Caught Off Guard

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.