Caught Off Guard

This was why she should have left last night. This was why she never stayed in a hotel. Not just Prescott hotels. Any hotel ever. After her brother’s suicide, she’d run away from the chaos, the guilt, the madness of the life she’d once led. She’d changed her name from Annemarie Prescott to plain Anne Sobel.

It had taken her years but she’d finally built herself a new life with no help from her mother or her trust fund. A life she could be proud of. A life with meaning outside whether or not she had the latest “it” accessory.

The downside was that for years she’d lived in fear of someone discovering who she really was and turning the information over for a quick buck. It had been a long time before the paparazzi had given up trying to uncover her hidey-hole. Birmingham, Alabama—not exactly first on their list of places to look. But now the world had moved on and found a new party girl to glorify, giving Anne a little room to breathe.

Taking on another persona, adopting her mother’s maiden name and pretending that Annemarie had never existed was worth it for a sense of peace.

And if she was lonely from time to time … well, that was a price she’d willingly pay again and again to be out from under her mother’s thumb and away from the memories and the girl she’d once been. Even though she’d been surrounded by people, she’d been just as alone in her old life, anyway. Or she would have been, without her brother.

Now, if she could just get out of here.

“Aspirin.”

The deep voice startled her, although she hadn’t for a second forgotten that she wasn’t alone. Her mind might have been swamped by nasty images of her past, but in some corner she’d been aware of Blake’s presence in the room with her.

His cupped hand appeared above her face, the long, tanned arm blocking her view of everything else. This was possibly a good thing.

A water bottle slid into her line of sight, strong fingers wrapped around opaque sides. She reluctantly uncoiled her body, careful to keep the covers caught tight to her chest which seemed like a stupid thing to do, all things considered.

She took the little white pills, downed them with one cold swallow and finally looked at him. Blake Mitchell. Her best friend’s older brother. The man she’d screwed six ways to Sunday last night.

Oh, she could blame it on the alcohol but she’d known, one-hundred-and-ten percent known, exactly what she was doing last night. And she’d wanted this man with a passion she hadn’t felt in … years. Of course, that didn’t exactly make what she’d done right.

Anne would be the first to admit that her upbringing had given her a skewed idea of what was appropriate. But even she knew that using her best friend’s brother for meaningless sex crossed the line. Especially given her history. Karyn might not care … but that didn’t take away the guilt gnawing at Anne’s insides.

Inappropriate sex had always been her slippery slope.

She wondered if it was seeing Karyn and Chris together that had pushed her over the edge, or just being in Mother’s hotel again. Either way, she’d obviously reverted to some very, very bad habits. Sexual pleasure could be just as much of a drug as crack cocaine.

Oh, she had sex. But in a very controlled environment with single men who understood that they were both simply getting off. No one got hurt. No one staked out her house to catch a compromising photo.

But with Blake, she hadn’t been able to stop herself from taking what she’d wanted. And that was probably what scared her most. She’d been so careful to control her affairs before. This one had not been planned.

Even now, she couldn’t keep her eyes away from him. His hair, burnt-toast brown, was disheveled. His chest was bare, hard and lean, and made her want to reach out and touch.

It would be so easy to lose herself in him again, to let him take the memories and the edge of bone-deep pain that being in this room caused her.

But she’d used Blake Mitchell enough last night. She couldn’t do it again.

He sat on the bed beside her, his hip rubbing against her own beneath the Egyptian-cotton sheets. She fought past the urge to reach out for him.

“Good morning.” His voice was gruff, rusty. “Karyn and Chris are leaving in about fifteen minutes. Do you want to head down to see them off?”

With a silent nod, the only response she could manage between the desire, self-loathing and guilt swimming around inside her, she watched as he unfolded from the bed and disappeared into the bathroom.

Water sounded, the floor creaked against the weight of a full-grown male and the nightmares returned full force.

She couldn’t stay. She needed out of here. Now.

Anne swung her legs over the side of the bed, stood up just a little too fast for her head’s comfort and scanned the room. She was so worked up over Blake and the memories that it took several minutes to notice the bag in the corner. Her bag. The one that had been sitting in her trunk since she’d packed everything from Karyn’s parents’ place yesterday morning.

Ripping into it, she pulled out the first things she could find, a pair of well-worn jeans and a peach sweater. Clean panties and a bra helped make her feel somewhat human again. She brushed her hair, applied a minimum of makeup and finger brushed her teeth all in five minutes at the dresser mirror. She wasn’t waiting. And the hounds of hell would have had to drag her into that bathroom.

