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Something told her there was more to Killian Shawnessy than met the eye. And whatever that something was, she intended to find out.
For now she’d wait. And while she was waiting, there was no reason not to enjoy the scenery.
She breathed in the scent of pine and damp leaves that drifted on the evening breeze. It had finally cooled down, and the air was comfortable, fresh and soft from the storm. Crickets came to life with their rhythmic night music, and bullfrogs joined in as background chorus.
This was as far from the city as a person could get, Cara thought, letting herself relax against the porch rail. No bumper-to-bumper traffic, no police sirens, no screaming arguments from the married couple in the apartment next to hers.
The quiet was wonderful, she told herself. Exactly what she needed.
It was going to drive her crazy.
She needed sound. Horns honking, the pounding beat of rock and roll, the blare of a television set. She’d been raised with noise, lots of it, and loud. She needed it to unwind, especially after a day like the one she’d had. But there was no TV, not even a radio in the cabin, and she’d have to settle for crickets and frogs.
A shower would help, and she decided to risk a quick one. She figured she had at least another hour before Shawnessy showed up, and it would be easier to face him if she were clean and dressed in something other than military fatigues. A suit of armor, maybe.
She jumped at the sound of the phone ringing from inside the cabin, then hurried to answer it, locking the door securely behind her. She doubted a simple lock would keep Shawnessy out, but it might give her an extra couple of seconds to compose herself when he finally showed up. She almost laughed out loud at that thought. She’d had more than an hour and she wasn’t ready to face the man. A couple of seconds would hardly matter.
She grabbed the phone on the third ring. “Hello?”
“Cara?” Margaret’s voice was heavy with concern. “Are you all right, dear? Peter and I were worried when you didn’t call earlier.”
“I’m fine,” she replied, though that wasn’t completely truthful. “But I’m afraid there’s been a little change in our plans.”
Tanner’s Tavern was dark and smoky. The gravelly wail of a country-western singer poured from a corner jukebox, while a pinball competition brought whoops and hollers from three men crowded around the clanging, lightsflashing machines at the back of the bar.
Lucas Blackhawk was bent over the cue ball, eyes narrowed while he set up his shot.
“Hey, Lucas.” Nick casually chalked his cue on the opposite side of the table. “Did I mention that Ian was entertaining a beautiful woman in his cabin when I stopped by this afternoon?”
Lucas pitched forward, miscued and sank the cue ball. He glanced up sharply from the pool table. “What did you say?”
Ian tightened his hand around the cue stick he held and did his best to ignore the two sets of dark eyes focused on him. He’d known it was coming, of course. He’d been waiting for Nick to razz him about this afternoon ever since Lucas walked in thirty minutes ago. Ian was only surprised Nick had waited so long, but realized that he’d been waiting until Lucas was about to sink the game ball. Five bucks was five bucks, after all.
And now he’d never hear the end of it.
“A woman,” Nick repeated. “As in female. As in dropdead gorgeous. As in hot.”
Ian moved to rack the balls, thought about slipping the wooden triangle over Nick’s head and twisting. “Shut up, Santos.”
Lucas straightened slowly and lifted one brow. “No kidding. So who is she?”
Ian knew they wouldn’t go away if he ignored them, and besides, from past experience, he knew that the more evasive he was, the more curious they would be.
“No one you know.” Ian scooped up the balls and dropped them into the rack. “She’s on vacation, renting the cabin next to mine, and we ran into each other by the lake.”
Nick leaned closer to Lucas. “He tried to get rid of me before she came out of the bathroom dripping wet.”
Both brows raised now, Lucas stared at Ian. “Dripping wet?”
“We got caught in the storm,” Ian said through clenched teeth. “She was drying off in the bathroom, that’s all. She was fully clothed, for God’s sake.”
She had been fully clothed, Ian recalled, but her tank top had been tight over her full breasts, and she would have won a wet-T-shirt contest hands down. He forced the image from his mind, replaced it with the memory of her crushing her boot into his foot. It still throbbed.
Nick grinned. “She called him honey and darling.”
Lucas’s jaw went slack. “Ian’s only been in town three days and he’s already got himself a woman in his little mountain hideaway? You’re putting me on.”
Nick raised three fingers. “Scout’s honor. Her name’s Cara Sinclair. Blond hair, green eyes and a body that would make you—”
“Shut up, Santos,” Ian warned. “And for a man who’s getting married, you sure noticed a hell of a lot.”
