Hidden Hearts. Susan Kearney

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      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 СКАЧАТЬ