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Stupid and pointless.
“Funny. I don’t remember Mother having an office in Huntsville.”
“What?” Shaking his head, he realized he needed to focus. He had no idea what she was talking about and that was a quick way to disaster. He was probably already headed there but …
“You said you met with a client in Huntsville before coming here. I didn’t realize Prescott Hotels had an office in Huntsville.”
The lightbulb flipped on. Damn she was quick.
“They don’t.”
The sirens of a police cruiser wailed in the distance, saving him from having to come up with more of a response. Those sirens were the perfect reminder that Blake could no longer question her mother’s words. Anne was in serious trouble.
And he was going to help her whether she wanted him to or not. He would not let someone hurt her. He still wasn’t certain that meant taking her home to her mother, but one issue at a time.
The first one being her look of skepticism. “I didn’t lie. I met with another client. A government contractor worried about securing classified documents.”
“Uh-huh.” The sounds became louder as the police car pulled into the parking lot for Anne’s complex. “Go away, Blake. I don’t need or want you here. I don’t care what my mother wants, either. I’m not going home.”
Hopping out of the car—that drowned rat cradled to her chest—she slammed the door in his face. Frowning, he followed slowly behind Anne to where she and a cop stood close together.
The man was middle-aged with his blue Birmingham Police Department uniform shirt stretched over a slightly bulging belly. He was listening intently as Anne shared the details of the break-in.
Taking a step closer, Blake positioned Anne in the shelter of his body, almost touching her shoulder with his chest. He used his height to protect and claim. He couldn’t say why, but the urge had been there and no desire to fight it had surfaced.
The maneuver earned him a glare from Anne, something that actually made his mouth twitch into a grin. What was it about needling her that made him smile?
He kept his mouth shut though. He had nothing of importance to add to the conversation and he’d learned a long time ago that listening always netted more information than talking.
“Let me take a look around first, then if everything is clear we can go inside and speak some more.”
Anne nodded and they both watched as the officer strode toward her house. The tension was back in her muscles. Hell, he could have cut wood across her shoulders they were so tight.
Without thought, he reached for her, offering the comfort and support of his arms. This was harder for her than she was letting on. He could only imagine the turmoil and sense of violation she must be fighting, something that had likely been a daily part of her life when she’d been Annemarie Prescott. But she’d put that behind her until today.
To his surprise, she let him tug her close. His arms wrapped around her stomach, her back nestled snuggly to his chest.
“I’m sorry, Annie.”
A shiver tore through her. His reaction was immediate and intense, his cock jerking stiff at the smallest rub of her body against his own. He fought back a groan and hoped she was too preoccupied to notice.
Her chest expanded on a deep inhalation of breath. She held it for a second before finally letting it all go in a slow, smooth stream of air. Then she stepped free of his arms and turned to face him.
Her expression was blank. Her eyes, deep, dark green, were dull in a way that concerned him.
“I’m fine, Blake. I’ll be fine. You can go.”
He wondered who she was trying to convince, him or herself.
“I’m not going anywhere. You shouldn’t have to face this alone.”
“I’ve dealt with a hell of a lot worse alone. One amazing night in the sack does not give you the right to barge into my life. I’ve managed just fine without you for ten years, without anyone. I can manage this, too.”
He had no doubt that she could. Beneath the blond-bombshell exterior, the designer pumps and the tailored clothes was a spine of steel. He admired that about her, her own inner strength.
The officer came back. “Whoever broke in is long gone. Why don’t we go inside out of the cold, ma’am, so I can ask you a few more questions?”
It didn’t slip his notice that the other man hadn’t included him in the suggestion.
He followed anyway saying, “Amazing, huh?” to her back. “Yeah, that’s a good description for that night. I probably would have used spectacular, though.”
WHY WOULDN’T HE go away? Didn’t she have enough to deal with?
Anne wasn’t happy about his reasons for coming to see her. Okay, she’d admit that her ego had taken a bit of a hit over that one. He hadn’t come because he’d been unable to get their night together out of his mind. Instead he’d come because her mother had probably paid him an obscene amount of money.