“A beautiful woman walks out of your bathroom and I’m not supposed to notice?” Nick leaned on his cue stick and gave a snort of disbelief. “Besides, I had to pay attention. Lucas wasn’t there to share in the moment, and I figured he’d want details.”
“Lucas has better things to do than listen to you yammer on about something that was nothing.” Ian moved around the table to break. They weren’t going to let this drop, he thought irritably. One more reason to dislike Miss Cara Sinclair.
“I haven’t got anything better to do,” Lucas said. “Julianna went with Maggie for their final fittings on their dresses, and they took the twins.” Lucas grinned at Ian. “So she really called you honey?”
Ian broke hard and the balls exploded against the table’s cushions. “Both of you can either put a sock in it and play pool, or I can leave and you two sweethearts can bat your eyes at each other and fantasize some more about my love life.”
“He’s jealous because she recognized me,” Nick whispered loudly to Lucas. “She told me she’s a fan of mine, and that she thinks I’m amazing.”
“That does it.” Ian threw his cue on the table, as annoyed with his friends as he was with himself for letting them get to him. “I’ve got better things to do than stand around here playing games with you girls.”
“I’ll bet you do,” Nick said cheerfully. “And don’t worry, I’ll call before I stop by next time, lover boy.”
Ian’s response was simple and earthy, and Nick merely laughed. Ian decided he’d let them get it out of their system without him around. He stomped out of the bar into the parking lot toward the truck Nick had loaned him to drive for the two weeks he was visiting. The pickup was old, the paint worn, but the engine had been rebuilt. From a stop light he could leave a Porsche behind, reading his license plate.
He tightened his fingers around the steering wheel, revved the engine, then spun dirt and gravel coming out of the parking lot. He enjoyed the power of the machine under his hands. She took the curves like a dream, and by the time he reached the main dirt road that led to the lake, he felt in control again. Something he hadn’t felt since that Sinclair woman walked out of his bathroom this afternoon.
He pulled off the dirt road onto a long driveway, shut off the headlights and cut the engine as he neared the cabin.
He needed one thing, and one thing only, from Miss Cara Sinclair—the truth. He wasn’t leaving until he got it.
Three
Cara washed her hair twice, then dumped half a bottle of conditioner on the tangled mess, letting it soak in while she scoured her body with a liquid raspberry gel squeezed into a puffy ball of nylon. Even a practical girl deserved a few luxuries, she thought, sighing with pleasure as the hot water rinsed away the grime and sweat of her afternoon encounter with Ian. She knew better than to let herself relax under the invigorating spray; as it was, she’d taken too much time already, and regretfully, couldn’t risk a long, leisurely shower. But even a few minutes was better than none, and at least she’d be clean.
And she’d also be able to think straight again, something she’d had trouble with since her first tangle with Ian in the cattails. It still irked her that he’d surprised her as he had, that he’d sneaked up so quietly, so smoothly, and overpowered her. Her pride was wounded, true, but more than that, he’d piqued her curiosity. She couldn’t let go of the feeling that there was something amiss with the man, something that went well beneath the surface. And the more she thought about it, about him—which was constantly—the more curious she became.
Still, she wasn’t here to be curious about Ian, she told herself, washing the last of the soapy suds from her skin. She’d come here to find him. The fact that he’d found her, as well, was inconvenient, but still didn’t change anything.
Quickly she rinsed her hair, then turned off the water and grabbed one of the two white towels she’d tossed over the shower curtain bar. Bending at the waist, she wrapped her hair in the soft towel, then reached for the second one.
It wasn’t there.
She was reaching around the shower curtain to retrieve the fallen towel when it appeared in front of her face.
“Looking for this?”
Ian!
With a small squeak, Cara snatched the towel from his hand while she darted back behind the shower curtain and covered herself. Damn, damn, damn! He’d gone through two locked doors. “Get out of here!”
No reply. “Ian?” Still no response. After another long, silent moment, she peeked around the shower curtain. Arms folded, he stood with his back against the closed bathroom door. Steam swirled around his long, muscular body. He’d changed into a black T-shirt that stretched tight over his broad chest. His eyes were dark and narrowed as he met her gaze, and she swallowed hard. He looked like the devil himself.
