Dangerous Passions. Brenda Harlen

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      She shook her head. “You probably think I’m a nutcase.”

      On the contrary, he was starting to believe she was right. Someone had been in her room, looking around, searching for something.

      But what?

      And why was the patio door left open?

      Unless whoever was in her room wanted her to know he’d been there. That was a far more sinister possibility than a random burglary attempt.

      “I thought I heard you ask the manager about moving to another room.”

      “I did, but there aren’t any vacancies in the hotel.”

      “You could stay with me.”

      She eyed him warily.

      He smiled, trying to put her at ease. “As much as I’d like to pick up where we left off, it’s not an offer with any strings attached. There are two beds in my room, too.”

      But she shook her head, rejecting the offer. “I’m sorry for the way things ended. I didn’t mean to mislead you, but I really just want to be alone right now.”

      “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

      “I’ll be fine.”

      She sounded as if she believed it, but she didn’t know the truth about who he was and why he was in Florida. She didn’t know that she might be in real danger.

      Would she believe him if he told her now? Would she be willing to accept his help and his protection? Or would she feel betrayed by his deception?

      Not that he’d intended to deceive her. He’d never intended to make contact with her at all. His instructions had been simply to watch out for her, but from a distance. Lieutenant Dylan Creighton—now Shannon’s sister’s fiancé—had instructed Mike to be discreet in his surveillance so as not to alarm Shannon unnecessarily.

      Mike believed the break-in justified sounding the alarm. But as much as he wanted to share his suspicions with her, to make sure she understood how serious the situation could be, he had to talk to his client first.

      “Please,” she said. “I’d like you to go.”

      “Okay.” He relented to her request only because he had no intention of going any farther than the hall and he wanted to call Dylan without Shannon overhearing the conversation.

      “Thank you,” she said stiffly.

      He wanted to reach out to her, to offer her comfort and reassurance. But her spine was rigid, her arms crossed over her chest in a defensive and distinctively hands-off posture. He turned away. “Lock up behind me.”

      He stood outside the door, waited to hear the lock click into place, then reached for his cell phone. He powered it up, only to have it beep once and shut down again.

      Damn.

      The battery was dead and the spare was in his room upstairs. He tucked the useless phone back into his pocket and leaned back against the wall. The door directly across the hall was clearly marked Stairs. He could run up to his room to retrieve the extra battery and be back within five minutes.

      But still he hesitated, his instincts warning him not to leave her, not even for five minutes. Was it worry about Shannon’s safety that made him so reluctant to step away from her? Or were his instincts off-kilter because of the desire still pulsing in his veins?

      He mentally cursed again.

      This was exactly the reason he’d tried so hard to keep his distance from her. Because personal involvement interfered with objectivity, and emotional responses led to mistakes. It was a lesson he’d learned in Righaria, when his mistake had cost his best friend’s life, and when his guilt over Brent’s death cost him the woman he loved.

      He pushed aside the past to concentrate on the present. He was here now to protect Shannon—everything else was secondary.

      But he’d be better able to protect her if he could tell her the truth, and he couldn’t do that until he’d spoken to Dylan Creighton. And he couldn’t talk to Dylan without returning to his room for the spare battery.

      He glanced back at her door, hesitated.

      He’d checked the locks on the windows himself, heard her flip the security bar into place. She was safe inside, probably already in bed—

      He shoved that thought aside and headed for the stairwell, taking the steps two at a time.

      Only five minutes.

      Shannon stared at the back of the door for a long moment after Michael had gone, wishing she’d let him stay. She already missed his comforting presence, his reassuring strength, but she wasn’t used to relying on anyone else or asking for help. Despite his offer, she was determined to stand on her own.

      But somehow that conviction was harder to find when she was alone.

      She made a quick tour of the room again, confirmed there was nothing missing. That fact bothered her more than if she’d come back to her room and found all her personal items gone. Not that she had much, and certainly nothing of significant value, but she couldn’t believe a thief wouldn’t have at least scooped up the loose change on the dresser.

      Maybe Michael was right. Maybe no one had been in her room except a member of the hotel staff. She wanted to believe this explanation, but she still couldn’t shake the unease as she moved into the bathroom to get ready for bed.

      Looking into the mirror, she was startled by the reflection that stared back. Her hair was tousled from Michael’s fingers running through it, her mouth red and swollen from his kisses.

      She pressed her fingers to her lips, hard, trying to erase the feel of his mouth against hers. She looked like a wanton woman—hardly surprising considering the fact that she’d acted like one. And although she knew she should be embarrassed by her behavior, she only regretted the way the evening had ended.

      But despite her resolution to live for the moment and regardless of how much she wanted him, she knew that having sex with Michael would have been a mistake.

      The knowledge was little comfort when she continued to ache with wanting, when something inside her cried out against the injustice of a promise unfulfilled. Shannon shook off the feeling and moved back into the bedroom. Hopefully everything would be back to normal in the morning.

      She opened the drawer to retrieve her nightshirt, her heart rising in her throat as her fingers tightened around the silk garment.

      It was inside out.

      Again, it was a small thing, but she knew without a doubt that when she’d put it away, it had been right-side out. Someone had definitely been here, gone through the dresser, pawed through her things.

      Another shiver snaked up her spine.

      Why?

      She shoved the silk back into the drawer, trying not to think about the possible answers to that question. She would sleep in her СКАЧАТЬ