So he approached the closet and knocked on it. “Someone in there?”
“Please don’t kill me,” a muffled voice responded. “I’ll come out if you promise not to kill me.”
Astonished, he looked over at Maylee. She was biting her knuckles, terrified, her eyes dark and huge in her face. And she was naked under that towel. She was completely and utterly vulnerable.
And someone had broken into her room and tried to harm her.
A protective surge shot through him, and Griffin grabbed a nearby chair and jammed it under the handle of the closet door. He tested it, but it was stuck fast. Good. He looked over at Maylee, who was trembling so hard that droplets of water were shaking off the ends of her wet curls. “Wait in my room,” he told her. “Go through my clothes and put on something of mine.”
She nodded and disappeared into his room.
Griffin scanned her bedroom. It was tidy despite the fact that she’d been interrupted out of the shower. Her knitting sat on the corner of the bed, clearly waiting for its owner to return. Nothing else seemed out of place, so he couldn’t see where someone had broken in. Furious, he went to the phone next to her bed and dialed the front desk.
“Ms. Meriweather,” the voice on the other end said smoothly. “What can I get for you tonight?”
“This is Lord Montagne Verdi,” Griffin said in his iciest, most austere tone. “Ms. Meriweather has an intruder in her room. I’ve locked him in her closet but I want security up here right away. Understand?”
“Absolutely, my lord! We’re sending someone up—”
He hung up. Across from him, he watched the closet doorknob turn, the man in there clearly testing it. The door rattled, and he heard a soft curse. Griffin moved over to the chair, straightened it, and then sat down, pinning the door shut with his weight.
And he waited for security.
Luckily, the hotel was prompt. A mere minute or two later, there was a quick knock at the door. “Security.”
Griffin got up from the chair and headed to the door, letting them in. “He’s in the closet.”
The security team extracted the man, who was clearly one of the paparazzi. The man babbled and tried to make excuses, but the camera in his hand—and the fact that he was hiding between Maylee’s ugly dresses—told the real story. They took him away and another man stayed behind to take down Griffin’s information. He told them what he knew, then glanced back at his room. His assistant hadn’t shown her face since the others had arrived. “Maylee? Can you come give this man your statement?”
A moment later, she stepped through the doorway of their adjoining rooms. Her hair was still wet, but had been finger-combed into loose, damp waves. She wore one of his button-up shirts, the hem of it grazing her tanned thighs. It was big on her, though when she moved forward, he saw the soft bob of her breasts under the fabric.
And holy Christ, she was sexy in his shirt.
Griffin clenched his fists, willing away the inappropriate surge of lust he felt at the sight of her. Those greenish-brown eyes were still huge and troubled, and when she stuck her hand out for the security officer to shake, he noticed it was still trembling. She was terrified.
Her fear made his protective instincts arise. He put a hand on her shoulder and tugged her closer to him, ignoring the security officer’s questioning look. As Maylee gave her statement, he remained at her side, and she seemed to relax a bit, toying with the too-long sleeves of his shirt as she spoke.
“He told me he wanted me to work with him,” she said in her soft drawl. “That he wanted the inside story. I’m guessing he wanted details on the wedding, or on Mr. Griffin. He said he’d pay me lots of money.”
“And what did you say to him?” the man asked.
She looked surprised. “Why, I screamed. I screamed and slammed the door in his face.”
Griffin smiled faintly.
“Thank you,” said the security officer once Maylee had given her statement. “We’ll turn this information—along with the intruder—over to the police.”
“What are you going to do to ensure this doesn’t happen again?” Griffin’s voice was cold, authoritative, and he gave the man a hard look. “I’m not keen on the idea of my employees being harassed while I’m staying at what is supposed to be a safe establishment.”
“Of course, sir—er, my lord,” the man said, and he looked embarrassed. “We’ll post a security guard on this floor in addition to the ones downstairs. You won’t be disturbed again.”
“See that we are not,” Griffin said.