“Mr. Shawnessy, would you please remove yourself from this bathroom?” she asked tightly.
He slowly raised one dark brow. “What happened to ‘honey’ and ‘darling’?”
Since he obviously had the upper hand here, she’d humor him. For the moment, at least. “All right.” She sucked in a breath. “Darling, would you please get out of here?”
He pressed his lips together thoughtfully. “No.”
He was laughing at her! She could see the amusement in his eyes. The shower curtain twisted in her clenched fist. She’d murder him. As soon as she had some clothes on.
“Ian,” she mewed sweetly through clenched teeth. “Honey, would you please leave this bathroom and wait for me in the living room while I get dressed?”
Dropping his arms, he pushed away from the door and moved toward her. She swallowed the gasp in her throat, refusing to let him see her fear, but preparing herself to fight him off if necessary. She clutched the shower curtain tightly to her, but held his gaze as he moved in front of her. Her breath caught when he reached out and captured one long strand of hair that had escaped from under the towel on her head. His knuckles skimmed her shoulders while he gently rubbed the wet hair between his thumb and forefinger.
He leaned close, and she felt his warm breath fan over her cheek. “Call me ‘sweetheart’, and I’ll leave.”
He was playing a game with her, Cara knew that. And as much as she wanted to kill him for it, she also found it exciting, like nothing she’d ever experienced before. She stood naked in the shower, with only a thin, plastic shower curtain and towel separating her from this stranger, a man she’d never laid eyes on until a few hours ago. Her heart pounded furiously; she could barely catch her breath. Her wet skin felt hot and tight.
“Sweetheart,” she whispered, still refusing to break contact with his eyes.
Immediately she wanted to snatch the single word back. The amusement she’d seen in his eyes only moments ago darkened to something else entirely. Something dangerous and primitive. It felt as if the tiny room were closing in on them. Steam swirled around their bodies like a wispy veil of desire. He still held her hair between his fingers, and she felt connected to him through the wet strands. When he brushed his knuckles over her collarbone, she shivered.
“Tell me how you got out of those ropes,” he said softly.
She kept her eyes steady, in spite of the fear slithering up her spine. “Are you going to tie me up again?”
He smiled slowly. “Not unless you ask me to.”
Frowning, she lifted her chin at him. “Don’t flatter yourself…I was the Houdini act in my neighborhood amateur talent show when I was growing up. My record for escape was two minutes, twenty-seven seconds. I won three years running. Now will you please get out of my bathroom?”
He hesitated, then released her hair and stepped away. “You’ve got five minutes. If you haven’t come out, I’ll be back.”
The breath she’d been holding slowly escaped when he closed the door behind him. She stared for several long seconds.
Five minutes.
His ultimatum seeped into her numb brain, and she sprang into action, not even bothering to dry her still-damp skin before she dragged on a pair of blue jeans and a white button-up shirt. She yanked the towel from her hair and tugged a comb through the tangled mess, thankful that she’d used’ conditioner. She could escape rope knots any day, but the knots in her hair were something else all together.
Blast the man for catching her off guard like that!
Hands on his hips, Ian paced the small living room. He had no idea exactly what had just taken place in the bathroom, but he knew he didn’t like it one little bit. He’d intended to rattle the woman, but all he’d ended up doing was rattling himself. He’d been messing with her when he told her to call him sweetheart, but when she had, and her voice had sounded so breathless, all he’d wanted to do was kiss her. And when her eyes got all soft and dewy when he’d touched her hair, Lord help him, he nearly had.
Damn if he still didn’t want to kiss her.
But he also wanted to throttle her. Not only because she’d been lying to him and spying on him, but because she was so casual about it. She could at least have the decency to appear just a little afraid. A strange man standing in her bathroom while she’s taking a shower and she didn’t even scream or cry.
Not that he’d actually seen anything. He’d only been there a moment before he handed her the towel, and she’d been behind the shower curtain the entire time. For all he knew, she had a gun back there, and if he’d tried anything, she would have blown his head off.
No, he didn’t think she had a gun, nor did he think she intended to kill him. She’d been watching him, that was all he knew. And he intended to find out why.
Right about—he glanced at his watch, followed the second hand as it swept up to the twelve—now.
