LITMIR.BIZ

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as she dropped her bag and purse on a parson’s table in the entry. She didn’t step into the living room; didn’t want to get too close to this man. He bothered her. Big-time. Had from the first time she’d laid eyes on him when she’d still been recuperating from the accident.

      Striker was a hardheaded, square-jawed type who looked like Hollywood’s version of a rogue cop. His hair, blond streaked, was unruly and fell over his eyes, and he seemed to have avoided getting close to a razor for several days. Deep-set, intelligent eyes, poised over chiseled cheeks, were guarded by thick eyebrows and straight lashes. He wore faded jeans, a tattered Levi’s jacket and an attitude that wouldn’t quit.

      Resting on the small of his back, sprawled on her couch, he raked his gaze up her body one slow inch at a time.

      “I asked you a question.”

      “I’m trying to save your neck.”

      “You’re trespassing.”

      “So call the cops.”

      “Enough with the attitude.” She walked to the windows, snapped open the blinds. Through the wet glass she caught a glimpse of the lake, choppy, steel-colored water sporting whitecaps and fog too dense to see the opposite shore. Folding her arms over her chest, she turned and faced Striker again.

      He smiled then. A dazzling, sexy grin offset by the mockery in his green eyes. It damn near took her breath away and for a splintered second she thought of the hours they’d spent together, the touch of his skin, the feel of his hands…oh, God. If he wasn’t such a pain in the butt, he might be considered handsome. Interesting. Sexy. Long legs shoved into cowboy boots, shoulders wide enough to stretch the seams of his jacket, flat belly… Yeah, all the pieces fit into a hunky package. If a woman was looking for a man. Randi wasn’t. She’d learned her lesson. Last night was just a slip. It wouldn’t happen again.

      Couldn’t.

      “You know,” he said, “I was just thinkin’ the same thing. Let’s both shove the attitudes back where they came from and get to work.”

      “To work?” she asked, rankled. She needed him out of her condo and fast. He had a way of destroying her equilibrium, of setting her teeth on edge.

      “That’s right. Cut the bull and get down to business.”

      “I don’t think we have any business.”

      His eyes held hers for a fraction of a second and she knew in that splintered instant that he was remembering last night as clearly as she. He cleared his throat. “Randi, I think we should discuss what happened—”

      “Last night?” she asked. “Not now, okay? Maybe not ever. Let’s just forget it.”

      “Can you?”

      “I don’t know, but I’m sure as hell going to try.”

      He silently called her a liar.

      “Okay, if this is the way you want to play it.”

      “I told you we don’t have any business.”

      “Sure we do. You can start by telling me who’s the father of your baby.”

      Never, buddy. Not a chance. “I don’t think that’s relevant.”

      “Like hell, Randi.” He was on his feet in an instant, across the hardwood floor and glaring down his crooked nose at her. “There have been two attempts on your life. One was the accident, and I use the term loosely, up in Glacier Park, when your car was forced off the road. The other when someone tried to do you in at the hospital. You remember those two little incidents, don’t you?”

      She swallowed hard. Didn’t answer.

      “And let’s not forget the fire in the stable at the ranch. Arson, Randi. Remember? It nearly killed your brothers.” Her heart squeezed at the painful memory. To her surprise he grabbed her, strong hands curling around her upper arms and gripping tightly through her jacket. “Do you really want to take any more chances with your life? With your brothers’? With your kid’s? Little J.R. nearly died from an infection in the hospital after the accident, didn’t he? You went into labor early in the middle of no-goddamn-where, and by the time some Good Samaritan saw you and called for an ambulance, your baby almost didn’t make it.”

      She fought the urge to break down. Wished to heaven that he’d quit touching her. He was too close, his angry breath whispering over her face, the raw, sexual energy of him seeping through her clothes.

      “Now, I’m not moving,” he vowed, “not one bloody inch, until you and I get a few things straight. I’m in for the long haul and I’ll stay here all night if I have to. All week. All year.”

      Her stupid heart pounded, and though she tried to pull away he wouldn’t allow it. The manacles surrounding her arms clamped even more tightly.

      “Let’s start with one important question, shall we?”

      He didn’t have to ask. She knew what was coming and braced herself.

      “Tell me, Randi, right now. No more ducking the issue. Who the devil is J.R.’ s father?”

      Oh, God, he was too close. “Let go of me,” she said, refusing to give in. “And get the hell out of my house.”

      “No way.”

      “I’ll call the police.”

      “Be my guest,” he encouraged, hitching his chin toward the phone she hadn’t used in months. It sat collecting dust on the small desk she’d crammed into one corner of the living room. “Why don’t you tell them everything that’s happened to you and I’ll explain what I’m doing here.”

      “You weren’t invited.”

      “Your brothers are concerned.”

      “They can’t control me.”

      He lifted a skeptical eyebrow. “No? They might disagree.”

      “Big deal,” she said, tossing her head and pretending to be tough. The truth was that she loved all of her older half brothers, all three of them, but she couldn’t have them poking around in her life. Nor did she want anything to do with Kurt Striker. He was just too damn male for his own good. Or her own. He’d proved that much last night. “Listen, Striker, this is my life. I can handle it. Now, if you’d be so kind as to take your hands off me,” she said, sarcasm dripping from the pleasantry, “I have a lot to do.”

      He stared at her long and hard, those sharp green eyes seeming to penetrate her own. Then he lifted a shoulder and released her. “I can wait.”

      “Elsewhere.”

      His smile was pure devilment. “Is that a hint?” he drawled, and again her heart began to trip-hammer. Damn the man.

      “A broad one. Take a hike.”

      “Only if you show me the city.”

      “What?”

      “I’m new in town. Humor me.”

      “You mean so you can keep an eye on me.”

      Curse the sexy smile that crawled across his jaw. “That, too.”

      “Forget it. I’ve got a million things to do,” she said, flipping up a hand to indicate the telephone where no light blinked on her answering machine. “That’s odd,” she muttered then glanced back at Striker, whom she was beginning to believe was the embodiment of Lucifer. “Wait a minute. You listened to my messages?” she demanded, fury spiking up her spine.

      “No, I actually didn’t.”

      She made her way to the desk and pushed the play button on the recorder. “That’s odd,” she said as she recognized Sarah Peeples’s voice.

      “Hey, when are you coming back to work?” Sarah asked. “It’s soooo boooring with all these A-type males.” She giggled.

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