Racing would be too obvious, so she forced herself to a measured stride.
It wasn’t easy. Brand dwarfed her with his size and she thrilled at the contrast, her thoughts jumping ahead to how his weight would feel over her, the heat of his skin and all those delicious muscles...
“You’re quiet.”
She cleared her throat. “Just thinking.” And getting myself turned on.
The staircase was wide enough for them to go up together, still hand in hand, back through the house, and then to the double staircase that split her large foyer and led upstairs.
She picked up her manufactured shank from the bottom step, holding it in her free hand. Looking toward her discarded shoes in the entry, she decided to leave them rather than release Brand; she could get the shoes tomorrow.
She smiled at him and started up, her heart already galloping in anticipation.
They were on the third step when he said, “I can use the rooms Justice had. That’s only one floor below you.”
Sahara froze. It took her brain a second to compute what she’d just heard.
Rejection again. Damn it, when would she learn?
Maybe it was the buildup, thinking he’d finally be hers, but she rounded on him in the grip of unreasonable anger. “You want to sleep on a separate floor?”
He stared down at her. “It’s not about what I want, Sahara. It’s about what makes sense.”
Disappointed, infuriated—despondent, damn him—she tried to snatch her hand away. “Great idea!”
The blasted man held on.
She stopped tugging and through her teeth, said, “Let. Go.”
His thumb rubbed over her knuckles. “Sahara—”
On the verge of losing it, and knowing she couldn’t do that in front of him, she hissed, “Let me go right now! I don’t need you to inspect my rooms. They’re fine. The house is fine. I’m fine.” Liar—but her personal turmoil was no longer any of his business. “The security is the best money can buy, so I don’t really need anything at all. Since it’ll be morning soon, you should probably just go on home.” Mortified that her voice broke there at the end, she spun around and dashed up the steps, her shank swinging at her side.
“Be careful,” he yelled. “If you fall you’re going to stab yourself.”
“Go to hell!” She reached the landing at the top of the stairs and, still running, went to the left, farther down an unlit hallway and then right through the open door to her bedroom. She slammed the door shut and locked it, sealing herself into the dark interior. She rested her forehead against the cool wood.
Emotions welled up, too many of them to count, too varied to define a single one. Things she didn’t want to feel bombarded her.
She left the lights off. A large mirror hung behind her dresser, another full-length mirror beside it. Not only did she refuse to let Brand witness her pathetic upset, she didn’t want to see it either.
Breathing hard, fighting off idiotic tears, she made her way to her bed by rote and sat down with her blade across her lap. “Stupid,” she mumbled to herself. “So stupid.”
A second before she heard the sound, she sensed the movement behind her. All the air whooshed out of her lungs.
She leaped off the bed and swung the dagger at the same time, colliding with jarring impact against something solid.
“Jesus, Sahara.”
Oh dear God. She knew that voice and it terrified her. “Don’t you dare move,” she threatened, keeping her tone strong despite her terror. “I’ll cut your head off, I swear I will.”
To the side of her, in the darkness, her kidnapper asked, “Will you now?”
“Yes.” She quickly rolled over and off the bed away from him, sweeping out with the blade as she did so, thinking she’d feel a hard hand grab her wrist or ankle at any moment and then what would she do? Panic raced through her until her feet were again on the floor.
No one touched her.
Slowly, as silently as possible, she backed up until her shoulder blades touched the door frame next to her dressing room.
The door was open when she always kept it closed. A cool evening breeze wafted in around her.
Had he somehow come in through the window?
What if he’d brought the other men with him? They could all six be in her room with her! She wouldn’t stand a chance.
Why had she so stubbornly insisted on coming home?
And what the hell had happened to her security system?
Eyes wide, she tried to see through the darkness. She might bump into one of them any second now...
No, she told herself. Stay calm, keep your head and think. She couldn’t count on Brand hearing her, not from a floor away—if he had even stayed after she’d ordered him to go.
Please, she silently prayed. Please, Brand, still be here.
She needed a way to gain the upper hand. If she knocked over something—a lamp or a chair—perhaps Brand would hear it.
But what if he didn’t? She’d be giving away her position. She needed to see the bastard, to know where he was.
An idea occurred to her.
Holding the blade tight in her right fist, she used her left to feel for the light switch just inside the dressing room.
It clicked on silently.
Since the room was behind her, the sudden bright light didn’t blind her.
Her intruder wasn’t so lucky. The glare hit his face and he flinched, lifting an arm.
He stood only a few feet from her!
She’d known his voice, and now she recognized his size, but it was the first time she’d seen him without the disguise. Big, with sandy-brown hair and those light blue eyes, some might call him handsome, but the aura of menace chilled her blood.
Sahara struck out and he ducked, reaching for her at the same time. The blade cut into his arm, slicing just below his elbow, making him retreat.
She quickly sidestepped and, taking an aggressive stance with the blade lifted at an angle over her shoulder, she threatened, “Reach for me again and you’ll lose the arm.”
“With that flimsy thing?”
“That’s not my blood ruining the area rug.”
Looking down he saw the trail of red and, amazingly enough, moved to stand on the hardwood instead. Closing a hand over the wound to try to stanch the drip, he assessed her. “You made that from the heater, didn’t you?”
“Yes.”
“And you brought it to your bedroom?”
Good thing, she thought, but said only “I’ve grown fond of it.”
His mouth didn’t move, yet she could almost swear he was amused. The last thing she’d wanted to do was entertain him.
Those blue eyes she already knew so well stared into hers. “Next time I get you—and, Sahara, I will get you—I’ll remember just how ingenious you are.”
Back to the threat of tying her down naked? Not happening, buster. “Why?”
Surprise lifted his brows. “Why what?”
“Why will you get me again?” She backed up another step, resisting the urge to search the rest of the room for the others. She had a gut feeling he’d come alone. “If you want money, I’ll pay you. Just tell me what you know about my brother.”
This time he smiled openly—and it was scary-mean. “You want to know about Scott? Sure. He’s not the saint you paint him to be.”
“No, not a saint,” she agreed. “But he is an amazing brother.” She hitched her chin. “What did you do for him that he’d owe you money?”
“A job. And he double-crossed us.”
“Doesn’t sound like him.”
“Sounds exactly like him,” he insisted, then added, “the bastard.”
Sahara growled and hefted the blade high. “Insult him again and I’ll gut you from neck to groin.”
Awe held him captive. “You’d actually try, wouldn’t you?”
“There’d be no ‘try’ about it.”
His now-familiar gaze slowly touched all over her, from her tumbled hair down to her bare feet then back up to meet her eyes. “You’re magnificent,” he breathed. “I hope you know that.”
His twisted admiration frightened her even more. She was debating what to do, how to get out of this conundrum, when a knock sounded on her door. “Sahara?”