Why Blake? Why now?
Why couldn’t her mother leave her the hell alone?
“It appears the intruder forced entry in through the back door.”
No joke.
The officer seemed to be waiting for a reply. What could she say? Brilliant deductive reasoning, Sherlock? Glancing over at Blake, she realized he would be no help at all when he simply lifted an eyebrow at her.
Mumbling something appropriate, she waited for the officer to continue. The picture he made was almost comical—he was so out of place sitting on her dainty rose-velvet sofa. His butt was barely on the edge of the thing and he looked as if he was either ready to bolt—not what you want from the cop handling your case—or he was afraid the sofa would collapse beneath him. Again, not reassuring. She liked her furniture set. She’d found it at an estate auction and reupholstered the pieces herself. They were very feminine and frilly and far from the heavy lines and modern furniture her mother had always insisted on.
They were old, had a history. They’d belonged to a family who had laughed, cried and lived life on them. And now they were hers.
In contrast to the police officer, Blake was kicked back on one of the matching chairs, a boot-clad ankle crossed over his knee, intense eyes taking in every last detail before him. If anyone should worry about crushing the delicately carved wood and fabric, it was him. Was he worried? Nope. Ego or confidence? Did it really matter? The man looked right at home in her precious space. Damn it.
“Is anything missing, Ms. Sobel?”
Anne tore her attention away from Blake, berating herself for getting distracted by him … again.
“Not that I’ve noticed on this floor. There are several things out of place but nothing I can find missing. The electronics are still here.”
“What about upstairs?”
“Well, I haven’t been up there yet, but I can’t think of anything impor—”
With a gasp and a feeling in her stomach as if someone had tied a rock to it and thrown it over a bridge, she raced upstairs. Tearing into her bedroom, she opened the closet doors and let out a sigh of relief when she pulled down the bins—full. Everything right where it was supposed to be.
Her designer collection: Jimmy Choo, Manolo, Prada, Hermès, Louis Vuitton, Kate Spade.
These were the only things she’d kept from her previous life. Slipping into those shoes, pulling out a new designer handbag … it always made her feel pretty and special. Each new purchase had cost her months of saving, but it was her one indulgence.
Sitting heavily on the bed, she balanced one box on her knee and sighed.
A sound at the door caught her attention and she snapped her head around to find Blake standing in the doorway to her bedroom.
She was an idiot. There was just no other way to explain why her body responded to the thought of him here, in her space. Her breasts began to tingle and an ache she’d been ignoring for weeks settled deep and hard at the center of her sex.
But apparently she was the only one experiencing the need for a quick repeat of their night together, because instead of undressing her with his eyes—which is what her body wanted him to do—he was shaking his head in disbelief.
“Shoes. Purses.”
“Hey, buddy, don’t knock the importance of designer leather goods. In fact.” An idea sparked as her eyes raced across the contents of the box on her lap. Snapping open the lid, she dug into one of the neatly arranged boxes and lifted out a pair of Prada pumps, nothing fancy from the front, but the heel was spindle thin and shaped like the stem of a flower. The petals, a throbbing hot pink, unfurled around the heel of the shoe. They were sexy and sophisticated. She always felt like a million bucks when she wore them.
If there was ever a time she needed an extra boost of confidence, it was now.
“What are you doing?”
“What does it look like? Changing my shoes.”
“Now?”
She shrugged. He wouldn’t understand.
Placing the box back on its shelf, she pushed past Blake and went downstairs.
“Nope, nothing is missing.”
She wasn’t a complete idiot. She had glanced inside her office on the way past to make sure that the computer, printer and fax were all still there. However, those could have easily been replaced. Some of the shoes in her collection she’d had since she was sixteen. They were irreplaceable works of art.
A scowl marred the officer’s face as he followed her progress back to her seat.
“Can you think of any reason someone might want to scare you? Upset you? Hurt you?”
