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Suddenly he stopped, and she almost ran into him. Roarke’s incredible patience seemed to be running out. He grimaced with distaste at her smell. Right now she was very glad she smelled, because the last thing she wanted was for this too-perfect man to find her attractive in any way.
His charming tone now held an edge. “This would be easier if you cooperated.”
“Cooperate?” She didn’t bother to hide her growing panic. Didn’t care that he looked truly sorry for causing her fear. If he didn’t want her to be scared, he could let her go. “Am I supposed to read your mind and know where we’re going? Am I supposed to know which way you intend to tug me and when?” She didn’t want to go anywhere. Especially to her apartment.
Especially with Roarke Stone.
Chapter Two
Alexandra glanced sideways at Roarke and wondered how to persuade him to head anywhere but back upstairs. Clearly, the man was used to getting his own way.
But she needed to stay in public view. Sooner or later, someone might come by, someone she could call to for help. Or maybe calling for help wouldn’t be believable—not if anyone came close enough to see Roarke’s too-handsome face. Maybe she should yell Fire.
Roarke seemed oblivious to the possibility of rescue. He stood calmly, supremely confident that everything would go his way. Yet when she looked more closely she noted that despite the stillness of his head, his eyes scanned from side to side as he half-led, half-pulled her around the building and out into the sunlight.
The big jerk. If she wouldn’t cooperate, he’d use force. No problem seemed to deter him. Alexandra gasped and yanked him to a halt.
“Now what?” Roarke sounded as though he suspected she was up to mischief.
If he was a bodyguard, which she still very much doubted, he wasn’t taking her situation seriously enough to suit her. But he seemed just too handsome and too supremely confident to be a bad guy. Alexandra had to remind herself that Ted Bundy had looked handsome throughout the trial in which he was convicted of killing several coeds. He’d looked good right up to the day the State of Florida had fried him in Old Sparky, the electric chair. Good looks had nothing to do with morals or whether one chose to be a criminal. Neither did confidence. Or arrogance.
She really didn’t like Roarke Stone. She didn’t like the way he assumed she would go along with whatever he said. She didn’t like the way he used his smile to try to convince her he was a good guy. And she especially didn’t like the way her pulse quickened at his extraordinary looks and kept making her forget how dangerous he could be.
Still, if she had to be manhandled, she preferred Roarke to the man he’d fought upstairs. The man who might have recovered and might even now be waiting for them to return. “That man might still be up there.”
“Don’t worry about him. He’s long gone.” Roarke didn’t blink one long black eyelash at her suggestion that they might be about to walk into danger. He tugged her along the sidewalk toward the steps leading up to her terrace.
“You can’t know he left,” she insisted, knowing that trying to change Roarke’s one-track mind was probably futile.
“I saw him drive away in his Saturn while you were in the Dumpster.”
Ha! She’d caught him. “So you lied to me when you said he was upstairs ransacking my apartment?”
“I said I wouldn’t want that man upstairs having free access to my apartment.” He repeated his earlier words exactly. He didn’t even bother with a sheepish grin when he added, “I didn’t say he was there.”
But he’d implied it. And his excuse seemed too convenient. Roarke must have been born with a remarkable memory to recall his own words with robotic precision. Only there was nothing robotic about the way his eyes lit up with desire when he glanced her way. Nothing robotic about the way her tummy fluttered in response.
Alexandra had met several men like him during her career. Smart. Good-looking. Self-assured. Unfortunately, one was a past boyfriend. And she’d learned not to trust a word Patrick said.
Her ex-lover had been so convincing that she’d often wondered if he had believed his own distortions of the truth. He’d been too handsome for her good—just like Roarke. She’d been naive back then. Before she’d realized that his gorgeous face hid a rotten character, he’d broken her heart. She’d learned a lesson she hadn’t forgotten.
If she could just keep Roarke spinning his tall tales, surely someone would come along soon. Someone who would notice she wasn’t willingly walking alongside him. Someone who would call the fire department when she shouted. But she didn’t yell yet, waiting for the right moment when she’d spy one of her neighbors, knowing she might only have one chance.
She tried to keep her tone conversational. As if every day strange men pulled her along the sidewalk with them. “Why didn’t you go after the man who broke into my apartment?”
“My job is to protect you.”
“Well, I’d feel a lot more protected if the bad guy was in jail instead of driving away.” Her words might be sarcastic, but in truth, she was starting to shake inside. Since she rarely came home during office hours, she hadn’t realized just how deserted the apartments were during the day. Not a curtain moved. No kids played outside.
He spoke with a confidence that didn’t reassure her. “I have the license-plate number.”
“You do?” If he’d written that down, it would help her believe he really was a bodyguard sent by her brother to protect her. Her hopes rose a notch. Surely she couldn’t be lucky enough for this guy to be legitimate. “Let’s see the number. We can call it in to the cops and let them trace it. They might lock the guy up before lunchtime.”
