The Raven Master

She moistened her lips and held out the picture. “It was on the floor,” she explained lamely, more annoyed by her own embarrassment than by his accusatory stare. All she’d done was rescue the photo from being sucked into the vacuum yet she felt guilty enough to have been caught snooping through his underwear drawer.

With one more glance at the half-made bed, Quinn crossed the room slowly and, she thought, with forced casualness. When he was close enough that she caught the stimulating scent of pine soap, he reached out, but instead of accepting the proffered picture, he captured her bruised wrist.

Startled, she tried to pull away but he held her firmly, examining the blue welts and bloody scratches scattered across her inner arm.

Perhaps it was his nearness that made Janine’s heart race wildly; perhaps it was the warmth of his strong palm encircling her wrist. The reason didn’t matter. She was aware of him. Acutely aware—of his maleness, of his distinctive scent and of the radiant, almost incandescent energy that seemed to be emanating from every pore in his body.

Her lips parted, allowing more oxygen into her suddenly starved lungs. A prickling sensation from her captive wrist crawled up her arm, teased her nape like a lover’s kiss, then slid down her spine with a violent shiver. Janine would have stepped away, except that her legs felt like lead pillars and her feet seemed to have been soldered to the floor.

Without releasing his grip, Quinn slid the index finger of his free hand delicately over her wounded flesh. “Did the raven do this?” There was an edge to his voice that gave her chills.

“It wasn’t Edgar’s fault,” Janine assured him. “When I was making the bed, I accidentally hit the lamp. He…was upset.”

“Was he?”

Quinn brushed his knuckle over an ugly puncture mark at her elbow and the look in his eyes frightened her half to death. For a brief moment, she had the horrible image of a raven roasting on a spit but she shook off the awful thought, reminding herself that Quinn had rescued the bird in the first place.

Still, this hard-eyed person bore little resemblance to the gentle man who had tended a wounded bird less than two hours earlier. The ominous transformation was unsettling.

Janine gestured weakly toward the half-made bed. “Edgar seems to be rather protective of his perch. He wouldn’t let me finish.”

“I don’t expect you to clean up after me.” To her shock, Quinn brushed his lips across the sensitive flesh of her inner wrist then released her so abruptly that she wondered if she’d imagined the sensual gesture.

Before she could compose herself, he’d plucked the photograph from her hand and stepped away. Without his comforting touch, Janine swayed slightly, and when he turned his back on her, she felt strangely bereft.

He spoke again in a voice that was cool, almost harsh. “In the future, perhaps you’d be good enough to leave the clean linens in the hallway.”

Confused, Janine crossed her arms to quell an annoying tremor. “But I always clean the guest rooms on Saturday.”

He replied without turning. “I don’t require maid service.”

The haughty remark rankled her. “I’m not a maid, Mr. Coulliard. I do, however, provide a courtesy that most of my tenants appreciate. Please understand that I did not intentionally violate the privacy that you quite obviously cherish.”

A heavy silence shrouded the room. Quinn’s shoulder muscles rippled as he crooked one arm. Although Janine’s view was blocked by his body, she thought from the tilt of his head that he was looking down at the photograph.

After what seemed a small eternity, his arm fell to his side. “You’re right. I do value my privacy.” He turned slowly and laid the photograph on top of the bureau, beside the master key. “I didn’t mean to be abrupt.”

“And I didn’t mean to intrude.” Janine’s eyes were drawn to the picture of the smiling blond woman.

Quinn followed her gaze but remained silent.

A small voice in the back of her mind warned against comment. She couldn’t help herself. “The woman is quite lovely. Who is she?”

Suddenly the tension was thick enough to slice. Quinn’s jaw twitched as he stared silently at the picture. Seconds ticked away. He closed his eyes. His chest expanded and held steady, then deflated slowly. Finally he posed an abrupt question. “Why do you want to know?”

A closer examination of his dark expression might have made her reconsider the answer. “I just wondered if she was your wife.”

Quinn turned on her with eyes as black as bruises and lips flat with fury. Before Janine could do more than suck in a startled breath, his hand was at her throat. For one terror-stricken moment, she feared he might strangle her.

Instead his fingers caressed the soft flesh below her jaw, a gesture exquisitely erotic yet undeniably dangerous. “I was under the impression that you don’t intrude into the personal lives of your guests. Have I been misinformed?”

Although her heart was pounding hard enough to break through her ribs, Janine managed to stammer a reply. “Not at all. I—I was, uh, simply curious.”

He slid one fingertip slowly down her throat until it nested at the clavicle juncture. “Curiosity,” he murmured. “Fatal to felines and unhealthy for humans, as well. The woman in the photograph never learned that lesson. But you will, won’t you?”

