Fortune's Forbidden Woman. Heidi Betts

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      It was almost midnight and the windows were dark, but Creed Fortune couldn’t have cared less. He stomped up the steps to Maya’s town house and pounded on the door with the side of his fist.

      To hell with the doorbell. To hell with the fact that she was probably sound asleep. He wanted to talk to her, and he wanted to do it now.

      Where did she get off telling him he’d ruined her for ever going to bed with a man?

      She sure hadn’t had any trouble attracting the opposite sex in high school, not once she’d begun to fill out with those soft, feminine curves and grown into her striking half-Yankton-Sioux features. The long, black hair, chocolate-brown doe eyes and ripe little body had had boys panting after her like a mare in heat.

      He pounded again, louder and longer this time. Across the street a dog barked, and inside he thought he heard movement. A second later a light flicked on and the door swung open.

      He took a moment to hope she’d checked the peephole first, then rational thought spun away as he took in her tousled hair, drowsy eyes and the short, faded nightshirt that seemed to cling in all the right places.

      With a tired sigh, she leaned against the edge of the door and let her lashes flutter to half-mast. “Now what do you want, Creed? In case you hadn’t noticed, it’s the middle of the night and some people are trying to sleep.”

      “At least we know you’re sleeping alone, don’t we?”

      A spark flashed in her narrowed eyes. “Go to hell,” she said, and made a move to slam the door in his face.

      He stuck out his booted foot, blocking the motion. It didn’t keep her from pressing forward and throwing her body against the heavy wood.

      “Get your foot out of the door, Creed. Go bother someone else and let me go back to bed.”

      He added his knee and upper body to the battle, causing her to grunt as he pushed her back and forced his way into the house. Kicking the door closed behind him, he leaned against it and crossed his arms over his chest. Maya did the same, retreating several steps until she’d put what he was sure she felt was a safe distance between them.

      “Adding forced entry to your résumé these days?” she asked belligerently.

      He shrugged, keeping his face blank even as heat started to pump through his blood and pool near the region of his groin. Dammit, why did she have to be so beautiful?

      She was his stepsister, for God’s sake. Not related by blood in any way, but related through the marriage of his father to her mother.

      No matter how you cut it, she was forbidden fruit, and he had no business lusting after her. No business at all.

      Never mind that he’d secretly been doing just that since she’d hit puberty. He was ten years too old for her, and supposed to play the part of big brother, but still he’d wanted her.

      Why did she have to grow up in so many interesting places? Why couldn’t she have remained a plain and gawky child forever?

      Tamping down his errant thoughts, he kicked away from the door and headed toward her. “If I have to,” he said in answer to her question.

      “What are you doing, Creed?” She continued her backward shuffle, occasionally bumping into the wall or glancing behind her to make sure the path was clear. “Why are you here?”

      “Do I need a reason?” he asked, never breaking eye contact.

      “Yes. You do. Have you found out something about my mother? If so, tell me and then get out. Otherwise, just get out.”

      They both stopped moving. One corner of his mouth lifted in a humorless half grin. Since when had she become so good at telling him off and ordering him around? It certainly was a change from the quiet, meek girl she’d been when they were kids.

      “No, nothing about your mother. The private investigators are still working on it. I’m here because of what you said on the phone.”

      Her expression flickered, the hard, angry glint in her eyes being replaced by wary uncertainty. He even thought he saw a touch of pink color her high cheekbones.

      “I ruined you for other men?” he pressed. “Just what the hell is that supposed to mean?”

      She flinched. A small, almost imperceptible motion, and the only sign that she was uncomfortable with the topic of conversation. But he caught it, and some part of him reveled in his ability to shake her.

      “Nothing.” Her voice was low and she gave one quick, jerky shake of her head. “It doesn’t mean anything. I was tired and worried about my mom. I didn’t know what I was saying.”

      Valiant effort, but he didn’t buy it.

      He took another step forward. “Guess that means Brad isn’t getting any, huh? Nearly a year of sniffing around your skirts, and he gets nothing for his trouble. Poor, pathetic loser.”

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