“First of all, I didn’t have time to write down anything.” Her hopes plummeted. With his free hand, he pointed to his temple. “I memorized the number and letter combination. And second, you have unfounded faith in a police department that’s overworked and underpaid. Have you ever reported a crime?”
“My car was stolen once.” It had taken the officers hours to come out and take her statement.
“And?”
“They found it.”
“How long did it take?”
“Three months,” she admitted, wondering how else she could stall. “If my brother Jake really hired you, tell me what he looks like.”
Roarke couldn’t know she’d never seen a picture of Jake.
“I accepted the job over the telephone.”
Damn! He had an answer for everything. Maybe he was telling the truth. He had fought off that other man. He had placed his body between her and the gun aimed at her. Yet, wouldn’t a bodyguard welcome help from the local authorities, not avoid it?
When he’d offered her back her blueprints, her suspicions had abated. She knew such a small gesture shouldn’t weigh so heavily in his favor. And yet, a criminal wouldn’t be so considerate, would he? Would a criminal have stopped and explained as Roarke had just done?
Maybe—if her cooperation would make it easier for him to get her back into her apartment…where she would be alone with him.
She couldn’t make up her mind. If Roarke Stone was really a bodyguard, why would he want her to return to her apartment where she could so easily be found? She shook her head as once again he tugged her toward the stairs leading to her back terrace.
Again she halted. “Why are you so insistent on taking me back to my apartment?”
“You need a shower.”
“A shower?”
No way was she about to take off her clothes with him around. Not in a million years. She wouldn’t trust a locked door. With shoulders like his, he could break through in an instant. And she just knew from the determined look in those baby blues glinting with amusement that he had no intention of leaving her alone.
“Lady, you reek.”
She’d always objected to being called lady, or woman. As though she wasn’t an individual with her own name. Besides she wanted this man to think of her as a person with her own life. He might be less inclined to hurt her if she didn’t act like a nameless victim.
“My name’s Alexandra.”
“Fine, Alexandra. You stink, and client or not, I refuse to be around anyone who smells as bad as you do.”
While she couldn’t refute the truth of his statement, she hesitated. Removing her clothes while he stood outside her door still wasn’t a viable option. She’d be way too vulnerable.
Pretending she believed his story about being there to protect her was the best way to deal with Roarke. She tried to calm her leaping nerves. “We shouldn’t go back up there. He might have left, but he could return.”
“I won’t leave you alone.”
“He might bring a friend.”
“I’m prepared for that contingency.”
Always prepared—just like a Boy Scout. Except he didn’t look at her like any boy she’d ever known. He focused on her with an unnerving intensity that made her shiver. Exactly what she’d been afraid of.
She needed to come up with an alternative plan. No way was she going to suggest getting into a car with this stranger. If he insisted on holding her captive, she was better off where someone might hear her scream. Such a sobering thought gave her the confidence to look him straight in the eye with a boldness she was far from feeling.
“You can’t expect me to shower with a strange man in my home.”
“Why not?”
“Because I won’t.”
“Lady—”
“Alexandra.”
“Alexandra, do you like the way you smell?”
Of course she didn’t. But that was the point. As long as she wore garbage like perfume, no man would find her attractive. Not even a criminal. The stench protected her. The stench protected her from him.
She cocked her head to the side, pretending to be puzzled and hurt by his accusation. “What smell?”
Roarke’s very male, very hard lower jaw dropped in astonishment and then he chuckled again, the same deep chuckle that had thawed her before and made her consider whether she could trust him.
“Nice try, la—Alexandra,” he corrected himself, definite amusement lighting up his face. “You will take a shower. But I’ll give you a choice.”
She didn’t like the sound of his statement since it sounded too much like an ultimatum. Then again, she had little alternative but to stand here and listen while his hand manacled her wrist like steel.
“You either shower by yourself, or, I’ll climb in with you and do the honors myself.”
ALEXANDRA HAD NEVER heard such a harsh ultimatum sugar-coated with such silky seductive charm. What kind of man was Roarke Stone? Obviously one who didn’t take no for an answer. Obviously one used to women giving in to his every whim. Obviously one who believed she should obey his every command.
As she trudged beside him up to her apartment, she didn’t bother wasting her energy trying to fight him again. He’d disabled an opponent much stronger than her in less than sixty seconds, and all she would accomplish by using the few basic self-defense skills she knew was to hurt herself.
Although Roarke hadn’t struck her when she’d attacked him the first time but had simply overpowered her with brute force, she couldn’t take a chance that he might lose his temper and knock her out if she defied him again. While he didn’t seem the type to strike a woman, he certainly had demonstrated his ability to boss her around.
He was arrogant. Conceited. And he wanted her to get naked while he was in her apartment.
Patience. She needed to wait for a better opportunity to escape. Besides, she’d think better and move more quickly if she remained uninjured.
The hard part was going to be matching wits with her captor. He’d not only shown her that he commanded great strength, but he possessed a remarkable memory for details. And he had an uncanny ability to anticipate what she was about to do before she did it—as when he’d moved his thigh to prevent her landing a knee to his groin and when he’d plucked her cell phone from the cradle in her car.
