No Place To Hide

Squaring her shoulders, she marched for the stairs. No way would she let some whacko ruin the most important week of her life.

But she never made it to the stairs. A few feet away those suspicious hairs snapped to full attention.

She was being watched. She could feel it.

Turning instinctively, Emma found herself eyes-to-chin with Anthony Bracco.

She had to be imagining this. Fate couldn’t be this cruel.

Emma blinked and prayed the apparition would disappear. It didn’t. And he was angry. Muscles along a sharp jawline pulsed like a heartbeat as he ground his teeth.

Her day now completely destroyed, Emma looked up. Anthony hadn’t changed. Not male-model handsome, but close enough. His eyes were an odd, indefinable color somewhere between brown and gray, like rich, dark smoke quartz. Framing them were thick lashes even blacker than his hair, and his eyebrows had a natural, devilish arch.

How fitting, considering the man was Satan.

“What fresh hell is this?” she snapped.

“A new record,” Anthony replied in his raspy, chocolatey voice. “It only took you ten seconds to quote Dorothy Parker. Get upstairs. We have a problem.”

“No, we don’t have a problem. You have a problem. If you don’t get away from me I’m calling security.”

“Go ahead. You’ll undoubtedly need them in a few minutes.”

“Are you threatening me?”

“Hold the tantrum, please. Believe me, if this wasn’t urgent I wouldn’t be here. Go. God forbid one of your precious clients should discover how awful you really are,” Anthony said, forcibly turning Emma and propelling her up the stairs.

Emma felt as if she’d been struck by lightning. She was numb everywhere but her waist, where Anthony’s hands transferred their heat through thin yellow silk.

What was he doing here? This was insane.

Arriving at the top, Emma batted his hands away and turned into her office, barely giving him time to step inside before she slammed the door.

“What do you want?”

He ignored her to hurry behind the desk. Too stunned to react right away, she stared. What a waste of gorgeous male. Wide shoulders in an expensively shiny white T-shirt, and tight, narrow hips in button flys. Sinful. He was even more gorgeous than he’d been two years ago, when he’d lived in hand-made Italian suits.

But she hadn’t fallen hopelessly in lust with the man for his looks. It was the way he crackled with energy that had initially caught her attention. In second place was his self-confidence. She’d learned too late it was actually cold, hard arrogance, but he’d been enchanting up till then.

Emma’s temper gauge shot straight to the red when Anthony shoved her chair out of the way and started fiddling with her computer.

“What the— All right. That’s it,” Emma spat, lunging for the telephone.

In one deft move Anthony caught her wrist, then quickly captured the other as she went for the security button.

A brief, futile tugging match ensued, ending when Anthony landed on the desk chair with her in his lap. Glaring at him, she warned, “Get your hands off me.”

“Mmm,” Anthony murmured, far too close to her mouth, “just like old times.”

His eyes were hooded as he watched her. Waiting. Daring her to do her worst.

Much as she’d love to accommodate him, her hormones had other ideas. Damn the man. He had some colossal nerve, showing up here like he owned the place. He’d disappeared two years ago after trying to seize control of her store, and she’d prayed daily that he’d stay gone.

No such luck, but she had to be careful. If she mashed him into a pulp he’d probably sue. Leaning away, she said, “There’d better be a point to this.”

“There is. Look,” he ordered simply, swiveling the chair so Emma faced the computer monitor.

On the screen was the Creep’s latest e-mail, a picture of Emma in the yellow dress outside the local coffee shop. And as usual, there was a big black X superimposed over her face.

Forgetting herself for a moment, she slumped in his arms. “I was only outside for three minutes.”

“That’s all it takes.”

Emma turned to lock narrowed eyes with Anthony. Seeing a certain smugness there she tried to wriggle free, demanding, “How did you know about the e-mails?”

“Your Internet provider called the FBI for help. How long has this been going on?”

“Let me go. And how did you know my Internet—”

“Would you stop digging your bony butt into my thigh? That hurts.”

Her temper blew and Emma pushed at him, grinding the heels of her hands into his chest.

“Ow! You—” Anthony said, cut off by Emma’s yelp as he let go.

Silk slid on denim, and she would have landed on the floor if he hadn’t grabbed her arms. But as soon as she had a foot on solid ground she stumbled away, choking on angry words.

Anthony followed, asking, “Why didn’t you report these? If you don’t start explaining I’ll tie you to the couch.”

“Try it, Anthony. You think I fought dirty last time? Try me again and see what happens.”

“A deliberately provocative statement. I might take you up on that offer someday.”

“Lucky me.”

Anthony huffed out a laugh. “Okay. We’ve established that I still hate you and you still hate me. Very productive. Can we move on now? I have a lot to say and not much time to say it.”

“Start with how you knew my Internet service called the FBI.”

“I’ve been getting e-mails like this for three weeks,” he said. “Pictures, mostly.”

“Yeah? And?”

“And I don’t have time to explain everything right now, so close your mouth and listen. We’re in trouble, Emma. The FBI’s right behind me and you need to promise you’ll cooperate.”

“Oh, I’ll cooperate, all right. Just as soon as you get out of my store.”

“I can’t. They’ll be here in a second. I’m under FBI protection until this guy’s behind bars,” he told her.