She grabbed her dress out of the closet—she’d spent a lot of money on it and would be damned before she left it. Besides, she really did love it. She threw a glance at the closed bathroom door, considered yelling her goodbye at Blake but thought better of it. Not very romantic. Besides, this way was better—he wouldn’t feel obligated to pretend he wanted something more than one night.

Ten minutes after waking up, Anne walked out the door and right into the lobby full of Karyn and Blake’s family.

Anne groaned. Any thought of skirting around the edges before anyone noticed her burned up in a flash as Karyn yelled across the large, echoing space.

“Anne. What are you doing here?”

“Ah.” Her brain was working at a distinct disadvantage, but as her friend rushed forward it seemed to kick in.

“Snowstorm, remember. There was no way I could drive home in that.”

Karyn slipped her arms around her in a big hug and squeezed tight, whispering in her ear, “Are you okay? You look a little pale.”

Her friend leaned back, looked deep into her eyes and stared hard. Pinpricks of emotion she really didn’t want to deal with stung the backs of her eyes. Only Karyn.

From the moment they’d met, both working at Walker Technologies, she’d recognized something deep inside Karyn—a twin to the suppressed pain and loneliness that resonated in her own chest. Karyn had been hiding the secret of her rape; Anne had been hiding the secret of who she really was. She disguised her pain with bright smiles and a bubbly personality. Karyn had camouflaged hers with silence and solitude. At least until she’d met Chris. He’d helped heal her wounds.

Anne was happy Karyn had found someone who could do that for her. She knew she’d live with her own scars for the rest of her life. That was okay. Nothing and no one could wipe away the guilt she carried.

“I’m fine. Really.”

“I suppose you never have to worry about room availability when your mother owns the hotel.”

Or when you shared. “Um, absolutely.”

“Chris and I were about to leave. We’re just waiting on Blake to come down.” Karyn wrapped an arm around her shoulders and pulled her into the small knot of people standing around a conversation area.

Anne tried to fight the urge to run. Leaning into Karyn she said, “I need to head out now because I’m not sure how long it’ll take me to get home in this snow and ice. You have a wonderful trip.”

She kissed Karyn on the cheek, slung her bag over her 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 bad happened to Anne he wouldn’t be able to live with himself.

He hadn’t agreed to help Marie just yet. Why had she called him? Her answer when he’d asked had been that she thought his personal ties through Karyn might help in persuading her. That perhaps Anne would listen to someone she trusted more than she’d apparently listened to her mother. Little did the woman know he was likely the last person Anne wanted to see … or trust. But he couldn’t simply ignore the situation if she really was in danger.

So he’d take a look around for anything suspicious. He’d ask her if she’d noticed anything unusual. He wasn’t exactly looking forward to the interview but life wasn’t always pleasant. And, in truth, he really wanted to see Anne again. Maybe it would help him get her out of his head.

He glanced down at the clock on the dashboard—two o’clock. He had at least three or four hours before she’d be home from work, and he had no desire to corner her there. She’d made it clear she didn’t want to see him, and his reason for being here wasn’t likely to change her opinion. His showing up at her office would only add to the unpleasantness, not to mention her resistance. No sense in putting himself at a disadvantage before the conversation even began.

So it looked as if he had some time to kill.

Maybe he should go back and visit more with Karyn. Maybe she’d have some suggestions on how he could soften Anne up … Ideas that wouldn’t involve the use of his tongue and hands—as much as that disappointed—because something told him that he’d had his shot at her warming his bed. Unfortunately, it was all his deprived mind could come up with at the moment. Seducing her into submission.

ANNE PULLED into her parking spot, turned the key in the ignition and leaned her head back against the headrest. Home. Finally. A headache throbbed at the center of her skull, the result of skipping lunch and a meeting from hell.

She’d been excited to receive a promotion to VP of marketing right after the wedding. It had been a confirmation of her talent and a direct result of the hard work she’d put in at Walker Technologies over the past several years. She’d come to college late—starting at twenty—and had gone to work for Walker when she’d graduated four years later. Six years more and she was working her way up the corporate ladder.

Product placement, ad campaigns, market research, sales projections and tracking. She loved every minute of her job—although developing media campaigns had to be her favorite. It gave her a chance to use her media history for something other than bad memories.

The ironic thing was that it was precisely the kind of position she could have held at Prescott Hotels if her mother had ever thought she had the intelligence. Funny how she’d had to leave to find her success. Lucky for her that she’d also found contentment. Too bad for her mother, who still couldn’t admit she’d been wrong about her daughter.

