopped at a pay phone? Or scream bloody murder and hope someone called the police?

ROARKE READ the suspicion in her eyes, beautiful whiskey-colored eyes that reminded him of the changing color of autumn leaves in Virginia. As the golden hues darkened to a vibrant amber, Alexandra’s wariness returned with the same steadiness with which winter followed fall.

He should never have accepted a mission over the phone. Roarke knew better. But he’d been eager to show Jake Cochran how good he was. Jake ran a huge P.I. agency that was about to expand nationwide, and Roarke needed steady work.

He should have thought it odd that with all of her brother’s connections in the business, Jake had asked Roarke to protect his sister. But Roarke now knew why her brother had chosen him. And it scared him right down to his bones.

Jake must have researched Roarke’s background. Through his resources, he might have learned of Roarke’s service in the Central Intelligence Agency. He had been a case officer in Bangkok, chief of station in Amsterdam, chief of operations for Africa, and finally chief of counter terrorism.

Did Jake suspect terrorists were after his sister? Had he hired Roarke because he’d once specialized in such things? Roarke should have asked more questions, and now Jake wasn’t answering his phone. Another sign that something bigger than Roarke had expected might be happening.

Roarke had quit his job at the CIA to get away from those types of deadly operations. He no longer wanted to live with the indiscriminate killings, with having to send good men and women to their deaths. Roarke had had enough of death. But death might be stalking his client.

However, he saw no reason to share his knowledge or suspicions with Alexandra. While the woman had a great deal of courage, she disliked him for some reason. He supposed that, under the circumstances, he should have expected some mistrust. But he was frustrated that every time he thought he might be making progress, she withdrew from his friendly overtures. Although obviously intelligent, she didn’t seem to believe a word he said.

Puzzling. Roarke had often used his intelligence, his looks and his sex appeal in the world of espionage to coax information out of unsuspecting women for his country’s benefit. But Alexandra wasn’t most women.

Roarke wondered if she could sense the greatest failure of his life. Could she smell the mess that had soiled a pristine career? Fifty-five people had died in the embassy bombing because of a decision he’d made. But when he closed his eyes, just one face haunted him, that of Sydney, his fiancée, an embassy translator whose dreams had been cut short.

Hours after the disaster, he’d found her in the rubble, and she’d looked as though she were sleeping. No blood. No broken bones or grotesquely bent limbs. No grievous injuries. She’d looked perfect. Only she hadn’t been breathing.

The autopsy report said she’d suffered a broken neck. She’d died instantly. He took no comfort in that. She hadn’t had time to say goodbye. Hadn’t had time to live. She’d been only twenty-five years old.

And he’d blamed himself. For five years he’d had to live with the knowledge that he could have prevented her death. A useless death in an African nation most Americans had never heard of and didn’t care about.

Sydney had cared. And she’d paid for her caring with her life. All because of him. Sick at heart, he’d resigned.

Now, he preferred to protect people by risking his own neck. But he hadn’t considered that this level of expertise might be needed when he accepted the job of protecting Alexandra. Roarke now sensed something very dangerous about her situation.

To be safe, she should go into hiding—but she’d refused, insisting on attending the inspection of her building and risking her life. Just as Sydney had refused to leave her job at the embassy when the country had erupted into violence.

Roarke wasn’t about to lose another woman, especially one entrusted into his care. But maybe he was being over-cautious after his experiences in Africa. Perhaps Alexandra was right. Maybe the intruder had wanted just the package, not her.

His job would be easier if Alexandra trusted him, so he’d make concessions. He would agree to let her go to the inspection for now. He’d let her spend the night with a friend for tonight.

She was scowling at him as she slung her bag over her shoulder. He would have offered to carry it for her, but he needed to keep his hands free. “We’re at our most vulnerable point as we leave your apartment. Stay close.”

He drew his gun from his holster and placed the weapon in his pocket. Alexandra lagged behind. He turned to see her gazing wistfully at the phone. “Come on. I’ve a cell phone in my car parked two blocks away.” While a normal cell phone was easy to eavesdrop on, his had special modifications. “You can use mine.”

She should have been grateful. Instead, the scowl lines on her forehead deepened. He wondered why he longed to rub the scowl lines away. Or to assure her he would keep her safe. He should never have taken a job to protect a woman. Since Sydney’s death, he’d roamed the world taking random assignments, rescuing a kidnapped businessman in Colombia, protecting an Arab sheik in Qatar, helping a Jewish family emigrate from Russia. But he’d never guarded a woman. Especially one who reminded him of Sydney.

