Hidden Hearts. Susan Kearney

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      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. СКАЧАТЬ