feeling stunned and winded. She glared up at her attacker, filled with impotent fury mixed with panic. A stranger was in her house! Asking her what the hell she was doing! Ordering her, with imperious hand signals, to sit here, as if she was a prisoner!
Was she a prisoner? Her shoulder tingled oddly where he had touched it, and she resisted the urge to rub it, as if that would betray weakness.
As he folded his arms over the rather impressive contours of his chest, and planted his long legs, she felt, weirdly, as though her panic was put on pause. She had a sense of being caught in a luxurious place of slow time suspension as she studied him.
Surely home invaders did not look like this? She could see the man was very tall. The last bits of sun creeping over his extraordinarily broad shoulders spun his dark hair to milky chocolate. He looked strong and fit, and carried his body with that casual confidence she assigned to athletes, not to someone up to no good.
Allie saw the man was well dressed in pressed khaki shorts that made his bare legs look very long, and a sports shirt that hugged the enticing muscle of very masculine arms.
There could be worse people to take you prisoner.
She was appalled at this traitorous thought.
Of course he would look well dressed. That was exactly how a thief would try to blend in, as he was out trying door handles and breaking down doors in an upscale neighborhood like this one.
The intruder backed up from her, slowly, keeping his eyes on her, until his hand was on the doorknob.
Leaving, she deduced with relief.
But then he took his eyes off her for a moment, and glanced outside. It occurred to her he had a partner in crime, an accomplice.
Then she noticed keys dangling from the lock. How could she have been so stupid? She had locked the door, yes, but left the keys in it. The pressure to produce the jingle was making her absent-minded, obviously.
Allie weighed her options and saw two. He was distracted right now. She could get up and race back down that hallway, and out onto the beach before he knew what had happened.
She was rather shocked to discover her unwillingness to retreat. This was her home, her safe place. This was the one thing she had left that she was willing to make a stand for.
“Get out while you can,” she ordered him. She staggered to her feet. She hoped her voice wasn’t as wobbly as her legs were. Thankfully, she had lots of experience overcoming nerves, especially with her voice. She slipped her hand into her shorts pocket. “I have a weapon.”
The part about a new weapon was a complete fib. Still, you would think he would have the decency to be startled at this latest threat to his diabolical plan, whatever it was.
But no, the man turned back to her, ever so slowly, and regarded her through narrowed eyes. With the last light spilling in the front door, she could see her home invader was one long, tall drink of handsome!
“I think we’ve already dispensed with the weapon,” he said, something dry in his tone, almost as if he found her laughable.
“I have another one,” she insisted, pressing her finger up against the shorts pocket in what she thought was probably a fair approximation of a pistol barrel.
He had chiseled, perfect features and eyes as dark brown as new-brewed coffee. His cheeks and chin were ever so faintly whisker-shadowed, but in a way that made him look roguish and sexy, not at all like the home invader that he was.
Allie was hoping, given her warning, he would bolt back out the way he came, but he didn’t. He frowned at her, any amusement he felt at her efforts to defend herself completely gone.
He moved across the space that separated them in less time than it took her to take a single breath. He caught both her arms, tugged them out of her pockets, and pinned them to her sides. Her squirming to release herself only served to tighten his grip, so she stopped.
To her relief, it was apparent his hold on her arms was not intended to hurt, but to control. His touch was warm and made her pulse with a strange, electrical awareness of him.
It seemed to be an entirely inappropriate time to notice he smelled good, like a deep forest afternoon on a hot summer day.
Why hadn’t she run when she had a chance?
“Who are you?” he asked, his voice an unsettling growl of something between menace and seduction. “And what have you done with Mavis?”
Shock shivered along Allie’s spine. He knew her grandmother? He could have read her name on the mailbox.
No, he couldn’t have. It had faded a long time ago. So, yes, he knew her grandmother. So what? Did that give him the right to barge into her house?
“What have I done with Mavis?” Allie stammered. She tried, again, to wiggle away from his grip, but he held her fast.
“Where is she?” He managed to say that as if Allie was barging into his home, and not the other way around.
“You think I’m the home invader?”
“You’re the one with the pistol in your pocket.”
She managed to wiggle her fingers just enough to reach into her pockets and turn them inside out. He looked unsurprised, and not impressed, at all. It was all too much. She had gone from panic to fury to this. Her life wasn’t in danger. This was all some kind of misunderstanding.
Allie began to giggle. Okay, it might have had a tiny bit of a hysterical edge to it.
“I fail to see the humor,” he said tightly. “It’s been on the news. There have been break-ins in this neighborhood. Mavis would be very vulnerable.”
She giggled harder. “I’m not the intruder. You’re the intruder.”
He let go of her shoulders completely, and looked down at her, his brow knit in consternation. “Who are you?”
“Who am I?” she sputtered. “I live here. I think the question is, who are you? And how dare you just walk into my home?”
“Your home?” The frown deepened around the exquisite corners of a wide mouth.
“I’ve rented this cottage from Mavis, in this time period, every year for the past ten years. My mom and dad rented it before that. That’s why I have my own key.”
What? Allie thought, completely taken off guard. She noted his voice was a masculine and sexy rasp. She could still feel her upper arms tingling from where he had held her fast.
Now that there was, obviously, no threat, her thoughts wandered. She despised herself for the wish that flitted through her mind: that her hair was not rumpled, towel-dried from her last swim, the tips still a shockingly different color than the rest of her blond hair. She wished she was not standing there, barefoot, in a too-large T-shirt that ended just past the shorts she had pulled on over a still-damp bathing suit.
Allie actually wished she had makeup on, which was totally against the cottage rules.
She