In looks they were nothing alike. Sydney had had blond hair, hazel eyes and lush curves on her five-foot-two frame. Alexandra was taller, slimmer, delicate despite her height, which he guessed was about five-foot-eight. While she had the most amazing almond-colored eyes with droplets of gold fire, it was her spirit that reminded him of Sydney. Both women cared passionately about their work.

While Sydney had wanted to make the world a better place to live in, Alexandra dreamed of building better places for people to work in. Every time she glanced at her blueprints, her eyes softened and took on a dreamy warmth. He wondered how he’d feel if she ever looked at him like that.

Instead she preferred to give him frowns and scowls of disbelief. If she thought his offer to let her use his cell phone was simply a ruse to get her into his car, she’d find out differently. He hadn’t resorted to violence when she’d kicked his shin. He hadn’t barged in on her shower. He intended to keep his word to her. Eventually she would learn that he was a man of honor.

He reached out, took her wrist and tugged her beside him. “When I say close, I mean close.”

“Okay. O-kay.”

He dropped her wrist before she yanked back, giving her a moment to make up her own mind. Not that she had a choice, and he supposed she knew that and didn’t like it, but she adjusted to his demand. Under no circumstances would he compromise her safety.

He hesitated by her front door. While he wanted her to trust him, he knew better. He looked into those magnificent eyes and knew no explanation would suffice. She was as stubborn as two mules. So he resorted to what had worked before—a threat. “When it comes to your safety, I’ll do whatever is necessary to keep you alive—even if that means tying your hands behind your back, gagging you, tossing you over my shoulder and carrying you out of here.”

Her eyes flashed yellow darts of fire. “You’re a Neanderthal!”

“When I say cooperate, it’s not to hear myself talk.” He made his voice soothing to take away the sting of his words. Peering back down the empty hallway, he hoped she might accept his explanation now that he’d knocked away her complacence. He needed her wary—but not of him. “If someone starts shooting, I want you close enough so I can protect you with my body. Understand?”

Her eyes widened and she swallowed hard. Her fingers tightly clutched the strap of her bag, but for once, she didn’t argue.

They walked out of her apartment into the hot, humid air, and his every nerve cell fired on alert. The apartment faced a busy two-lane highway, but after exiting her place, they took a side egress that led to a smaller street and a subdivision of modest houses. He scanned ahead, from side to side, looking for the slightest movement, a shadow that didn’t belong, a glint of metal reflecting off a weapon.

“It looks good,” he murmured softly as they stepped onto a brick sidewalk outside her complex. “Just another two blocks—”

An ice-cream truck drove by, and Roarke stepped behind a giant magnolia and pulled her with him. Mixing with the scent of magnolia blossoms, he took in the scent of her vanilla shampoo and a floral deodorant. She smelled good. Too good. And he realized that if anyone was hunting them from downwind, they’d smell her in the dark at twenty yards.

He’d have to educate her. He reminded himself once again that she knew nothing about surveillance, terrorism and counterterrorism. She lived in a world where people locked their doors and believed they were safe from prying eyes. She lived in a world where people didn’t sleep with a gun under their pillow, another under the mattress and a knife on the nightstand. She lived in a world where she could go to sleep knowing she’d awaken safe in the morning.

Except someone believed she had something valuable in her possession. And they might be willing to kill to get it.

Danger came from an unexpected direction. Not a van of terrorists across the street, but an SUV driven by a harried-looking mother.

As the woman, her SUV filled with noisy kids and groceries, pulled up to the curb, she waved to Alexandra. And Alexandra’s face wore a too-wide smile.

It was the first time he’d seen her grin. A grin that lit up her sparkling topaz eyes and brightened her oval face. He automatically knew she was up to no good.

Damn it! She didn’t trust him, and she was about to engage her neighbor in a conversation. Didn’t she realize that whoever was after her would return? Ask questions? Just by talking to the woman, Alexandra could be putting her neighbor and her kids in danger.

Without hesitating, Roarke did the first thing he could think of to keep her from calling out a hello. He swung her around, took her into his arms and kissed her full on the mouth.

Her lips parted under his. In surprise?

He meant to pull away as soon as the neighbor drove on by. He meant to pull back and explain why he had to stop her from talking to her neighbor. He meant the kiss to distract her from verbally calling out attention to either of them. But his resolution flew by the wayside the moment his lips touched hers.

She was amazing.

Alexandra fitted against him as if she were made for him. Without awkwardness, without a jostling of hips, noses or elbows. She fitted exactly right. Seemingly of their own accord, his arms drew her closer.

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