“This is getting you nowhere,” she warned herself as she turned off the jets and the room grew quiet. She tried to clear her mind, to stop her thoughts from reverting to Zach. She couldn’t get involved with him. It was suicide to think otherwise. Everyone in the family distrusted her. Even Zachary. She had to remember that. They would do anything to dispute her story, to prove her a fake.
She leaned back again, closing her eyes and letting the warm water lap around her. She just needed some time to relax. Unwind…
She drifted, dozing, daydreaming of Zachary Danvers and what it would be like to be his lover, to feel his strong arms upon her, to touch the naked muscles of his back, to kiss him with a wild abandon without any thought to the consequences, without any concern about her identity, to just love him sensually and totally and feel him straining above her, his body gleaming, his eyes dark with smoky passion and…
Click!
Her eyes flew open and she realized she’d been dreaming, asleep long enough for the water to grow tepid. She strained to listen. She’d heard something—the door?
“Hello?” she said, reaching for a towel and standing. Her skin prickled with goose bumps and the air seemed chilled, colder than it should be. “Is anyone there?”
No answer.
And yet she sensed that someone had been close by.
Heart thudding, she threw on one of the robes and slipped quietly into the bedroom. Nothing looked disturbed—her clothes were where she’d tossed them, her shoes near the closet. The French doors leading to the living area were ajar, but she hadn’t closed them. She walked into the sitting room where the furniture was arranged just as it had been when she’d walked in less than an hour earlier.
The door was shut, but she hadn’t thrown the dead bolt.
What does it matter?
Whoever was in here—if someone had intruded—would be connected to the family. Your family. All part of the Danvers clan. With access to a key.
“Stupid, stupid girl,” she muttered, and hooked the privacy chain that she’d forgotten.
But why would anyone risk coming into her room?
Is it really yours? How do you know it’s not set up with spy cameras? How do you know that someone isn’t looking at you right now, didn’t have a view of you lounging naked in the bathtub?
“Stop it,” she whispered under her breath. This was paranoia talking, nothing more.
Still, she eyed the ceiling and walls, checking for tiny cameras, her skin crawling at the thought of unseen eyes observing her. She’d been a fool to accept a room here—the old hotel had been so recently remodeled that it could be equipped with all sorts of spy devices. After all, she didn’t choose this room; it was chosen for her. By a member of the family.
“Have a little trust,” she advised herself, but looked at the carpet, searching for footprints or tracks that someone else had been in the room. She couldn’t discern anything and after searching through the closet and finding nothing disturbed, she donned a pair of pajamas and slipped between the covers of the king-sized bed.
Nothing was wrong.
Nothing.
Her imagination was just running away with her, that was all.
But deep in her heart, she didn’t believe it. Not for a second.
Zachary slung his bag over his shoulder. It was time to leave this town. Being in the same hotel with Adria, on the same damned floor, no less, was asking for trouble, big-time.
It had been two nights since he’d last seen her and he’d been unable to close her out of his mind. He had plenty to keep him busy, still working out the kinks of this damned hotel, but he’d been tense, his muscles tightening when he thought he caught a glimpse of her or heard her voice. He was, slowly but surely, losing it. He’d never considered himself a fool, nor had he ever had any kind of death wish. He’d always thought clearly and known what he wanted.
Until he’d met Adria.
Whenever he was around her, his senses were on overload and his normally clear mind became muddied. She was beautiful, damned beautiful, and she looked so much like Kat he felt an icy drizzle of dèjá vu whenever he looked at her. Yet, mingled with that cold drip of memory was a flame of desire, melting away his inhibitions, heating his blood and causing him to lose sight of reality.
Which was what?
That she was really his half-sister?
Or that she was a beautiful treacherous woman whose greed had blinded her to the truth? Had she used her uncanny resemblance to Kat for her personal gain, or did she really believe that she was London?
Christ, what a mess! He hitched his bag up a notch and headed for the elevator. This time he was leaving, if only for a little while. He welcomed the three-hour drive over the mountains, was anxious to get back to the ranch. He needed time and space alone. Away from the enigma that was Adria Nash. Jason wouldn’t like it, but it didn’t really matter.
In the parking lot, he threw his bag into the backseat and drove to Jason’s house in the west hills. His older brother had requested that he show up for a family meeting and Zach had decided he’d make an appearance, then drop the bomb that he was taking off. If only for a few days. He just needed a little time and space to get his head on straight again.
The garage doors were open and Jason’s Jag was parked near his wife Nicole’s white Mercedes. In the third bay, a vintage Rolls-Royce gleamed glossy black under the lights. One of the men who did yard work and basic mechanics for the family was running a soft white rag along a sleek, spotless fender.
Toys. Jason loved toys. From racehorses to classic cars, to rich wives and sexy young mistresses, Jason had always loved toys.
Zach eyed the house where he’d grown up, tamped down any unwanted memories, rapped on the door with his knuckles, and waited. Within seconds Nicole opened the door and smiled wanly at her brother-in-law. A waif-thin woman with tanned skin and white-blond hair, she stepped out of the way. “Zachary.”
“Is Jason here?”
“In the basement.”
“Good. I’ll see myself down,” he added, when she seemed intent on leading him down the stairs he’d played on as a kid.
He and Nelson had slid down the staircase in cardboard boxes, raced each other up and down the steep steps, and been hauled downstairs whenever Witt wanted to discipline them. Witt, one hand on the back of Zach’s collar, the other clenched firmly around his belt, had dragged his second son down the stairs more times than Zach wanted to remember. Witt had seemed determined to break Zach’s spirit, and despite Eunice’s pleading to “go easy on the boy, Witt, he’s just a child,” Zach had felt the razor-sharp sting of Witt’s leather belt against the skin on his back time after time.
“Shit,” he muttered as the memories and pain thundered through his brain. The beatings had been brutal, but had never broken Zach’s spirit. Clenching his teeth until his jaw ached, he shoved those hideous memories to the dark corners of his brain as he rounded the corner of the staircase.
He found his older brother, shirtsleeves rolled over his forearms, throwing darts at a target mounted on the wall near the mirrored bar. A pool table dominated the room and a flagstone fireplace climbed up one wall. Through steamy French doors, a sauna and Jacuzzi waited, and on every wall hung trophies—the heads of bear, antelope, tiger, and bison, contributions from his grandfather, Julius Danvers, who’d prided himself on being a big-game hunter. A polar bear, claws extended, stood in one corner, and a zebra hide was stretched beside that of a kangaroo. Glassy eyes and snarling teeth greeted all who entered.
“What did you find out?” Jason didn’t even look his way, just threw another dart toward the bull’s-eye.
“From Adria? Not much.” Zach grabbed the cue ball and rolled it in his hands. His conversations with Adria had been minimal, but he did know a few facts. However, he wasn’t particularly interested in sharing them with Jason. “She grew up a poor farm girl in Montana. Her mother was kind of a religious nut and her father put up with it but wasn’t a fanatic.” He leaned a hip against the table. “She’s bound and determined to see this through no matter what the outcome.”
“So it’s her personal quest.”