the Santos wedding. What else was he to think when a beautiful woman came bouncing out of the bathroom, her hair wet and her cheeks flushed?
And Ian decided he’d let Nick keep right on thinking just that.
Moving behind the Sinclair woman, Ian caught the scent of the storm that still lingered on her damp hair and smooth skin. When he placed his hands on her shoulders in what appeared to be an affectionate display, she stiffened, then covered his boot discreetly with her own and came down hard on his instep. Pain shot up his leg when she shifted her weight. She leaned intimately against him while she dug her heel in deeper. He forced a smile and plowed his fingers into the soft flesh of her shoulders.
“I’ll catch you in town, Santos,” Ian ground out, fighting to ignore the bone-crushing pressure of her boot on top of his foot. “I’d just like to say goodbye to Cara.”
“I’ve really got to run, darling. I don’t want to be late for my appointment.” She twisted in his arms to press a kiss to his cheek and threw her entire weight into increasing his torture. He sucked in a breath and clenched his teeth.
She held his gaze, waited for him to make the next move. He considered his options: create a scene in front of Nick or let her go. He didn’t like either option.
Neither he or the woman, for reasons of their own, wanted a confrontation in front of Nick. No, Ian thought as he slowly let go of her shoulders, he wanted to finish this privately, someplace where they would be completely alone.
There was a momentary, tense silence as she stepped away from him. The rain had stopped completely now and the only sound was the heavy drip-drip of water from the roof.
She turned away from him and smiled at Nick as she backed toward the door. “Nice to meet you.”
Nick nodded. “You, too. We’ll see you around.”
Her hand on the open door, Cara paused and cast a glance at Ian. “Maybe,” she said, arching one delicate brow.
Ian stared at the door when she closed it behind her.
No maybe about it, Blondie.
She wouldn’t go far, he was certain of that. She’d come here for something. Whatever it was she was after, she wasn’t finished yet.
And neither was he.
He turned to Nick, who was staring hard at him. “Don’t ask. Don’t even ask.”
Fortunately for Nick, he didn’t. He simply scratched at his neck and shrugged. “Does this mean that free offer of pool and beer is on or off?”
“On.” Ian unbuttoned his shirt and headed for the bedroom to change his clothes. He needed a game of pool to clear his head and a beer to wash the taste of apricots out of his mouth.
Cara kept a vigil on the thick trees separating her cabin from Ian’s. Evening shadows darkened the woods, and though Cara had never been afraid of the night, she couldn’t stop the prickle of anxiety working its way up her spine.
He hadn’t followed her when she’d left his cabin over an hour ago, but she hadn’t really expected that he would. At least, not yet. Through the bathroom door, she’d overheard Ian’s offer to meet Nick in town for a game of pool, and she assumed that he’d stayed with those plans. No doubt Ian would play it cool, to downplay what Nick had walked into this afternoon.
Or what he thought he’d walked into.
She smiled at that, decided that Ian would stay in town, casually play a few games of pool, drink some beer. He’d act like he had all the time in the world. But Cara knew he was thinking about her, wondering who the devil she was and what she’d been doing watching him.
He’d be coming soon. She was certain of that.
A shiver crept up her arms, a mixture of tension and anticipation. Her skin felt sticky and itchy from crawling around in the cattails, and her hair had dried into a mass of stiff curls. She needed a shower badly, but she’d phoned in an urgent message to Margaret and couldn’t risk missing a return call. She would want to know what had happened this afternoon, though Cara had already decided that certain minor details were unimportant and could be left out. One, that Ian had tied her up, and two, that he’d kissed her.
Touching her fingers to her lips, she remembered the press of his mouth against hers, the hot, though brief, brush of his tongue over her own. Killian Shawnessy was much more than she’d bargained for.
A hell of a lot more.
Of course, she knew that the only reason he’d kissed her was to stifle her scream, but somehow that didn’t seem to ease the persistent tingling in her lips. Nor did it erase the memory of his hard, muscled body pressed against hers, his hands on her skin. She remembered those hands now. Large and rough, as skillful as they were experienced. There’d been no movement wasted, no hesitation or uncertainty. Though it nearly killed her to admit it, she admired and respected that.
It also made her mad as hell.
She’d learned how to handle herself from the time she was a little girl. With four big brothers, she’d had two choices: submit or assert. And since submission had never been her style, throughout her childhood she’d endured daily altercations with at least one of her siblings. Except Gabe. At thirty-five, he was the oldest, and had always been the one who’d saved her from serious injury when things got out of hand, dried her tears when frustration took over and she’d been reduced to that despicable female trait of crying.
The year following her parents’ death when she was sixteen had been the hardest, but he’d been there for her then, too. Especially then, even though at twenty-four he suddenly had a family to hold together, as well as support. With three younger, headstrong brothers and a rebellious teenage sister, it hadn’t been easy, but he’d managed, and somehow they’d all survived to become closer to each other than ever before.
She had the urge to call Gabe now, just to hear his voice. His soft, deep tone had always calmed her, and she could certainly use a little calming right now. Ian had shaken her self-confidence, not to mention her pride, and though she never would have admitted that—or what had happened—to anyone, not even Gabe, she could vent her annoyance on the phone in some meaningless nonrelated complaint and never once mention the name Killian Shawnessy.
In spite of her irritation with the man, she smiled slowly, remembering the look of astonishment on his face when she’d walked casually out of the bathroom and into the living room. That look had been her only compensation for the humiliation he’d caused her. She imagined that her heel digging into his foot had left a bruise, as well, but it served him right. How dare he tie her up and toss her in the bathtub!
But why had he done that? she wondered. The information she’d collected on him showed him to be an ordinary enough kind of guy: he owned a small business in Washington, D.C., manufacturing cellular phones; four years in the military, though that stint had ended ten years ago; no wife, no kids; and he lived in a one bedroom apartment in Maryland and drove a four-year-old Ford Explorer.
What reason would he have to be so suspicious of her? Why had he assumed she’d been lying when she’d told him she’d been bird watching? And why would he think anyone was watching him?
He had an edge to him, Cara thought. She recognized it. It was
