He moved swiftly, pushing her back onto the couch, placing his hand on either side of her, imprisoning her in the old cushions. His head was so close to hers she could see the pores on his face, smell the beer on his breath. “Isn’t that why you’re here, London? Isn’t that all part of the plan? To prove that you’re my baby sister and—”
“No!” she cried, unwilling to believe what he insisted was the truth. She sprang from the couch and he caught her in arms as strong as steel bands.
“I warned you—”
“You made vague insinuations. But not this. Never this! You could have told me that you…you—”
“That I what?” he said, holding her gaze with his. “That I made love to the woman who could be your mother?”
“That you fell in love with her!” The words cracked through the room like the sharp unleashing of a whip.
“I was not ‘in love’ with her. I already told you. “She was hot, Adria. And I was a horny kid. I don’t have any excuses. It was wrong.”
“So that’s why Witt cut you out of his will.”
His smile was hard. “One of the reasons.”
“Oh, God. How did you ever look him in the eye again?” she asked.
“When she began sleeping with Jason, the old man kind of forgave me. It took a while, but we struck a deal. I got the ranch and he got his old hotel restored like he wanted it.” His fingers cut into her flesh. “You asked why Kat killed herself,” he said. “Because of me. Because of Jason. Because of London and Witt. Because of the curse of being a Danvers—the curse you’re so ready to embrace!”
She shoved away from him, dragging in ragged gulps of air, her eyes as dark as midnight. “Don’t make this any worse than it already is,” she spat and watched as a muscle worked in his jaw. For a minute she thought he might kiss her again and a part of her still wanted to hold him, to kiss him, to make love to him…
“I don’t think it could be,” he said and stormed out of the room and decided to get drunk. No, not just drunk, but stinking, shit-faced, falling-down drunk. He grabbed his coat and strode outside. The temperature had dropped and a few light flakes of snow were beginning to fall. He’d find a woman. A woman without any strings attached. A woman looking for a one-night stand. A woman who wouldn’t even ask him his name.
He slammed the door behind him, rattling the windows.
Manny, despite the cold, was seated in a rocking chair on the porch of a small cabin at one end of the parking lot. A cigarette hung from the corner of his mouth and he was whittling as he listened to the transistor radio in the window. He looked up as Zach passed him on the way to his Jeep. “You leaving?”
“Yeah.”
“Looks like you could spit nails.”
“For starters.”
“When you comin’ back?”
“Don’t know.” He cocked his head toward the main house. “Watch her, will ya?”
“I’m a Paiute, Danvers, not a friggin’ jailer.”
“Just make sure she stays put, and no one shows up here and tries to get to her. I won’t be gone long.”
“Woman trouble,” Manny said, his expression unchanging. He drew on the cigarette and smoke shot from his nostrils. “The worst kind.”
“Amen.” Climbing into his Jeep, Zach stabbed the key into the ignition, fired the engine and roared away from the ranch house. What the hell was it with him? First Kat, now a woman who looked so much like her it was eerie—damned eerie.
Somehow, some way, he had to get away from her and break free of this circle of sin that kept spinning around him, trapping him in its dangerous, life-crushing, but oh-so-erotic coils.
They left the ranch the next evening and didn’t say a word on the way back to Portland. That suited Zach just fine. His head was pounding from his intimate relationship with Jack Daniel’s the night before, his only relationship. He’d never gotten past a brief nod of his head toward the blonde who’d shown him so much interest last night. Her easy smile and freckles had been cute, her full breasts obviously restrained by a tight yellow T-shirt, but he couldn’t drown memories of Adria with any amount of liquor. He’d turned down the blonde and she’d found another, more willing cowboy. Zach had nearly drowned himself in whiskey. Manny had sent a ranch hand to town to collect him.
And today he was paying. Shit, was he paying.
He slid a pair of sunglasses onto the bridge of his nose to break the glare of sunlight off the road, but truth to tell, the sun was hidden behind a heavy bank of clouds and his eyes ached from too much whiskey, the sting of smoke, and lack of sleep.
He flipped on the radio, listened to the tinny sound of country music and wished he knew what the hell he was going to do with Adria when he got to Portland. He’d called the police but so far there were no significant leads, at least none they would confide to him. Or Adria.
Adria.
So far she hadn’t told him her plans but he suspected she intended to ditch him. Hell, he couldn’t blame her—he’d been cruel to her last night, but it was the only way he could get away from her, and he had to get away. For both of them. And yet he had to protect her from whoever it was who was stalking her.
As they drove into the city, he said, “I booked a room for you.”
“Let me guess—it’s not at the Orion,” she said sarcastically. She didn’t even glance in his direction.
“You’ll be safe at the hotel.”
Turning hostile eyes in his direction, she silently accused him “Safe? Are you crazy? Safe from whom?” A dark, skeptical eyebrow rose imperiously over her eyes. “The Danvers family? The person who attacked me? You? I don’t think so.” She saw the vexation in his eyes and told herself she didn’t care. “Isn’t staying at the Hotel Danvers like taking a suite in a lion’s den?”
“Not when I have control of the situation.”
“Oh great, you have control,” she mocked.
“All right. You name it then.”
“I don’t know. Just take me to my car and I’ll—”
“Your car isn’t fixed yet.”
“Not fixed? But it was running just fine—”
He snorted. The mechanic had called this morning. “I don’t know what you call fine in Podunk, Montana, but according to a man who knows his way around a Chevy, you need new brakes, shocks, spark plugs, fan belt, the list goes on and on—”
“Fabulous! Don’t tell me. You authorized him to do it!” She couldn’t begin to imagine how she could afford to get the little Nova out of hock.
“Don’t worry about it. I’ll get you a car. One that’s dependable.”
“I don’t want your help, Zach—”
“But—”
“Or your pity.”
“You need a car.”
“Or your stubborn streak. Okay? Just take me to the airport. I’ll rent one there,” she said crisply. Everything was spinning out of control and she had to get a grip on her life, find out the truth, and then decide what she was going to do.
He shot her a glance. “You should stay with me.”
“Oh, where it’s safe?” she threw back, unable and unwilling to hide her sarcasm.
“Yes.”
“Forget it.”
He sliced her a look, then drove on, past the turnoff to the airport and headed straight into the heart of the city. He didn’t stop the Jeep until he was in the parking lot of the Hotel Danvers.
So furious she could barely see straight, she said, “I’ll just call a cab,” as he hauled her bag out of the back.
“Fine.”
“Being here is a big waste of time.”
“Whatever you say.” He punched the button for the elevator with his elbow and waited, holding her suitcase in one big hand, the toe of his boot tapping in irritation. The car arrived, he waited for her to step in, and they sped upward to the lobby. At the front desk, he pulled the manager aside. Gray stare drilling into the shorter man’s eyes, he ordered, “Ms. Nash needs a private suite with only one key. No one, save Ms. Nash, is to have access to the room. And that includes any of the staff, or any of my family—is that understood?”
“Absolutely.” The man’s Adam’s apple bobbed.
“And I want round-the-clock security by her door, a man posted—”
“No. Zach, this is ridiculous,” she interjected.
“—twenty-four hours a day. When she’s in the room and when she isn’t, a guard will be there. Got it?”