Safe in the Tycoon's Arms. Jennifer Faye
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deduced no one had lived here in quite a while.
With an apple in hand, she filled a glass of water. She’d just turned off the faucet when she heard faint but distinct footsteps. The hairs on the back of her neck rose. Either this place had some mighty big rats...or she wasn’t alone.
“Stop right there!” boomed a male voice.
So much for the rat theory.
Her heart lodged in her throat, blocking a terrified scream. Who was this man? And what did he want with her? Her lungs started to burn. Was he a thief, a desperate junkie...or worse?
She struggled to suck air past the enormous lump in her throat. A nervous tremor in her hand caused droplets of water to spill over the rim of the glass. Why had she put herself in such peril by making the rash decision to stay in this deserted house alone? After all, what did she know about her newfound friend? Not much. They’d only met a week ago. The older woman had seemed so nice—so understanding in Kate’s time of need.
She wondered if a scream would carry to any of the neighboring houses on the block. Probably not. This house came from an era when structures were built with thick, sturdy walls. She was on her own.
“You shouldn’t be here.” She fought to keep her voice steady. “This place has a burglar alarm. It won’t be long until the police show up. I haven’t seen your face. You can escape out the back and I won’t tell anyone.”
“I don’t think so. Turn around.”
Not about to let this stranger know how much he frightened her, she placed the glass on the counter, leveled her shoulders and took an unsteady breath. When she went to turn, her feet wouldn’t move. They were stuck to the floor as though weighted down in concrete.
A crescendo of thunder reverberated through her body. The house plunged into darkness. Kate bit down on her bottom lip to keep a frightened gasp bottled up.
Don’t panic. Stay calm.
Could this really be happening? What had she done to piss off Fate and have it turn on her? Hysterical laughter swelled in her throat. With effort, she choked it down. It wouldn’t help anything for this man to think she was losing it.
Drawing on every bit of courage she could muster, she forced her feet to move. Once fully turned around, she squinted into the dark shadows but could only make out the man’s vague outline. Who was he? What did he want with her?
Then, as though in answer to her prayer, the power blinked back on. When her vision adjusted, she found herself staring at a bare male chest. What in the world? Her wide-eyed gaze dropped farther past his trim waist but screeched to a halt upon the discovery of this stranger’s only article of clothing—navy boxer shorts.
This night was definitely getting stranger by the second.
She couldn’t resist a second glance at her sexy intruder. He definitely wasn’t a kid, having filled out in all the right places. She’d only ever seen defined muscles like his in the glossy pages of magazines, and this guy would qualify with his washboard abs. He must be around her age, maybe a little older.
When her gaze rose up over his six feet plus of sexiness, she met a hard glint in his blue-gray eyes. He obviously wasn’t any happier about discovering her than she was of stumbling across him.
“What are you doing here?” The stranger’s deep voice held a note of authority as though he were used to commanding people’s attention.
“Wondering why you’re standing in my kitchen.”
The frown lines on his face etched even deeper. “This is your place?”
Technically no, but she wasn’t about to explain her unusual circumstances to Mr. Oh-So-Sexy. She merely nodded, affirming her right to be there.
His brow arched in disbelief.
Who was he to pass judgment? When she pressed her hands to her hips, she realized he wasn’t the only one scantily dressed. With the hem of her worn but comfy shirt pinched between her fingers, she pulled it down as far as the material would allow. Instinct told her to run and put on something more modest. But in order to do that, she’d have to cross his path. Not a great idea.
Her gaze strayed back to the doorway. Sooner or later she’d have to make her move. She wanted to believe he wasn’t there to hurt her—wanted to accept the notion that there was some crazy explanation for the nearly naked man standing in front of her, but her mind drew a blank. She glanced back at him, taking in his blondish-brown wavy hair tousled as though he’d just woken up. And his lack of apparel left no room for doubt that he was unarmed.
“Don’t look so panicked. I have no intention of hurting you.” His deep voice was as smooth and rich as hot fudge. “I just want some answers.”
She stuck out her chin. “That makes two of us.”
“I guess you should start explaining.” He looked at her expectantly.
Kate crossed her arms. He wasn’t going to boss her around. She had every right to be here. Then an ominous thought came to her: Who was to say Connie hadn’t made a similar offer to this man? But wouldn’t it have crossed her friend’s mind that this would create an awkward situation to have two strangers—a man and a woman—alone in the house?
As she kept a wary eye on him, she noticed something familiar about him. The thought niggled at her. She couldn’t put her finger on where she’d seen him before, probably because the only thing keeping her on her feet right now was adrenaline. She needed sleep. Desperately. But how would she get this man to put on some clothes and go away?
* * *
“No more stalling.” Lucas Carrington’s patience was worn razor thin. Tired of talking in circles, he cut to the chase. “Who are you? And what are you doing here?”
Her lush lips pursed as her eyes narrowed. “My name is Kate Whitley and I have every right to be here—”
“Impossible. More likely you’re homeless and broke in here seeking shelter from the storm.”
Kate’s chin tilted up and her unwavering brown gaze met his. “I’m not homeless. In fact, I’m an interior designer and a darned good one, too.”
She did have an innocent girl-next-door look about her, but he knew all too well that things were never quite what they seemed. “Are you trying to tell me you broke in here because you had this overwhelming desire to redecorate the place?”
Her thin shoulders drew back into a firm line. Her threadbare cartoon T-shirt pulled snugly across her pert breasts. He swallowed hard. Okay, so maybe his first assessment of her hadn’t been quite right. Gorgeous. Sexy. Curvaceous. Those were much more fitting descriptions.
She continued to glare at him, seemingly oblivious to the fact her demeanor was more alluring than intimidating. And like some hormone-fueled teenager, he found himself unable to turn away from her tempting curves.
“There’s no need to sound so condescending.” Her voice filled with exasperation.
With effort, his gaze lifted to meet hers. “I’m calling the police. They can deal with you.” But there was a wrinkle in his plan—his cell phone was in the other room and the landline in the kitchen had been disconnected ages ago.
“Go right ahead.”
Her confident tone surprised him. Did she expect her beauty to get her out of this mess? Or was she attempting to pull a con job on him? Not that any of it mattered. He didn’t have a problem calling her bluff.
“You seem fairly certain you won’t get in trouble—”
“I won’t.”
Lucas was having a hard time focusing on the conversation given that his unexpected visitor was standing in his kitchen with nothing on but a T-shirt, which clung to her shapely curves and exposed her long, long legs. He was definitely beginning to understand why she might rely on her looks.