Blackhawk Desires: Blackhawk's Betrayal. Barbara McCauley
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if he knew anything at all, he knew he wanted her to stay.
“I’m sorry I lied,” she said quietly. “But I needed this job.”
He felt the cool slide of cotton when he ran his palms up her arms. “You’re rehired.”
“I can’t stay, Sam.” With a sigh, she dropped her hands to her sides. “Chef Phillipe—”
“I’ll handle Phillipe.”
Shaking her head, she stepped away. “It’s better this way.”
“Better?” He narrowed his eyes. “Better for whom?”
“For everyone,” she insisted. “The restaurant, the staff, the hotel. For you.”
He reached out and snagged her arms, pulled her close again. “Don’t tell me what’s better for me. What the hell were we doing here today?”
Blue fire sparked in her eyes. “What are you saying, that you think I slept with you so I could keep my job?”
“Of course not.” Hell, he didn’t know what he was saying. His hands tightened on her arms, but he could feel her slipping away. “Dammit, Kiera, if you run away every time there’s a problem—”
“Let go of me.” The fire in her eyes turned to ice. “Now.”
Swearing, he let go of her, watched her chin lift as she stepped back.
“You don’t know anything about me,” she said, shaking her head. “Nothing.”
“That’s the understatement of the century.” He hadn’t intended to sound sarcastic, but that damn stubborn streak of hers had put a crack in his hard-won patience.
Narrowing her eyes, she turned and walked toward the bedroom.
“Dammit, Kiera,” he yelled after her. “Where do you think you’re going?”
“I’m leaving.” She shot him a cool glance over her shoulder. “Don’t worry, I’ll take the suite elevator down so no one will see me.”
“Did I say I was worried?” he snapped, clenching his jaw when she disappeared into the bedroom.
He started after her, swore, then stopped, raked a hand through his hair. Swore again.
No woman had ever made him feel helpless like this before. Made him feel out of control or cut off at the knees. He didn’t like it.
Not one damn bit.
He wouldn’t chase after her. If she wanted to leave, he told himself, then fine. She could leave. If she wanted to be so damn secretive, then that was fine, too.
He couldn’t keep her here against her will—well, actually, he probably could—but he didn’t want her that way. He wanted her to trust him. He wanted her honesty. She wasn’t willing to give him either one.
So when she came back out of the bedroom, her head high and shoulders squared, he let her leave, made no attempt to stop her.
Long after she was gone, the taste of her, a sweet mix of chocolate and woman, lingered in his mouth. He drowned it with a bottle of scotch and cursed the day she’d walked into his hotel.
Eight
Kiera yanked open the dresser drawer, grabbed a pair of jeans and threw them in her suitcase. Three tank tops followed, along with an assortment of bras and panties. She stormed across the bedroom into the bathroom, picked up her pink-striped toiletry case, then stomped back and tossed that in the suitcase, as well.
Sam Prescott had to be the most impossible, difficult she’d ever met. To think that she’d actually slept with the man infuriated her. She’d heard every warning bell, spotted every Off Limits sign, and yet she’d completely ignored every one of them. She’d let muscles, a smooth tongue and a pretty face override logic and sweep her off her feet.
She paused and stared at herself in the mirror, then sighed in disgust. Given the chance, she knew she’d do it all over again.
In a heartbeat, dammit.
She’d spent half of last night berating herself for sleeping with Sam, the other half wishing she was still in his bed. It grated on her pride that she’d so easily, and eagerly, gone to his bed.
She picked up a brush and pointed it at her reflection. “Couldn’t you have shown even a little hesitation?” she said with exasperation. “Did you have to throw yourself at him?”
Turning away, she dropped the brush into the hanging travel bag on the back of the bathroom door, then closed the zipper. When she looked back in the mirror, it wasn’t her own face she saw, but Sam’s.
Dammit, Kiera, if you run away every time there’s a problem …
“I’m not running away from anything,” she snapped at the mirror, then spun on her heels and walked back into the bedroom. Her packed suitcase laying open on the bed screamed that she was a liar.
Okay, so maybe this time she was running away. But sleeping with Sam had exacerbated an already complicated situation. If she stayed, the situation could only get worse.
If she stayed, she’d fall in love.
Oh, who are you kidding? she thought, then sank down on the edge of the bed. What was the use in denying it?
She’d already fallen in love.
Hard.
She cursed herself, then Sam. She didn’t want to be in love. Not this kind of love; the ache-in-the-chest, weak-kneed, I-want-to-have-your-babies-can’t-live-without-you kind of love. She’d seen what that kind of love had done to her mother, how it had destroyed her. Until Sam, she hadn’t understood feelings like that, hadn’t understood how a man could have the power to take away a woman’s self-respect, her identity. But last night, when she’d left Sam’s suite the overwhelming urge to run back to him, to give him anything in the world he asked for, scared the hell out of her.
That was why she had to leave Wolf River. To prove to herself she wasn’t so far gone that she couldn’t walk away. So far gone that she couldn’t, in time, forget about him and love someone else.
She’d hadn’t come here to fall in love. She’d come for answers to questions. She’d come to find out the truth behind the lie. But here she was, questions still unanswered, the truth still beyond her reach, her heart aching.
Part of her wanted to go home to Stone Ridge Ranch. She knew she’d find comfort there, knew that Alaina would soothe her pain, that Alexis would call from New York and give her a pep talk and tell her there were dozens of good-looking men, why fuss over one? Even Trey, who would undoubtedly yell for an hour or two, would soften when he saw she was hurting. Then he’d probably go and beat Sam up.
The thought actually lightened her mood for a moment, but she knew, of course, that she couldn’t go home. Not now. Not for a long time.
So Paris it was, she’d decided, even though the initial excitement over her trip was now nonexistent. Paris would give her a chance to regroup, to refocus and let her heart mend.
She jolted at the sound of the knock from the other room. Sam! She quickly tamped down the urge to jump up and sprint across the room. Instead, she slowly drew in a deep, calming breath and waited for a second knock. Let him stew, she thought, pleased with herself that she strolled, not ran, across the living room.
But it wasn’t Sam standing there, Kiera discovered when she opened the door.
It was Clair.
The spark of cool indifference she’d worked up to greet Sam fizzled, then sputtered out. “Clair, hello.”
Clair, dressed neatly in a chic, navy-blue pantsuit, had more color in her face today, and a firm sense of purpose that made Kiera uneasy.
“May