was too busy leaving fiery kisses on her throat and along the slope of her bare shoulders to answer, and he pushed impatiently at the thin straps that held up her gown.
“Yes.” He undid her zipper. “Right here. Right this very minute.”
Natalie let out a soft gasp as his lips moved down to the swell of her breasts, sending shivers of pleasure through her, and she sank down onto the carpet in his arms.
“If you insist,” she whispered, and dragged his mouth back up to hers.
Sometime later, as they lay naked and spent from their wanton but delicious exertions, Natalie stirred and woke with a start. They’d both fallen asleep.
She yawned and reached out sleepily to shake Rhys’s shoulder to wake him and tell him they really ought to be going when she heard a sound in the darkness.
A floorboard creaked.
Natalie froze. What was that? Was someone else in the apartment? But that was impossible. Her hand tensed on Rhys’s arm, and she scarcely dared to breathe.
She waited, but the sound wasn’t repeated. Had she imagined it? After all, these old buildings creaked and settled and made all manner of odd noises. That’s what Rhys would say, at any rate.
She was just about to wake him to tell him she wanted to leave straightaway and never, ever come back, when she heard it again. Another floorboard creaked, this time a bit closer.
Natalie bit back a gasp. No. She definitely hadn’t imagined it.
Someone – or something – was in the apartment.
But that was surely madness, wasn’t it? she thought uneasily. After all ‒ how could anyone possibly be in the apartment but them? The Dunleigh was secure; it was one of the reasons Grandfather had chosen the cooperative. And Rhys had told her the front desk in the lobby was manned round the clock.
Which meant that whoever – no, scratch that, whatever – was standing nearby might not be human.
As if aware of Natalie’s growing disquietude, the darkness beyond her solidified and materialized into a figure...
...a figure holding a gun.
Natalie dug her nails into Rhys’s arm and let out an earsplitting shriek.
He flew up, disoriented and wild-eyed. “What is it? What’s happened?”
“An intruder,” she gasped as she sat up and scrabbled desperately to find her discarded gown. “Call the police!”
Immediately Rhys got to his feet and grabbed his trousers.
“Shall I turn on a light?” Nat whispered, terrified.
“No. I haven’t a bloody stitch on and I’m standing in front of the bloody window!” he hissed. He yanked his trousers on and moved forward.
She stood and caught at his arm. “Rhys – wait. Where are you going? He has a gun!”
But he didn’t listen, only shook her arm off and made his way determinedly to the front hall. Since she wasn’t about to leave his side, Natalie darted after him, her heart thrumming madly, her evening gown clutched against her chest.
The lamp on the hall table was still on. They crept cautiously forward. “Is anyone here?” Rhys demanded. “Show yourself!”
But the only answer was silence.
Although they checked each and every room – and Natalie looked under every bed and in every closet, as well – there was no one in the apartment and no sign of forced entry.
“They must’ve got away,” Natalie said with equal parts frustration and relief, “while I was screaming and you were jumping round putting on your trousers.”
“Or perhaps,” Rhys said as he turned to fix an accusing glare on her, “you imagined the whole thing.”
She drew in a disbelieving breath. “I did not! I heard him, Rhys. I saw him. He had a gun. I didn’t imagine that.”
“Yes, well then, where is he?” He pointed to the alarm panel. “The security system’s still armed, just as it was when I activated it earlier.” He opened the door and inspected the lock. “Look for yourself. There’s no sign of tampering, no scratches or marks on the paint.”
“Perhaps he came in through one of the windows.”
“What? A cat burglar, like Cary Grant in To Catch a Thief?” He closed the door. “Don’t be ridiculous.”
She crossed her arms – with her evening gown bunched up underneath – against her chest. “I know what I saw. And I saw a man with a gun standing over us.”
“Perhaps you were dreaming. These old buildings settle and creak sometimes, you know.”
“I knew you’d say that.” She glared at him. “Aren’t you at least going to call the police?”
“And report what, exactly? A creaking floorboard? A ghost? Cary Grant?”
“Fine. Never mind.” Natalie turned away and stalked back to the living room. “Laugh at me if you want, but I’m telling you, someone was here. Take me back to the hotel right now. It may be a bit impersonal, and it’s not nearly so grand as this place, but at least it’s intruder-free.”
Holly eased the hotel room door open after returning from Chaz’s place and crept inside. She paused. The lamp on the hallway table was off, which meant that Jamie was probably already in bed and sleeping.
She slipped off her shoes and laid her clutch on the table, then made her way as quietly as possible to the tiny kitchenette. Holly yawned. A couple of cookies and some milk, and she’d be ready to tumble straight into bed for some well-deserved sleep—
“So how’s Chaz?”
Holly let out a gasp. Jamie sat on the sofa, his clogs discarded and his feet propped on the coffee table. “Jamie? What are you doing sitting here in the dark?” she demanded. “God, you scared me. I thought you’d gone to bed.”
“I just got home a little while ago. Thought I’d wait up to say hello, and goodnight.” His smile was lopsided and tired.
“You must be exhausted,” she said, and sat down beside him. She leaned forward to kiss him. “The party was a massive success, thanks in no small part to your menu. It was amazing.”
“Thanks. I do my best.” He drew her against him, kissing the top of her head. “I missed you.”
“I missed you, too. It’s crazy, isn’t it?” she observed as she nestled against him. “We were at the same function all night and didn’t speak to each other once.”
“Yes, it’s all very Upstairs, Downstairs, isn’t it? Your father doesn’t like the hired help mingling