Thinking about her mother made the pounding in Anne’s head increase to brain numbing. Marie had been the only parent—and Anne used the term loosely—in her life since her father had died in a car accident when she was four. She barely remembered him now—nothing but a fuzzy idea of what might have been.

She’d kept in contact with her mother over the past ten years, although that contact had been infrequent and as brief as possible. But suddenly that wasn’t good enough—Marie had called her every day this week. What was making her mother so desperate?

Marie had been trying to get her back to the family estate for months, but something had obviously happened to increase the intensity of her machinations. The week had started with another edict, something Anne found easy to ignore. But then the cajoling had started. That was different. The concern over Anne’s safety, a revelation that Anne was in danger from a stalker—something Anne had seen no proof of—and finally the claim that Marie was ill.

She wondered what lie her mother would come up with next. And as much as she didn’t want to, she wondered what the truth was.

Not that it mattered. When would Marie realize that nothing she offered or threatened could bring Anne home to New York? Birmingham was now her home. She had a job she enjoyed and was usually good at—apart from screwing up a report last week and prompting the meeting from hell this afternoon. She still had no idea how it had happened… .

She was independent and happy. And she was going to stay that way. One trip home and her freedom would end. She knew it to the soles of her feet. She’d needed every bit of strength and determination she had to escape the world of excess and privilege. If her mother got her hooks into Anne again she’d never let go. The only reason she’d gotten away the first time was because her mother had counted on Anne’s inability to live without money and things and people at her beck and call.

Marie had been wrong, something that made Anne smile every time she thought of it. It wasn’t often her mother was wrong and she delighted in being one of the only people who’d never fallen into line.

Really, running away ten years ago had been Anne’s final step in a lifelong quest to thwart her mother’s fight for control.

Those first few months when the transition had been difficult, she’d used that thought to get her through. Her mother wouldn’t win. She wouldn’t let her. Not after what the woman had pushed Anne’s brother, Michael, to do.

If Marie had shown one ounce of warmth or maternal concern when Michael had gone to her, Anne knew in her heart her brother never would have hung himself.

Pushing back the unwanted memories, she walked inside her house, flipping switches as she went. There was something about light in the first gloom of dusk that always made her feel warm and safe. The tension that had tightened her shoulders began to ease. But the place was freezing. Shivering, she wrapped her arms around her middle and huddled further into her coat. She didn’t remember turning down the heat before she’d left this morning. Maybe the unit had finally given up. She’d been fighting with it for over a year but had hoped to baby it along until her tax refund came in sometime next month.

Depositing her purse and briefcase on the hall table, she headed through the open-plan living room toward the thermostat and stopped dead in her tracks.

The back door at the end of the long hallway stood wide open. The doorjamb surrounding the lock plate was shredded. The door wasn’t much better, a half-moon of splinters was all that was left of the knob.

Oh hell. Panic rushed into her, squeezing her lungs and making her heart beat against the suddenly too small walls of her chest. She reached down and grabbed the first thing her hand settled on, the back of a well-loved recliner. She gasped for air, but couldn’t seem to get enough of it.

Stop it, she told herself. Hyperventilating won’t get you anywhere. Glancing quickly around her, she took stock. A couple of the bottom doors on her built-in were hanging wide open, books and papers falling out in a messy pile to the floor. Shards of glass glittered against the carpet. Who knew which knickknack they’d once been. But her expensive TV still sat on the stand on the far side of the room. Too heavy to carry out?

Something long, slender and glinting silver lay in the hall at the archway to her kitchen. Big, sharp, dangerous knife or the handle to her frying pan? She wasn’t going to stick around to find out.

Anne backed slowly toward the front door, snatching her purse and cell phone off the hall table as she went. Outside to call the police. And Karyn. And possibly stay with her … and her brand-new husband of four weeks when they’d just returned from their extended honeymoon a week ago. Yeah, probably not. She’d figure something out.

Reaching behind her, Anne felt for the doorknob, letting out a silent sigh of relief when her searching fingers finally touched it. But a single sound stopped her.

Mrreow.

“Shit!” Slapping a hand over her mouth to hold in any other sounds, she stood with her back pressed tight against the door and waited … for what she wasn’t sure. For some masked man to come barreling into the room and throw her to the ground? For ninjas to erupt through the back windows? For her cat to silently pad from the kitchen to wind her skinny, wrinkled body around her ankles.