Hidden Hearts

“He might bring a friend.”

“I’m prepared for that contingency.”

Always prepared—just like a Boy Scout. Except he didn’t look at her like any boy she’d ever known. He focused on her with an unnerving intensity that made her shiver. Exactly what she’d been afraid of.

She needed to come up with an alternative plan. No way was she going to suggest getting into a car with this stranger. If he insisted on holding her captive, she was better off where someone might hear her scream. Such a sobering thought gave her the confidence to look him straight in the eye with a boldness she was far from feeling.

“You can’t expect me to shower with a strange man in my home.”

“Why not?”

“Because I won’t.”

“Lady—”

“Alexandra.”

“Alexandra, do you like the way you smell?”

Of course she didn’t. But that was the point. As long as she wore garbage like perfume, no man would find her attractive. Not even a criminal. The stench protected her. The stench protected her from him.

She cocked her head to the side, pretending to be puzzled and hurt by his accusation. “What smell?”

Roarke’s very male, very hard lower jaw dropped in astonishment and then he chuckled again, the same deep chuckle that had thawed her before and made her consider whether she could trust him.

“Nice try, la—Alexandra,” he corrected himself, definite amusement lighting up his face. “You will take a shower. But I’ll give you a choice.”

She didn’t like the sound of his statement since it sounded too much like an ultimatum. Then again, she had little alternative but to stand here and listen while his hand manacled her wrist like steel.

“You either shower by yourself, or, I’ll climb in with you and do the honors myself.”

ALEXANDRA HAD NEVER heard such a harsh ultimatum sugar-coated with such silky seductive charm. What kind of man was Roarke Stone? Obviously one who didn’t take no for an answer. Obviously one used to women giving in to his every whim. Obviously one who believed she should obey his every command.

As she trudged beside him up to her apartment, she didn’t bother wasting her energy trying to fight him again. He’d disabled an opponent much stronger than her in less than sixty seconds, and all she would accomplish by using the few basic self-defense skills she knew was to hurt herself.

Although Roarke hadn’t struck her when she’d attacked him the first time but had simply overpowered her with brute force, she couldn’t take a chance that he might lose his temper and knock her out if she defied him again. While he didn’t seem the type to strike a woman, he certainly had demonstrated his ability to boss her around.

He was arrogant. Conceited. And he wanted her to get naked while he was in her apartment.

Patience. She needed to wait for a better opportunity to escape. Besides, she’d think better and move more quickly if she remained uninjured.

The hard part was going to be matching wits with her captor. He’d not only shown her that he commanded great strength, but he possessed a remarkable memory for details. And he had an uncanny ability to anticipate what she was about to do before she did it—as when he’d moved his thigh to prevent her landing a knee to his groin and when he’d plucked her cell phone from the cradle in her car.

He’d also come up with a rational explanation for her every objection. And he’d carefully told her things she couldn’t check out while he remained with her. With incredible perception, he’d known exactly what to say to make her doubt her doubts about him. If she wasn’t careful to guard her thoughts, she’d start exhibiting that Stockholm syndrome where a kidnap victim begins to identify with her captor.

Luckily she knew she could never again fall for this type of charm or lies. Let him do his worst. He could turn up the heat all he wanted and she wouldn’t respond. After being struck once by his particular kind of good looks and charm, she was now immune.

But if she wasn’t careful, she’d soon have herself believing he could read her mind. While he wasn’t all-knowing and all-powerful, he clearly was a man used to giving orders and getting his own way.

She had no doubt he would follow her into the shower if she protested again. So she didn’t.

When he pulled out a shiny black gun, she restrained a gasp and managed to remain quiet as he pointed it toward her apartment—not her. Clearly the weapon was a precaution to ensure their safety as he checked every room and closet to make sure they were alone.

He moved quickly, quietly, seemingly taking no interest in her pictures of family in the dining room. Likewise, he spent no time looking at her framed design awards hanging in the hall. He didn’t slow as they passed her expensive computer or stereo system. Roarke seemed solely focused on places where someone could hide, but whether his desire was to protect her or himself, she had no way of guessing.

Without talking, he’d also made another point. No way would she attempt to fight a man holding a weapon as handily as he did. He handled the gun, casually, expertly. The weapon seemed an extension of his body.

“It’s clear.” He tucked the gun back into a shoulder holster he wore under his loose-fitting jacket. “Gather up some clothes. Go take a shower. Lock the door if it’ll make you feel safer. Meanwhile, I’ll bolt the front door.”

He released her hand but nonchalantly blocked any possible escape. She hurried into her bedroom, hoping he wouldn’t follow her, and let out a small sigh of relief when he didn’t.

She supposed not many women would run away from a man that good-looking. In fact, she was counting on it, hoping he wouldn’t anticipate her next move.

She glanced longingly at the portable phone and decided not to risk it as she heard the bolt on her front door drive home. While she might dial 911 before he stopped her, it would take the police several minutes to arrive. She could be dead by then.

Rather than let that grave thought deter her, she worked faster. She snatched up a plastic shopping bag and dumped out the shoes she’d bought last week. Quickly she snatched the top sheet off her bed and stuffed it into the shopping bag, then she floated the coverlet back over the bed to hide the missing sheet in case Roarke got curious and ducked in for a look. Finally she grabbed a change of clothing and stuffed it on top of the sheet.

She returned to the hallway a little breathless, hoping she hadn’t taken too long and aroused his suspicions. Roarke had angled a chair so he could watch the front and back entrances to her apartment as well as the short hallway from bedroom to bathroom.

Without meeting his eyes for fear he’d guess her intention, she hurried into the bathroom. As soon as she closed the door behind her, Alexandra dumped the clothing on the floor. Quickly she tied one end of the sheet to the towel bar. Praying the bar would remained attached to the wall and would hold her weight, she tugged hard.

The knot held.

She turned on the shower. The water would disguise any noise she made opening the window. She closed the toilet seat, climbed on top and threw the end of the sheet out the open window. Although the sheet wouldn’t reach the ground, she believed she could drop safely to the grass when she reached the sheet’s end.

She didn’t allow herself the luxury of thinking how surprised Roarke would be to find her gone. Palms sweaty with a combination of fear of discovery and fear of dropping out of a second-story window, she placed one leg through the window and started to ease herself through.

The bathroom door opened.

Alexandra froze, her hands on the sheet, still half inside the bathroom.

He took in the dumped clothes, the sheet and her awkward position in one quick but thorough glance and let out a long, low whistle. “Going somewhere?”

“How did you—”

“Know?” He lifted one insolent eyebrow. “You didn’t lock the bathroom door.”

“Huh?”

In one swift move, Roarke tugged on the sheet and pulled her into the bathroom, backing away as he got a good whiff of her odor. “As nervous as you were about taking your clothes off around me, if you’d intended to take a real shower, you would have locked the door.”

Damn him. Damn his know-it-all-superior grin. Damn his mind that didn’t overlook a detail. Damn him for the glimmer of respect she’d read in his eyes.

How did he already know her well enough to predict her actions? Could he have been stalking her for weeks? She’d read about some weirdo stalkers who weren’t ex-boyfriends but simply casual acquaintances who fixated on a woman for no logical reason. Could she have seen this man at the bank? At work? On a construction site?

Ignoring her completely, he untied the sheet and tossed it into the hallway. He took one last efficient look around the bathroom, peering through the tempered-glass shower doors as if searching for any other means of escape. He must have decided she was trapped and walked out.

In frustration she kicked the door shut behind him and viciously twisted the lock. When it clicked, she heard his disturbing chuckle.