LITMIR.BIZ

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like a light myself as soon as my head hits the pillow.”

      Jordan Caine slammed the door of his scarlet Lexus, slung his leather travel bag over his shoulder, and strode purposefully up the drive to Number Five Seaside Lane.

      The rambling old house was beautifully silvered by moonlight, but he paid little attention to it or any of his other surroundings. This place didn’t interest him. If there was one thing he hated, it was small-town living. He planned to sleep in the house tonight; put it on the market tomorrow; and be on his way again by lunch-time…shaking the beach sand of this sea-salty little Washington resort from his size eleven boots before it had time to stick.

      Sliding his key into the lock, he opened the front door and stepped inside. Moonlight streamed down through the skylight above the staircase, and in its bone-white wash, he saw that the roomy hallway was very sparsely furnished.

      The only other time he’d been in this house it had been empty. As he’d discussed terms with the Seashore realtor, his voice had echoed back from the bare walls. Apart from a few sticks of furniture the house seemed just as empty now—

      A creaking sound came from his left. He spun around as sharply as if it had been a gunshot.

      Then frustrated by his hair-trigger reaction, he swore. He hadn’t realized his nerves were still so badly on edge….

      The sound had come from the downstairs bedroom. He crossed the hall, turned the doorknob with a stealthy hand, and warily pushed the door inwards.

      A low-wattage bedside lamp cast a pool of light over the empty bed, leaving most of the room in shadow—

      His heart gave an erratic lurch when he saw that someone—a woman—was slumped in a rocking chair by the bed.

      She was asleep; he could hear her regular breathing.

      Her face was in shadow but he could see that she had a luxuriant tumble of long curly hair. She was wearing a light shirt with a dark suit; the jacket lay untidily open, the skirt had ridden halfway up her thighs. Her legs—long fantastic legs—were stretched out before her and a pair of high-heeled pumps lay askew on the carpet.

      She shifted position and her head lolled sideways, towards the light, giving him a clear view of her face.

      His first thought was: “Wow, what a stunner!”

      His second thought was a shocked and furious: “It’s that Madison woman!”

      What the hell was she doing here? Clenching his hands into fists, he glared at her. He felt an overwhelming urge to grab her by the shoulders, shake her from her sleep, and demand that she explain what she was doing in his house.

      His scowl deepened as his gaze flicked to the framed photograph sitting on the bedside table. He recognized it as one of the pictures taken on his sister’s wedding day.

      Even as grief tore at him afresh, he felt the old anger rise to block it out. He wanted to smash the picture against the wall—the picture of his sister Janine and that man, looking besottedly at each other. To their right, Mallory Madison, maid of honour, her eyes bright with joy. To their left, Jordan Caine, best man, his happy expression an utter travesty. He’d put on an Oscar-calibre performance that day, in order not to spoil his sister’s wedding.

      A wedding that would never have taken place if Mallory Madison hadn’t given the couple her full support, over his own strenuous objections to the marriage.

      For that, he would never forgive her.

      But it would be a huge mistake to waken her now and confront her—after his recent harrowing ordeal, his emotions were far too volatile. Better to wait till he’d had a good night’s sleep and was more in control of himself.

      After giving her one last black glower, he left the room and made his way wearily up the stairs.

      There were four bedrooms on this level, and when he opened the door to the first, he found it was furnished with a single bed and a small dresser. The room was obviously not currently in use—it was bare of personal items and the air was stale. He would make it his. Just for the night.

      Tossing down his travel bag, he crossed impatiently to the window and pushed it open. Outside, moonlight spangled the jet-black ocean; stars winked down from an indigo sky. And summer scents swept in on the ocean breeze, invoking a poignancy that caught him unawares and made his throat ache.

      Irritably, he tugged the curtains shut. And turning away, he crossed to the bed. Stripping to his jeans, he crashed on top of the covers. And within seconds, he was fast asleep.

      Mallory awoke at dawn.

      And she realized, to her dismay, that she had fallen asleep in the rocking chair, where she’d sat down for a moment after she’d settled Matthew in his crib. She must have been even more exhausted than she’d thought!

      Getting up, she stretched to iron out the kinks in her muscles, and then, with an anticipatory smile, she tiptoed over to the crib in the far corner of the room.

      Matthew was still asleep. And as always, her heart turned to mush when she looked at the nine-month-old baby. She couldn’t have loved him more if he’d been her own…

      And once Jordan Caine had relinquished any claim to the child—as he undoubtedly would, since he’d shown no interest in him till this date—she could legally make him her own.

      The problem was she hadn’t the faintest idea where the man was—all her efforts to contact him had been in vain. She hadn’t spoken to him for months—not since the day his sister and Tom had died in a train crash and she’d called to tell him. She knew, of course, how he felt about Tom but she’d believed he truly cared for Janine and she found it unforgivable that he hadn’t come home for her funeral.

      The thought lingered sourly as she padded through to the kitchen and put on a pot of coffee. But as she looked around the big homey room and pictured her new life at Number Five with Matthew, her spirits rose again.

      Humming under her breath, she slipped off her rumpled suit jacket and slung it over the back of Matthew’s high chair. While she waited for the coffee to drip, she cut two slices of whole-wheat bread and popped them in the toaster.

      Still humming, she pulled back the yellow-and-white gingham curtains. But as she did, two things impinged on her senses and froze the breath in her throat:

      She saw a racy scarlet Lexus sitting in the drive…

      And she heard a floorboard squeak behind her.

      She whirled around. And shock slammed through her when she saw a dark-bearded stranger looming in the kitchen doorway. His hair was black and shaggy; his hands were fisted; and his gray eyes were fixed on her with a ferocious intensity that could only mean murder.

      She lunged for the bread knife and clutching the handle with both hands, held it out in front of her, the tip of the razor-sharp blade pointed directly at him.

      “I don’t know who you are,” she said in a shrill voice. “And I don’t know what you want, but get out! Right now!”

      The stranger raised a cynical eyebrow. “Why, Mallory, dear!” Sarcasm reverberated in his husky baritone voice. “Is that any way to greet your brother-inlaw?”

      “Brother-in-law?” The knife trembled in her fingers. “What are you talking about? I don’t have a—”

      “Strictly speaking, no. But since your brother was married to my sister, I guess that’s the closest I can come to describing our…relationship.”

      Mallory struggled to catch her breath. She gawked disbelievingly, trying to verify his claim, trying to recognize the man behind the black stubbled beard.

      She’d met Janine’s brother only once, on the day of the wedding, but then he’d been clean-shaven and elegant and—she’d had to admit it—devastatingly attractive in a black tux. He’d looked like a movie star. This man was scruffy and edgy and wearing nothing but an old pair of blue jeans. He looked like

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