Caught Off Guard

“Prada.” The name pushed out of her lungs as she leaned down, grabbed her cat and buried her face in the hairless skin.

Okay. If Prada was fine she could deal with the rest of it. After finally exiting the house, Anne raced to the safety of her car, slammed all the locks shut, placed Prada on the seat beside her and called the police.

Pressing the phone to her ear, Anne tried to calm her breathing so she could hear through the harsh in and out. “Nine-one-one. What’s your emergency?”

“I’d like to—” Her words were cut off midstream by a scream so loud it echoed off the windows and bounced through the car. The response was involuntary, a knee-jerk reaction to someone tapping loudly on the window next to her head.

“Ma’am? Are you all right? Ma’am? What’s wrong?” The voice on the other end of the line sharpened with concern.

“I’m sorry.” Anne’s eyes narrowed as she looked through the driver’s side window of her Miata to find Blake Mitchell staring back at her. What the hell was he doing here? Now? At the exact moment she needed him?

No, that wasn’t right. She didn’t need him. She didn’t need anyone. She was fine.

Glaring at him, she turned away and continued talking to the dispatcher. “Someone just scared me. I need to report a break-in at my town house.”

“Are you in any danger? Are you inside the home? Is the intruder still there? “

“No, I’m fine. I’m outside in my car. I’m not sure if anyone is still inside. I didn’t stick around to find out.”

The dispatcher took her address and said an officer would be there shortly. After assuring the woman that she didn’t need to stay on the phone with her until their arrival, Anne shut off her phone and sat staring through her windshield for a moment. Her pulse was finally dropping, which was good because she wasn’t sure her heart could handle any more ups and downs in one day.

Taking a deep breath, she turned her head to find Blake right where she’d left him, leaning against the side of her car, one arm propped on the roof, positioned slightly behind the window so he’d been out of her line of sight. She wasn’t entirely certain that had been an accident.

His dark-chocolate eyes stared down at her, watchful, assessing. She wasn’t sure she liked that at all. It gave her the sensation of being weighed and measured, as if he could see everything inside her even if she didn’t want him to.

Definitely not pleasant. She much preferred when his eyes smoldered.

She dug in her purse for keys, then popped them into the ignition and cranked the car for power before rolling down her window. For some reason, she wanted to keep the closed door firmly between them. His eyes narrowed and one eyebrow lifted. She had the distinct impression he found her caution amusing.

Cold January air gushed through the opening. Another reason to keep her butt firmly in the car. She turned the heat up.

“What are you doing here?”

“I came to see you. And I’m guessing by the way you bolted out of that house like your ass was on fire that you’re in a bit of a jam.”

A bit of a jam. Ha! “Why?”

“Why are you in a bit of a jam? I don’t know. You tell me.”

“Why did you come see me? Now.” Four weeks, three days and nine hours after he’d let her walk away.

“I was in Huntsville for a consultation, thought I’d stop by and see Karyn since I was so close.”

“She’s not here.”

“Apparently. I talked to her earlier.”

So if he wasn’t here to track down his sister … “How did you know where I live?” Her brain, sluggish from the scare, finally caught up. Waving her hands, she cut off his response, answering her own question, “Never mind. Karyn told you.”

A deep sound rolled from the center of his chest. It reminded her of the sound Prada made when she deigned to allow Anne to pet her. It wasn’t an outright laugh … more of a quiet admission of amusement. “No, actually, she didn’t. I own a security firm. Finding people is part of my job.”

“So … what, you looked me up on the internet?”

His only response was a shrug.

Damn it. She could only guess at the shit he’d found. Because surely he hadn’t resisted the urge to look up the exploits of her alcohol-and-drug-soaked sexcapades. After all, everyone else wanted to know.

“Entertained?” Her lip curled up in disdain, for both him and herself. Anger and embarrassment twisted inside making her a bit harsh. “So you decided to pop by for an unannounced visit a month after we screwed each other’s brains out, why?” And why now? It wasn’t exactly the most convenient time for her to receive visitors.

“Well, that’s a flattering visual.”

“You prefer sex? Just sex?”

“I don’t think you can call it just sex when the marathon session goes for five hours and leaves my brain fuzzy the next morning.”

What the hell was she doing? She was fighting—and flirting if she was honest—with a man she barely knew, sitting in her car outside her very broken into town house, while she waited for the cops.

“Forget it. I don’t care why you stopped by. Now isn’t a great time. Go away.”

“No.”

“What do you mean no?” Had she exited her house into an alternate universe? Or maybe she was still asleep. That was it. It would certainly explain the crappy sales report she’d gotten raked over the coals for—she never made mistakes like that. A nightmare tied to hearing her mother’s voice every day for a week. If she lost her job, her mother would only insist harder that she come home.