She shivered as his palm encircled her throat so delicately that it seemed more a lover’s caress than a sinister warning. He wasn’t holding her, not by physical means. All Janine had to do was take a step back and she’d be free of his touch.

But she couldn’t move and didn’t want to. Like a doe in headlights, she was trapped by his penetrating gaze, frozen by his mesmerizing touch. She should be frightened—and she was, in a way—yet the fear was not for her physical safety. The fear was for her soul and for the power this man had over it. Over her.

He bowed his head slightly, bending so close that his hair tickled her cheek and his breath warmed her ear. “Curiosity and carelessness can be a deadly combination. Be more careful about entering a man’s bedroom. You never know what might happen.”

She closed her eyes, praying her rubbery legs would hold for just a few minutes longer. “I—I trust my guests.”

“Trust no one.” His mouth brushed her throbbing temple.

Opening her eyes, she whispered, “Including you?”

His smile was not reassuring. “Especially me.”

Before she could assess that unsettling comment, he stepped away. “Good day, Miss Taylor.” With that, he walked to the window and presented his back.

Janine was so flustered by the brusque dismissal that her shaky limbs threatened to collapse entirely. She grabbed at the dresser to steady herself and her hand grazed the master key. It slid off onto the carpet a few feet from the goose-necked lamp. Feeling dizzy, she cooled her face with her palm, then turned to retrieve the key ring.

The raven lifted himself like an ebony phoenix and screeched a furious warning. Shielding her head, Janine snatched up the key and stumbled quickly out of the room.

When Quinn heard her unsteady footsteps on the stairs, he quietly crossed the room and closed the door. Disgusted with himself, he absently rubbed his aching head. Damn. He’d nearly kissed her. In fact, he’d nearly taken her to bed and she would have allowed it; he knew that even if she didn’t. He’d recognized the passion flaring in those lovely amber eyes, the desire she’d been too naive to conceal.

There was an inner frailty about Janine Taylor that touched something deep inside Quinn, exposed secret thoughts that he hadn’t faced in a long time. He didn’t like that. In fact, he hated it. That doe-eyed woman was going to mess up everything.

Quinn blew out a breath, pulled the revolver out of his waistband and laid the weapon on the dresser. He touched the photograph gently, then slipped it into his vest pocket, turned toward the bed and extracted a large manila envelope from his duffel. A meticulous examination of the taped flap assured him that the seal hadn’t been tampered with. This time.

But he’d definitely been careless. It wouldn’t happen again.

As he glanced around the room, his gaze fell on the raven. He smiled.

Ten minutes later, Edgar sat on the dresser pecking at a bowl of birdseed while Quinn finished prying a piece of flat steel from the bottom of the lamp base. He set aside the Frisbee-sized circle, and was pleased to note that the rounded top of the base was hollow, rather like an inverted hubcap. Satisfied, he carefully taped the manila envelope inside and replaced the flat bottom. When he tried to stand the lamp upright, however, it tilted slightly and the flat piece slid off.

Frustrated, he squatted to inspect the problem and realized that when he’d pried off the round metal, he’d inadvertently broken one of the tabs holding it in place. He sat back on his heels, contemplating the dilemma. If the bottom couldn’t be snapped tight, he’d have to depend solely on the raven’s protective fury to keep intruders at a distance. That wasn’t a perfect solution but it would have to do.

Holding the flat metal in place with his hand, he carefully raised the lamp, then stood to examine his handiwork. When he was certain that no trace of the concealed envelope was exposed, he sat tiredly on the bed.

Although his foray into town had been an informational bust, the afternoon hadn’t been a total waste. At least he now knew what the master key looked like. Unfortunately he didn’t know where Janine kept it. Since she’d taken his room key from the foyer closet, that had been the first place he’d looked. He’d also checked the kitchen drawers, the pantry, every nook and cranny in both the library and parlor. That left only her bedroom and the downstairs office, both of which were secured by those damnable jimmy-proof locks.

Despite Janine’s protestations to the contrary, her trusting nature obviously had limits but he already knew that from the leery way she watched him. He’d encouraged that, of course. He wanted her to be afraid of him, to keep her distance. Every time she’d gotten too close, he’d momentarily lost sight of his priorities. There was something about her…

As Janine’s image floated through his mind, he was instantly aroused. Her delicate fragrance lingered in the humid air, an enticing combination of floral sweetness and musky excitement that made his head spin wildly. His fingertips tingled with the memory of her softness, the way her creamy flesh had pulsed beneath his touch. And those incredible eyes, filled with a guileless passion that probed the core of his manhood until he’d been nearly mad with wanting her.

She was so fragile, so innocent—