Her Forgotten Betrayal(28)

“It was a recording,” she said. “They’ll call back if I leave my name and number.”

“Did you?”

She pivoted, halfway across the airy entry room. Her hair was up in a rubber band. The sweat suit she’d changed into had seen better days. But she’d chosen his absolute favorite shade for a woman to wear—a delicate, fragile pink.

She appeared irritated and wary at the same time. She was even more agitated than when he’d left her, though more pissed now than frightened. She should have looked plain. Prickly. Unappealing. Instead, she was the softest, most feminine thing he’d ever seen. He found himself wanting to smooth his hands over every inch of her and cling to her curves along with the soft fabric of her clothes.

Right.

This was all about the job for him.

“That would have been a pretty stupid thing to do,” she said, her irritation visibly ticking up another notch. “If someone is looking to threaten me, it would be stupid to give a total stranger my name and the location of a house that’s supposed to be vacant and boarded up. Do I seem like a stupid woman, Mr. Marinos?”

Mr. Marinos?

“Not at all.” He hoisted his duffel bag onto his shoulder, wary of her mood but cautiously optimistic that she seemed more in control of her panic. “I just like to know what I’m up against.”

He moved as close to her as he could without touching. He wanted to touch, more and more with every second. But at the moment, invading her personal space was a calculated move. It was time to settle the question at hand.

Was she ready to work with him after attempting to keep his presence there a secret from Dawson, or not?

“Why would you think you’re up against anything?” she asked. Her chin lifted. “You’re just here to keep me company, right? So I’m not alone?”

He nodded. “What else?”

The pulse at the base of her throat told him she felt the same unwilling attraction he did, even if she didn’t understand what it was—the past she couldn’t remember, the history between them, creeping closer with each breath they took.

“Drop your things in the downstairs bedroom,” she offered. “If you’re tired, we can get some rest. Or we can move on to digging into more of my secrets while you get to keep yours safely intact.”

It was an interesting slip he wasn’t entirely sure she’d caught. Precisely which secrets was Shaw’s subconscious suspecting him of keeping? What exactly was her mind ready to dig up?

“Skip the bedroom,” he said, her challenge exciting him on too damn many levels. “Forget sleeping if you’re ready to push forward. Let’s get down to business.”





Chapter Eight


Shaw would rather run screaming into the night again than take Cole back to the parlor or the kitchen. In those familiar places, it would be too easy to fall into the feelings for him that kept pushing closer, despite how much of an irritable ass she was being in hopes of maintaining some distance.

She escorted him and his overnight bag down the one hallway in the house that was still covered in dust. It was the only corner of her grandmother’s world Shaw hadn’t cleaned in a frenzy, because it freaked her out every time she tried. What better place to assert some emotional boundaries between her and her well-intentioned neighbor?

The air of dissipation surrounding them as they walked came complete with cobwebs cozying up to every nook and cranny. The once-ornate wool carpet cushioning their path was so worn in places you could see hardwood planks beneath the exposed backing. If she’d loved her grandmother’s home the way she wanted to believe she had, if this was where her father had brought her and her brother every summer for vacation, how could she have let the place go to ruin like this? What kind of empty, soulless woman would do something like that?

The closer they drew to her intended destination, a room she’d been in only once since coming back, the more unnerved she became. It was as if this corner of the Victorian projected a sense of foreboding and menace all its own.

Cole stayed at her heels.

Her father’s study loomed ahead.

She slowed nearly to a stop. Her companion barreled into her. He grabbed her shoulders as he stumbled, literally lifting her off her feet to keep from stepping on her. He twisted her body, her legs dangling, until their fronts were smashed together. His face, his ruggedly sculpted lips, and the disarming cleft in his stubbled chin were only inches away.

“What happened?” he asked. “Are you okay?”

His masculine scent held her as enthralled as before. The strength of his arms around her, combined with the spark of concern in the hypnotic blue of his gaze, was unsettlingly familiar.