They spoke at the exact same time, Anne saying, “No,” Blake blurting “Yes.”
She glared across at him, telepathically telling him to shut his big mouth. “No.”
He ignored her. “Do you know Anne’s real name?”
The other man looked startled for several seconds before his face shuttered and he slowly answered, “Apparently not.”
“Meet Annemarie Sobel Prescott, the heir to the Prescott Hotel fortune.”
The officer’s eyes went huge in his face and Anne just sighed. Another person who knew her identity. Another potential leak. Another person who might contact the gossip rags and reveal her location. Sure, it had been ten years, but she could just see the headlines now—Missing Heiress Found in Podunk, Alabama. Some people might view her certainty at being front-page news as egotistical self-aggrandizing. She saw it as reality. The way she’d disappeared … hell, Mother hadn’t even known where she was for months.
Besides, Prescotts were always newsworthy.
“Her mother recently asked me to bring her back to the family compound in New York. There have been threats against her life.”
“Bullshit.”
Both men turned to stare at her. She supposed the phrase hadn’t been exactly ladylike. Too bad.
“My mother simply wants me, and you—” she looked pointedly at Blake “—to dance to her tune. She’s been trying for months to get me home and that lie is just the last in a long line of them. Have you seen proof of these supposed threats against me?”
It was Blake’s turn for pointed glances as he stared behind her, at the splintered edges of her back door.
“Coincidence. No one knows I’m here.”
“I found you. Rather easily.”
“You knew where to start looking. It wasn’t exactly a needle-in-a-haystack hunt.”
Apparently deciding to break up the heated discussion before it escalated, the officer cleared his throat and asked, “Has anything else happened recently?”
“No.” She glared at Blake.
“Well, this report will be on file. I’m sorry to say that I don’t expect much to come of it. Nothing was taken. Although, I will send a crime-scene tech out to collect evidence.” He rose from the sofa, sticking his hand out. “Ms. Prescott.”
“Ms. Sobel.”
The smile on his face faltered for a moment before he regained his composure. “Ms. Sobel. Please be sure to report anything else out of the ordinary that occurs, no matter how small it seems. If Mr… .”
“Mitchell.”
“If Mr. Mitchell is correct, then establishing a pattern of harassing behavior will be important.”
“Thank you.”
Anne walked the man to the front door and stood staring at it for several seconds after she’d closed it behind him.
She didn’t want to turn around, walk back into that room and deal with Blake. Or rather, she didn’t want to deal with the fight she knew was coming. Holding out against her mother was one thing. Would she be able to stand her ground against Blake, too? Especially when all her body wanted to do was melt into him?
He didn’t give her much time to build her defenses. His voice sounded behind her, forcing her to face him.
“Go pack whatever you need. I’ll call around and make a hotel reservation.”
No, he wouldn’t. “I am not staying in a hotel.” Her voice was adamant and disdainful, more so than she’d meant it to be. It was a knee-jerk reaction, reverting to what she’d always thought of as the Prescott Tone of Voice. When she was growing up, it had gotten her whatever she’d wanted.
She immediately regretted using it. She’d learned that simple courtesy went much further than any regal facade she’d perfected. But when she was cornered.
“Oh? The local Motel 6 not good enough for little miss silver-spoon-in-her-mouth?”
His attitude wasn’t helping any, either. “Let’s just say that the last time I was in a hotel it did not end well.”
Blake’s face hardened. Her stomach tied in knots, her body catching on to the problem long before her brain did. “And whose fault was that?”
She was taken aback by his tone and the way he’d referred to her brother’s suicide. “Is that supposed to be a comment about my brother?”
“Your brother? How would he have anything to do with our night together?”
With a groan, she realized they’d been talking about two completely different things. Understandable from his point of view. How to explain it to him, though, without bruising his ego? The only experience she immediately linked to a hotel was finding her brother’s lifeless body. Of course, to him that would probably mean their night together had been completely forgettable. So far from the truth. But she wasn’t sure he needed to know that.
