Caught Off Guard. Kira Sinclair
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shoulder and headed for the heavy etched-glass front door. Her mother had taste if nothing else. She was halfway there when the back of her neck began to tingle.
As she reached the door, Anne couldn’t stop herself from turning around to look at him. His deep chocolate eyes were trained solely on her. The sensation was unnerving … and somehow left her feeling like a schoolgirl with her hand caught in the cookie jar.
His only reaction was a single raised eyebrow as the left edge of his luxuriant lips dipped down into a frown.
She jerked back around to face the door. Taking a steadying breath, she pushed against the cold glass and headed out into the freezing, lonely winter morning. The wind whipped by and stole her breath.
It was just her and her headache as she headed away from her mother’s hotel, the memories it stirred and the first man to tempt her senses in a very long time.
Running away. Again.
Karyn was the only person in her new life who knew who she really was … well, and Blake now apparently. But even then, knowing who she was didn’t mean he understood.
Despite the emotional trauma that had immediately bonded them, even Karyn couldn’t completely comprehend what her life had been like and always would be. Anne had learned early and quick to keep pieces of herself locked away—from her mother, from the media, from the moneygrubbing parasites that looked at her life of privilege and wondered what they could take from her. She’d used those lessons to keep her true identity safe. To close herself off from the life she wanted nothing more to do with.
She’d never have a normal life. A husband who loved her. A family of proud parents and overprotective brothers. She wasn’t sure she could ever learn to trust someone enough to form the kind of bond that required. Hell, one night in a hotel room with a man had her turning tail to run.
She shrugged. It was her coping mechanism, the way she kept her mind and soul safe. It was something she’d come to grips with years ago, the limitations of her life. It had never bothered her before today.
So why did she now want more? It probably had everything to do with Karyn, her whirlwind romance and fairy-tale wedding. It couldn’t have anything to do with Blake Mitchell.
And even if it did … it wouldn’t matter. She’d never see the man again.
PETER BURG WATCHED as Annemarie Prescott slipped out the large double doors, a duffel bag slung over her shoulder. It had been easy to blend into the crowd last night, to observe as she mixed and mingled with the other wedding guests. It had been a stroke of luck when word had come into the corporate offices that she’d pulled strings to reserve the ballroom for her friend.
A smile curved the edges of his lips. He knew for a fact that she hadn’t reserved a room of her own in the hotel. He had the pictures to prove that she’d shared.
He wasn’t exactly certain how they might come in handy but he figured it was good to be prepared. The more dirt he had on Annemarie, the more leverage he had over her; however he was going to keep the pictures of that man pressing her back into the wall of the hallway, his hands and mouth tugging at her dress, to himself for the moment.
The pictures themselves made his blood boil a little. Yes, she’d always been free with her body, which had bothered him. He’d long thought that she degraded herself for no good reason and resented the fact that the men she chose to do it with were trash.
Especially when he’d been standing before her, ready to worship at her feet.
Not anymore. She’d be the one groveling now, begging for his help when her world collapsed around her once more. And he’d do it, for a price.
He had plans for Annemarie Prescott. And he had no doubt that eventually she’d fall in line. He could be very persuasive … and patient.
Cold wind whipped inside his open coat as he quickly crossed to his car parked on the opposite side of the lot. He’d follow her home. He wanted to make sure she arrived there safely.
He needed her. At least for a little while.
3
BLAKE STARED out his windshield at the vacant town house across the street. He knew it was vacant, because he’d asked his sister where Anne would be today.
Karyn had been surprised to see him, to say the least. He lived in the next state over, so dropping by her house wasn’t an everyday occurrence. And while they talked fairly regularly, he didn’t make a habit of telling her—or any of his family—about his daily movements. At least not anymore. The family had been very close before Karyn had been raped.
While that incident had pulled them together to support her, it had also caused tension among them. Whenever he’d seen his mother, she’d talk only about how Karyn was doing. How her case was progressing. And those discussions had always increased the guilt and rage that crawled inside him.
Something he really didn’t need. He’d pulled away from them—a form of punishment for his part in it all and protection for his sanity.
Shaking off the unwanted thoughts, he refocused on the modest brick building Anne called home. It surprised him. He’d expected her to live in a rambling mansion or an exclusive subdivision with a gate and guard shack, at least. The house was nice. Small, but she lived alone so it made sense. It wasn’t wasteful or extravagant but it was in a good neighborhood.
He could easily get inside. But that wasn’t why he’d come. He still wasn’t sure that coming here had been the smart thing to do, but here he was.
It had been a little over a month since he’d last seen Anne, since she’d slipped through his fingers out that hotel door. Part of him had wanted to chase after her, to ask her why she’d thought it was necessary to leave like a thief while he was in the shower.
But he hadn’t.
It had been a very long time since he’d had to chase after a woman. He wasn’t in the habit of pursuing females who didn’t want his attention—especially after what had happened to his sister—and it was clear that Anne wanted nothing more to do with him.
If he’d thought of her—often in the middle of lonely nights—that was his own problem.
Or it had been until Marie Prescott had called Mitchell Security.
After being court-marshaled four years ago for his assault-and-battery stunt, he’d been dishonorably discharged from the army and had to find another way to make a living. He’d been trained in surveillance, so opening a security firm had been a no-brainer. Things had been difficult to begin with—his history made hiring him for security a tough sell. But his superior officers and fellow soldiers had helped, sending him referrals whenever they could. Their support and understanding had meant so much.
Eventually his reputation and work had spoken for themselves. That and the fact that his case had been overturned on appeal—after he’d already left the army—and his discharge changed to honorable. But he’d never been so happy that the lean days were over as when he’d gotten the call from Anne’s mother. He hadn’t liked the way she’s spoken to him. She was demanding. Entitled. Egotistical. She’d offered him money—lots of it—if he’d help bring her daughter home, and he’d delighted in declining.
So why was he sitting outside Anne’s house?
Marie Prescott’s warnings had niggled in the back of his brain until he couldn’t concentrate for worry that the woman might be right. Marie had told him Anne refused to believe the threat was real and was ignoring her edicts to return home where she would be safe on the family compound.
That he could believe. Admittedly, he didn’t know Anne all that well, but what he’d gleaned from their one night together was that she had an independent streak a mile wide and was unafraid and adventurous. Not the sort of person to be easily cowed.
However, the more he’d thought about it the more he’d worried. If Marie was telling the truth and something