was a hint of warning. The sexual contact was dangerous if they didn’t handle it right. He wasn’t sure why he realized that truth. He only knew that he wasn’t making it up.
Something else he knew. He couldn’t allow Stephanie Swift to marry John Reynard for a whole lot of reasons. Yet he knew that was another thing he’d have to handle carefully if he didn’t want Stephanie to end up dead.
He winced. That was putting it pretty strongly, but he couldn’t discount that truth. John Reynard would fight for what he thought was his. And if he couldn’t have it, nobody could.
And what about Craig’s original purpose—to avenge his brother’s death? He hadn’t forgotten about that, but he knew he couldn’t simply go blasting into Reynard’s life. All along he’d known he had to be careful about his approach to the man. That was true in spades now.
Chapter Four
“You don’t mind staying here by yourself?” Stephanie asked her assistant again.
“I think I’ll be okay.”
“I’d hate for anything to happen to you.”
Claire gave her a direct look. “The way it sounded, they were after you—not me.”
She answered with a tight nod.
“Go on, then.” Claire looked around. “And maybe you want to take the back way.”
Stephanie hated the idea of sneaking out of her own shop, but she knew that Claire was probably right. She slipped through the back door and stood looking around before heading down the alley and over a few blocks to the house she’d bought. She kept herself from running, but she walked quickly along the afternoon streets. When she stepped inside her living room, she breathed a sigh before locking the door firmly behind her, then looking around at the room she had so lovingly furnished—with some pieces from the Garden District mansion and others that she’d picked up at flea markets and garage sales.
The house itself was old but charming, and she’d gotten it at a very good price after Katrina, from a couple who had decided to leave the city for a safer environment.
The down payment had taken a chunk of the money she’d inherited from her mother. But she hadn’t wanted to live with her father in the Garden District mansion. She’d been happy here—well, as happy as she could be. And now her life had turned itself upside down again.
The first time had been a few months ago, when John Reynard had asked for her hand in marriage, and she’d known she had to accept. Then an hour ago, Craig Branson had touched her, and the world had flipped over again.
Her mind had opened to Craig’s. And his to hers. He’d tried to hide it from her, but she knew he had come to New Orleans because he thought John Reynard had something to do with the death of his twin brother. That was why he’d been at the charity reception the other night. He’d been stalking Reynard—and he’d locked eyes with her.
She thought about that and about what else she’d discovered. Since birth and perhaps before, Craig had been tied to his brother, Sam, in a way that he had taken for granted. That connection had been ripped away by a stray bullet, leaving him hardly able to cope with his life. But he had coped. And he’d vowed to avenge his brother’s death.
She shuddered as she thought about the rest of what had been in his mind. He’d never expected to experience that intimacy with anyone again—but he had. With her.
What did it mean? How was it possible?
She was trying to work her way through the encounter with him when a knock on the door made her whole body jerk.
Was that Craig? Coming after her.
“Who’s there?” she called out.
“John.”
Oh, Lord, John. The man she was going to marry. One of the last people she wanted to see now.
She got up on shaky legs and crossed to the door. From the front window, she saw John standing on her doorstep, his arms folded tightly across his chest. He dropped them to his sides when he saw her staring at him.
Quickly she unlocked the door and stepped aside. He came in and closed the door behind him, then turned to her.
“What are you doing here?” she asked.
“You were attacked.”
“How do you know?”
He hesitated for just a second before saying, “I was calling to say hello, and Claire answered the phone. She sounded upset, so I asked her some questions. Are you all right?”
“Yes.”
“She says two men came into the shop and threatened you. Then a stranger came to your rescue.”
“Yes.”
“I assume you got his name.”
“He’s Craig Brady,” she said, using the false name that he’d given to Claire.
“And you never met him before?”
She wondered what the right answer was, then decided and said, “I didn’t meet him, but he was at that charity reception the other night.”
“The guy who was watching you?”
She winced. “I guess. I didn’t really pay much attention,” she lied.
John kept his gaze on her, and she worked to keep her expression neutral. She knew he’d noticed Craig at the plantation house. And done what? Maybe had his guys make a move on him?
“So what about the men who attacked you?” John asked. “Had you ever seen them before?”
“No.”
John continued his interrogation. “And what did they want?”
“I never found out.”
His eyes narrowed. “But I suspect you think it has something to do with your father.”
Her mouth had gone dry, but she managed to answer, “Yes.”
“He’s gambling again?”
“I...don’t know for sure.”
“You’d better tell him to behave himself. I’m not a bottomless well of money.”
“I understand.”
“I hate it that he’s responsible for bad stuff happening to you,” he said, the tone of his voice changing. She knew that change. He was feeling tender toward her, and amorous.
He reached out and took her in his arms, cradling her against himself, and she fought to keep the stiffness out of her body. She didn’t want him to hold her, but she could hardly object to her fiancé comforting her after a frightening experience.
He crooked one hand under her chin and tipped her face up as he lowered his mouth. His lips touched down on hers, settled, then began to move with the skill of a man who had made love to many women.
Stephanie tried to relax and kiss him back, when all she wanted to do was duck out of his arms and flee the room.
He was an experienced lover, and she’d convinced herself that marrying him wouldn’t be a personal disaster for her, yet, as he kissed her, she couldn’t stop herself from comparing her feelings now to the sensations and emotions that had threatened to swamp her when Craig had held her in his arms.
Then she’d been aroused. Hot and pliable and ready for sex. Now she was only tolerating the attentions of the man whose bed she would share in a few months.
She hoped he didn’t realize what she was really feeling. And when he drew back, she felt relief and shame warring inside her. If she were honest, she would tell John Reynard that she couldn’t marry him, but she knew that was as impossible as her flying off to Oz in a hot-air balloon.
At