Angelique, Sabrina thought. Cassie had been wrong; the bimbo’s time in the sun obviously hadn’t expired just yet.
Sabrina edged closer and peeked around the corner of the doorway. Beyond it lay a large living room with a high-beamed ceiling, two sets of French doors and a fireplace where a blaze crackled cheerfully. Over the back of a black leather couch, which sat directly in front of the fire, she could see just the top of Caleb’s head.
Next to him, perched on the edge of the couch cushions, was Angelique. “If you’re certain,” she said, and leaned against him for an obviously intimate embrace.
Sabrina drew back into the hallway and debated her next move. Fortunately, the little man was too absorbed in watching the delivery crew to ask what she wanted.
Before Sabrina had made up her mind what to do, Angelique appeared in the doorway. “What are you doing here?” she asked suspiciously, eying Sabrina. “Not that it matters. Mr. Tanner is resting, so you’ll have to go away. Jennings, take the things this woman has brought and see her out. I have an errand to run, but I’ll be back in an hour to see how our invalid is doing.”
Without another word, she paused beside the front door and waited until the little man opened it for her. Head held high, she swept out.
The little man closed the door and turned to Sabrina.
Just as he opened his mouth, the delivery men gave the bed a superhuman push. It went through the doorway, but it left four deep, raw, precisely parallel scratches.
The little man squeaked, almost as if the scratches had been made in his flesh rather than in unfeeling wood, and stormed across the room, chattering almost incoherently.
The instant his back was turned, Sabrina ducked into the living room.
The first impression she’d gotten from her initial glimpse of the room, of size and light and perfect proportions, was modified on closer examination. The room’s pale yellow paint was faded with age, except for spots here and there where artwork had obviously blocked the sunlight for years, and the carpet was almost threadbare.
She walked around the end of the incongruously modern black leather couch. Caleb, wearing a worn navy-blue jogging suit, lay with his right leg propped on a couple of pillows and strapped into a canvas-covered immobilizer, which stretched from mid-thigh to his lower calf. Nearby a pair of aluminum crutches leaned against a small table.
Jake had told her last night when he’d finally returned to the party what to expect. Still, the sight stopped Sabrina in her tracks. Her throat tightened. Very deliberately she looked away from the injured leg and focused on Caleb’s face.
His eyes were closed, and he was a little paler than she’d expected him to be. But of course she was basing her assessment on photographs she’d seen, and she was assuming, because many of those pictures had shown the playboy millionaire in outdoor activities, that he’d sport a perpetual tan. But that wasn’t necessarily so, she told herself, and so his lack of high color didn’t mean he was still in pain from his injury.
“I thought I made it clear—” he said, and opened his eyes.
Sabrina braced herself.
Caleb pulled himself up a little higher. “I suppose you’ve come to assess the damage you did.”
She bit her lip. “I’ve come to tell you I’m sorry for my part in the accident.”
“Your part?” His gaze roved over her. “Well, it’s just as well you showed up—because otherwise I’d have had to come looking for you. Figuratively speaking, of course, since it’s apparent I’m not going to be able to move much beyond this couch for a few days, at least.”
He sounded perfectly matter-of-fact, not in the least vindictive or threatening. And yet there was something about the tone of his voice that sent a trickle of fear oozing through Sabrina’s bones.
“Yes,” he said. Somehow he made the word sound almost triumphant. “You’re just the person I’ve been wanting to talk to.”
CHAPTER TWO
THE pillows supporting Caleb’s knee slid, and the shaft of pain that shot up his leg made him wince and look hopefully at the clock. But there was another hour to wait before he could have the next dose of pain medication, so he swore under his breath, lay back as best he could, took a couple of deep breaths and tried to distract himself by studying the woman who stood beside the sofa.
Under normal conditions, he decided, she could take a man’s mind off almost anything. Of course, these weren’t normal conditions. His knee was a constant reminder that she was not only pleasant to look at but damned dangerous to handle—and that was something he had no intention of forgetting.
He’d noticed her as soon as he’d walked through the front door at Tanner Electronics yesterday, just as he noticed any extraordinarily pretty woman who happened across his field of vision. His optic nerves were hard-wired for that sort of observation, so in the first split second he’d automatically assessed the basics—she was tall and slim, with hair as sleek as black satin and green eyes set at an exotic tilt in a porcelain-fine heart-shaped face.
Then she’d pasted him to the floor, and suddenly he hadn’t been in the mood to study her any further. He already had enough of a mental picture to let him identify her in a police lineup or to avoid her on the street, so what else could he possibly need to know?
But that had been yesterday. Since then, he’d had an unpleasant evening in the emergency room, a long and almost-sleepless night and an almighty frustrating morning. Now here she was again—and it occurred to him that he might be able to put Cat Woman to good use.
Though…it was mighty convenient of her to show up just now. Suspicion flickered through him. Was it possible she had some sort of agenda of her own?
He surveyed her through narrowed eyes and decided that she looked far too ill at ease to be plotting anything. Relieved, he dismissed the idea and settled back, letting his gaze linger on her face.
His initial assessment might have been lightning-fast, but it had been absolutely on target, he concluded without surprise. Where pretty women were concerned, he never missed.
Today the satiny hair was pulled into a subdued knot at the nape of her neck, and instead of the slinky black cat costume she was wearing a soft tweed pantsuit in a color that made him think of the pine forests that lined the foothills of the Rocky Mountains. Neither change did anything to diminish her attractiveness. They simply added an air of efficiency and capability.
Which just went to show, Caleb thought, how very deceptive appearances could be.
“Sit down,” he invited, and waved a hand at a nearby chair.
She set the small shopping bag she carried on the floor near the couch, laid the sheaf of flowers on the coffee table and sank onto the edge of the black leather seat. To watch her, Caleb told himself, one would think she was the most graceful creature on earth.
“I brought you a few magazines,” she said. “I hope they’ll help pass some time.” She seemed to be having trouble making her voice work right. “I understand your knee’s not broken, after all, just sprained.”
“Technically, they called it a strain.” He saw the tiny quiver of relief go through her and added maliciously, “Of course, the doctors tell me a bad strain’s almost worse than a break. It’ll certainly take longer to heal completely, and it’s far more likely to be reinjured in the future if I’m not extremely cautious.”
“Oh.” Her voice was very small.
“Yes. I’m looking forward—if you want to put it that way—to as much as two weeks in this contraption.” He gestured at the immobilizer. “And even after that, I’ll still be on crutches for a while. It will likely be months before I’m back in top form.”
She’d turned