And the ransacked house. Another dig at her security.

And the sexy-as-hell devil with the deep chocolate, bite-me eyes and stubborn demeanor who had shown up on her doorstep after a month? That was just too many lonely nights of lustful thinking.

This was all a nightmare … or maybe this last part was more a dream. She’d wake up any minute, Prada would beg her for breakfast and she’d race off for her morning Starbucks.

“Not until you tell me what’s going on.”

Or maybe not. Sighing, she said, “Someone broke into my place. I’m waiting here for the police to show up. Thanks to you scaring me half to death and making me scream in the dispatcher’s ear, I would guess they’ll be here shortly.”

Blake reached inside her open window, ran his hand a little too close to the side of her breast for sanity, and unlocked the car doors.

It was a sad state of affairs. Her brain shortcircuited at the nearness of his hand, leaving her stupid and powerless as he walked around to the passenger side, opened the door and plopped his butt into her front seat. She’d clearly had enough time to lock his ass out in the cold. If she’d thought of it.

Instead, a laugh—probably hysteria—bubbled up inside her chest at the look of absolute horror he gave the spitting, clawing sack of skin in his hands. He held the cat as far in front of him as the console would allow. “Why do you have a skinned squirrel in your car?”

Reaching over, she snatched her baby from his hands. “Prada is not a squirrel.” She turned her focus to the cat and held her up to coo at her, “Are you, baby?” She did it more because she knew it would bother him than for anything else. How she knew this, she had no idea, but she was dead certain it would.

And the curl of his lip and squint in his eyes proved her right.

“She’s a hairless cat.” Placing the cat in her lap, the black-pink-and-white mottled ball of skin curled up, keeping her eyes firmly on the man who’d dared to pluck her up from her comfy seat.

He watched, a mixture of horror and bewilderment on his face. “Why do you have a hairless cat?”

She shrugged, continuing to run her hand down the rough skin in rhythmic strokes. “Her original owners bought her because it was trendy, but then decided she was too much trouble to keep, so they took her to the shelter. But no one wanted her. The shelter volunteers said everyone thought she was ugly.” It had broken her heart to see the tiny, shivering thing stuck in a corner cage, away from everyone else. She’d watched as several children had ignored Prada, opting for the cute and cuddly kittens with their wide take-me-home eyes. It had stirred something inside her. Prada deserved a chance to have a warm and loving family.

“That thing is ugly.”

She looked over at him in disgust. No one ever looked beyond Prada’s unusual exterior to the fiercely loyal soul beneath. Just another reason they never would have worked. Want her body? Love her cat.

“She’s not ugly… . She has personality.” Prada sighed, a discordant sound that cut through the car, and closed her eyes for a nap. Anne wouldn’t admit it out loud, but the cat was sort of a spoiled brat.

The silence stretched out around them. It wasn’t a comfortable silence, the kind that left you lax and somehow in tune with the person next to you. There was too much friction, too much male sexuality emanating off him for her to be comfortable.

What she wanted was for him to go away. No, that wasn’t true. What she wanted was to take him upstairs—to hell with the ninjas—and let him give her libido another mind-blowing workout. What she needed was for him to go away. Because she couldn’t deal with this—with him, too—right now.

She wanted him with a fierceness that had apparently sharpened in the month since she’d seen him, not lessened. The problem was that she shouldn’t. They weren’t good for each other. He made her feel things she’d left in her past. He made her want to abandon everything and lock them both into a room with a bed for the next month … or twelve.

She couldn’t think of anything but him when he was so close.

So he needed to go. Turning her head, she looked at the man sitting beside her. Comfortable. Cocky. Solid as a damn bull.

“What do you want, Blake? You didn’t come here looking for Karyn. It’s way too late to contact me about our night together. Why are you here?”

He opened his mouth to answer her. She could see it would be something pat. It was written in his eyes. You could never lie to a champion liar.

“No bullshit.”

He snapped his mouth closed again and stared at her for several seconds. She realized the minute he decided to tell her the truth, because his face took on a pinched look and his eyes went all soft and apologetic.

The expression shouldn’t have looked good on him. Blake Mitchell was made to be a hard man. He had the body—tall, broad and thick with muscle. He had the attitude—confident, as if he was ten feet tall and bulletproof. But that touch of softness, of regret, made him more human somehow.

It also tied her stomach in knots. She wasn’t going to like whatever he was going to say.

“Your mother asked me to bring you home.”

4

BLAKE WATCHED as her entire body went rigid. Her jaw. Her hands. Even the muscles in her thighs. Not that he should be looking. Not now anyway. It was like lighting the fuse on a bomb and then getting distracted by the beauty of a sunset.

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.