He was turning toward the bathroom when she came out, dressed in jeans and a white, untucked, buttoned shirt rolled to her elbows. She’d combed her hair away from her face and the wet ends lay heavy on her shoulders and down her back. Her skin was flushed from her shower, her cheeks rosy and green eyes bright.
She brought the fresh, clean smell of wet raspberries with her from the shower. It filled the room, made him want to breathe deeper and drag the scent fully into his senses. Still not completely recovered from touching her in the bathroom, he decided it would be best to keep his distance.
“We’ve got to stop meeting like this, Mr. Shawnessy.” She tossed him a smile. “People are going to talk.”
“Thanks to you, they already are.” He ignored the drops of water sliding down her neck into the vee of her shirt and kept his gaze carefully locked with hers. “Nick’s a regular Gertrude Gossip.”
“I didn’t think it would benefit either one of us for me to drag him into our—” she hesitated “—situation.”
“Tell me, Miss Sinclair, what exactly is our situation?”
“That’s what we’re going to talk about.” She padded toward the kitchen in her bare feet. “But I’m starving and we have to eat first. Are you hungry?”
Incredulous, Ian watched her walk away. Cara Sinclair was one cool woman. In spite of himself, she fascinated him. And anyway, he thought, turning on his heels to follow her, he was hungry. He’d left Tanner’s before ordering food, and he hadn’t eaten anything since the ham sandwich he’d made around noon, exactly eight hours ago.
But even if he had eaten, the smells emanating from the kitchen were so incredibly mouthwatering, he would have been tempted, anyway. His stomach grumbled as he drew in a lungful of the delicious aroma.
Cara stood at the stove with a wooden spoon in her hand, stirring a large pot. The back of her shirt was wet from her hair, nearly making the fabric see-through, and he realized she wasn’t wearing a bra. The woman was as mouthwatering as the smell of food and equally tempting, he thought reluctantly, which triggered another response from his body, lower than his stomach.
Annoyed at his unwanted reaction to her, he looked away and noticed she’d set the small kitchen table for two. He glanced back sharply at her. “Expecting company?”
“I knew you’d be here sooner or later,” she said with a shrug. “I hate to eat alone.”
He didn’t. In fact, he preferred it. He’d had a couple of steady relationships over the years, but his job kept him away for long periods of time, and even the most patient woman had her limits. He’d gotten used to living alone. It was easier—fewer complications.
But this woman was intent on playing out this little scenario her way, so he sat. For now he’d let her have her way. Short of violence—which he still hadn’t ruled out—it seemed to be the quickest way to find out what he wanted to know. And if what she was cooking tasted half as good as it smelled, the wait just might be worth it.
She set two bowls of steaming chili on the table. “Dig in.”
He hesitated. “How do I know it’s not laced with arsenic?”
She smiled. “You don’t.”
He decided she didn’t look like a murderer and scooped up a big bite. It was all he could do not to moan with pleasure as the spicy concoction rolled over his tongue.
He suddenly felt ravenous.
He was on his second bite when she moved back to the stove and, using a kitchen towel as a hot pad, pulled a tray of corn muffins from the oven. Plucking them carefully into a small wicker basket, she then scooped another bowl of chili and set everything on the table.
“Good?” She sat beside him.
He shrugged. “It’s all right.”
Scooting her chair in closer, she grinned at him. “It’s better than all right, Flash. I didn’t win the Bloomfield AllCounty Chili Bake-off two years running for nothing. Consider yourself lucky.”
He reached for a muffin. “I’ve been spied on, had my vacation interrupted, bruised and nearly lost the ability to ever have children. Of all the things I consider myself, Miss Sinclair—” he broke open the muffin and slathered it with butter “—lucky is not one of them.”
“I apologize for all that. You shouldn’t have sneaked up on me like you did.” She took a muffin herself and nibbled on it. “But you shouldn’t have tied me up, either. That was incredibly rude.”
“Sweetheart, if you think that was rude, you ain’t seen nothing yet.” He was getting tired of bantering with her. And now that his stomach was nearly satisfied, there were questions he wanted answered. “Cut to the chase, darlin’. I want to know who you are, who you really are, and I want to know who sent you here.”
With a sigh Cara got up and retrieved two cans of soda from the refrigerator. She handed him one, then popped the top of her own and sat back down. “My name really is Cara Sinclair, just like my driver’s license stated. Give or take a pound, I won’t say which way, my weight is also accurate. So is my height and address.”
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