He’d also come up with a rational explanation for her every objection. And he’d carefully told her things she couldn’t check out while he remained with her. With incredible perception, he’d known exactly what to say to make her doubt her doubts about him. If she wasn’t careful to guard her thoughts, she’d start exhibiting that Stockholm syndrome where a kidnap victim begins to identify with her captor.
Luckily she knew she could never again fall for this type of charm or lies. Let him do his worst. He could turn up the heat all he wanted and she wouldn’t respond. After being struck once by his particular kind of good looks and charm, she was now immune.
But if she wasn’t careful, she’d soon have herself believing he could read her mind. While he wasn’t all-knowing and all-powerful, he clearly was a man used to giving orders and getting his own way.
She had no doubt he would follow her into the shower if she protested again. So she didn’t.
When he pulled out a shiny black gun, she restrained a gasp and managed to remain quiet as he pointed it toward her apartment—not her. Clearly the weapon was a precaution to ensure their safety as he checked every room and closet to make sure they were alone.
He moved quickly, quietly, seemingly taking no interest in her pictures of family in the dining room. Likewise, he spent no time looking at her framed design awards hanging in the hall. He didn’t slow as they passed her expensive computer or stereo system. Roarke seemed solely focused on places where someone could hide, but whether his desire was to protect her or himself, she had no way of guessing.
Without talking, he’d also made another point. No way would she attempt to fight a man holding a weapon as handily as he did. He handled the gun, casually, expertly. The weapon seemed an extension of his body.
“It’s clear.” He tucked the gun back into a shoulder holster he wore under his loose-fitting jacket. “Gather up some clothes. Go take a shower. Lock the door if it’ll make you feel safer. Meanwhile, I’ll bolt the front door.”
He released her hand but nonchalantly blocked any possible escape. She hurried into her bedroom, hoping he wouldn’t follow her, and let out a small sigh of relief when he didn’t.
She supposed not many women would run away from a man that good-looking. In fact, she was counting on it, hoping he wouldn’t anticipate her next move.
She glanced longingly at the portable phone and decided not to risk it as she heard the bolt on her front door drive home. While she might dial 911 before he stopped her, it would take the police several minutes to arrive. She could be dead by then.
Rather than let that grave thought deter her, she worked faster. She snatched up a plastic shopping bag and dumped out the shoes she’d bought last week. Quickly she snatched the top sheet off her bed and stuffed it into the shopping bag, then she floated the coverlet back over the bed to hide the missing sheet in case Roarke got curious and ducked in for a look. Finally she grabbed a change of clothing and stuffed it on top of the sheet.
She returned to the hallway a little breathless, hoping she hadn’t taken too long and aroused his suspicions. Roarke had angled a chair so he could watch the front and back entrances to her apartment as well as the short hallway from bedroom to bathroom.
Without meeting his eyes for fear he’d guess her intention, she hurried into the bathroom. As soon as she closed the door behind her, Alexandra dumped the clothing on the floor. Quickly she tied one end of the sheet to the towel bar. Praying the bar would remained attached to the wall and would hold her weight, she tugged hard.
The knot held.
She turned on the shower. The water would disguise any noise she made opening the window. She closed the toilet seat, climbed on top and threw the end of the sheet out the open window. Although the sheet wouldn’t reach the ground, she believed she could drop safely to the grass when she reached the sheet’s end.
She didn’t allow herself the luxury of thinking how surprised Roarke would be to find her gone. Palms sweaty with a combination of fear of discovery and fear of dropping out of a second-story window, she placed one leg through the window and started to ease herself through.
The bathroom door opened.
Alexandra froze, her hands on the sheet, still half inside the bathroom.
He took in the dumped clothes, the sheet and her awkward position in one quick but thorough glance and let out a long, low whistle. “Going somewhere?”
“How did you—”
“Know?” He lifted one insolent eyebrow. “You didn’t lock the bathroom door.”
“Huh?”
In one swift move, Roarke tugged on the sheet and pulled her into the bathroom, backing away as he got a good whiff of her odor. “As nervous as you were about taking your clothes off around me, if you’d intended to take a real shower, you would have locked the door.”
Damn him. Damn his know-it-all-superior grin. Damn his mind that didn’t overlook a detail. Damn him for the glimmer of respect she’d read in his eyes.
How did he already know her well enough to predict her actions? Could he have been stalking her for weeks? She’d read about some weirdo stalkers who weren’t ex-boyfriends but simply casual acquaintances who fixated on a woman for no logical reason. Could she have seen this man at the bank? At work? On a construction site?
Ignoring her completely, he untied the sheet and tossed it into the hallway. He took one last efficient look around the bathroom, peering through the tempered-glass shower doors as if searching for any other means of escape. He must have decided she was trapped and walked out.
In frustration she kicked the door shut behind him and viciously twisted the lock. When it clicked, she heard his disturbing chuckle.
