eeks with balled fists, and inwardly flung a string of curses a mile long at the man behind her. It was his fault that she had been forced to dredge up memories better left forgotten; memories better left buried in the tiny cemetery in Clairmont, where the ashen remains of her mother’s body lay. Of course, it never once occurred to Hope that it had been her idea to bring on those tears in the first place. No, far better to lay the blame on a stranger’s doorstep rather than her own.
A sarcastic chuckle echoed through the air behind her as the man dragged his fingers through his hair. “Please, spare the theatrics. I’ve seen acting jobs in a bordello better than the one you just tried to pull off.”
“You’re despicable,” she spat.
“Hmmm,” the man breathed, neither agreeing nor disagreeing with her statement. “I’ve been called worse.”
“Somehow that doesn’t surprise me.” Swallowing the lump in her throat, she willed her painful memories back into the shady corner of her mind where they belonged. Many years of practice made the task surprisingly simple.
His brows rose mockingly high, crinkling his sun-kissed forehead. “Do I detect a note of sarcasm? You know, if you’re tired of my company there is a way to leave. Just tell me who sent you to my room tonight and why. Then I’ll be more than happy to unlock the door. In fact, I’ll even escort you downstairs myself.”
His voice had grown soft, cajoling. The change in timbre served to make her all the more leery. “Are we back to that again?” she asked with weary annoyance. “Lord, but I’ve never met a man as suspicious as you. How many times do I have to tell you? No-one-sent-me-here-I-stumbled-into-the-wrong-room!”
“About as many times as I have to tell you that I-don’t-believe-you.” His look darkened. “I want the truth.”
He was sick in the head, plain and simple. What other explanation could there be? She had told him the truth. How many times now? Six? Seven? Did it matter? The man was no closer to believing her now than he had before. What more could she do to convince him? And why the hell did this have to be the first time in his life that Luke did what she’d told him to do!
“Look, mister, it’s getting late and I’m tired. I still have a lot to do, and if you don’t let me out of here pretty soon I’ll—” What? Break the door down? She had already tried. The result had been the same as screaming her head off—fruitless. Spinning on her heel, she glared into that narrowed gaze. “All right, you want the truth? You really want the truth? Fine, I’ll tell you. If you must know, the man who sent me is named Bart Bennett.” Her hands rose, then fell and slapped her thighs helplessly. “There, does that make you happy?”
The golden brow knit in a frown as he ran a palm over the bristle of stubble coating his chin. All the while, he gazed at her thoughtfully. “Bart Bennett?” he squinted, shaking his head and searching his memory. “Never heard of him.”
Hope sighed in disgust. “Somehow, that doesn’t surprise me either, considering he sent me here to meet someone else. Now, I told you what you wanted to know and you agreed to unlock the door in return.” She waited patiently, but the man made no attempt to move. “Well? Are you going to let me out of this dump or are we going to stand here and argue all night?”
“Who the hell is Bart Bennett?” he demanded, ignoring her last comment entirely.
“My father.” She bit down hard on the inside of her cheek to keep from screaming. Good God, the man’s skull was thick. At this rate she’d be lucky to get out of here before dawn! “Now will you please unlock the door?”
In one long stride, he closed the distance between them. Hope stiffened, refusing to be intimidated by that bullying glare, even when his fingers bit painfully into her shoulders.
“That does it,” he barked angrily. “I want the truth and I want it now or so help me I’ll—”
“Do what?” she taunted, lifting her chin with a courage she did not feel. “Take me over your knee? I’m a little too big for that, don’t you think?”
“No, I don’t!”
The loudness of his voice echoing in her hears did nothing to alleviate the throbbing that was quickly returning to her temples. It did, however, intricately combine with the strength in his fingers and the anger shimmering in his eyes to effectively bring home the vulnerability of her position here. The man was quickly losing what little restraint he had. If he kept goading her, and she kept responding, God only knew what would happen.
I have to get out of here, she thought wildly, and I have to get out of here quick! Desperation made her act impulsively, in the only way Hope knew how. The man held her shoulders, but not her arms. Her lips curled into a cold smile as she did something she’d been longing to do since she had first opened her eyes. She didn’t just slap that arrogant face, she balled up her fist, pooled all of her anger into her hand, and punched him as hard as she possibly could. The force of the blow made his head snap back. His hands instantly released her shoulders.
Skillfully, she lifted the key from the man’s pocket before he could utter his first grunt of pain. By the time he had reached out a hand to steady his balance against the wall, shaking his head to clear it, she had the door unlocked.
Throwing it wide, she allowed herself a small, heady giggle of triumph. Her giggle turned into a full-fledged laugh when she saw the towering form of her brother standing with his hand poised mid-knock.
If Luke Bennett had been a smaller man, he might have been sent tumbling backward at the force of his sister flinging herself into his arms. But he wasn’t, and Luke didn’t so much stagger as he accepted her weight and wrapped a large arm around her shoulder. Confused, he looked down at the top of his sister’s head as it nestled into his shoulder, then let his gaze scan the room as he stroked the silky mane of chestnut hair.
The sight of the ugly bruise quickly beginning to swell on the blond man’s jaw told Luke all he needed to know. His own deep, rumbling chuckle joined his sister’s as he asked, “I guess he said no, huh?”
Chapter 3
Hope’s arms dropped away from Luke’s shoulders and she took a step back from her brother. “Who?” She asked, her voice as devoid of emotion as her face.
Luke grinned, nodding to the man who was gingerly exploring the bruise on his swollen jaw. “Him. Frazier. He said no, right?”
“Frazier?” She gulped, her head snapping to the side as she cast a quick glance at the half-naked blond. She turned beseechingly to her brother. “Him?” she asked, her voice a small, high-pitched squeak. “No. There must be a mistake.” She shook her head, the wild disarray of chestnut curls swaying over her shoulders and back. “No, that’s not—”
“Drake Frazier,” her brother confirmed, wondering why his sister’s cheeks had suddenly faded to such a deathly white, then just as quickly flooded crimson as her dark eyes widened with horror.
“Who the hell did you think I was?” a gruff voice called from behind, and Hope felt the knot in her stomach tighten as she turned toward the speaker.