He flipped the cardboard binding over the notes he had just taken and said, “Make yourself comfortable, Miss O’Shea. I’ve got some phone calls to make.” He went to the door and turned back to her with his hand on the knob. “Incidentally, Mike will be just outside the door.”
“Do you expect me to pull a machine gun from under my skirt and blow this joint?” she asked with all the venom she could muster.
“No, I don’t,” he drawled. “I know what’s under your skirt.” His eyes toured her body insultingly before he stepped into the hall and closed the door behind him.
Erin fumed, paced, ranted, cried, and cursed Mr. Lawrence Barrett for the next half hour. When none of those energy-draining pursuits produced results or altered her situation, she resignedly knelt down on the floor and restored some order to her suitcases. Her hand trembled when she touched the nightgown he had handled with what could only be considered a caress.
He was a horrible man, issuing orders, bullying everyone, insulting her for no just cause. Each of his actions had been brutal, even when he had kissed her. Why did her mind persist in dwelling on that when she wanted to push any recollections of the incident into the further recesses of her mind?
She consoled herself on one thing: he wasn’t her brother; incest wasn’t among his sins.
I won’t think about that kiss, she averred to herself. Nor would she think about that unfamiliar fluttering in her stomach each time Mr. Barrett fixed her with that penetrating stare of his. It had been strictly an involuntary reaction when her lips had parted slightly as his eyes devoured them while he held her close. Erin O’Shea had had nothing to do with that. Positively.
Then why was she arguing with herself?
/> Her head was resting against the back of the sofa and her eyes were closed when he opened the door. She jumped in startled reaction. Had she drifted off to sleep?
“Luck just isn’t with you today, Miss O’Shea.”
“What do you mean?” She was angry to find that her voice was quivering with apprehension.
“I got a listing for Spotlight from long distance directory assistance. No answer.”
“What?” she cried. Then she realized the reason. She checked her gold wristwatch. “It’s after six o’clock in Houston. Everyone’s gone home,” she wailed.
“Bart Stanton has gone to the Panhandle for the next two days. There is no answer at the number in Shreveport.”
She rubbed her brow with anxious fingers. Think, Erin, she commanded herself. But her brain was spinning with the events of the past few hours. It seemed eons ago since she had stepped onto the airplane in Houston this morning. She was exhausted and couldn’t think clearly. Too many unpredictable, inconceivable events had bombarded her in the space of one afternoon.
“One thing I did learn that’s in your favor. I asked Mrs. Lyman if her husband was adopted. He was.”
“Then surely you believe me.” She hated the pleading sound in her voice and the tears that she could feel welling up in the corners of her ebony eyes.
“I’m getting closer,” he admitted.
“Oh, thank you, Mr. Barrett. If you don’t mind, I’ll go now. It has been a long, tiring day to say the least. I’ll be at the Fairmont if you need to ask me any more questions. Naturally, I’m upset about my brother and will want to know what happens. I won’t leave San Francisco until this whole mess is cleared up.”
She picked up her purse and jacket and the leather coat and headed for the door. She never reached it. Mr. Barrett put a restraining hand on her shoulder and took her purse out of her hand.
“Wrong again, Miss O’Shea. You’re not going anywhere. You’re spending the night here. With me.”
Chapter Three
It was with blank, uncomprehending eyes that Erin turned toward the man who had forcefully prevented her from leaving the room. His face was unreadable, but stern.
When the message of his words finally pierced the muddled confusion of her brain, Erin yanked her shoulder from under his hand and retreated several steps.
“You have surely lost your mind, Mr. Barrett.”
“I’d concede that if I were to let you leave this house without knowing exactly who you are and why you showed up on Lyman’s doorstep this afternoon.”
He turned away from her in dismissal and went to the door. Facing her again he said, “As it is, I’m quite sane.” He smiled a charming, friendly smile that made her tremble with fury. “You’ll excuse me, please. I have work to do. Make yourself comfortable. You have the run of this room.”
“Go to hell,” she hissed.
His smile only deepened. “More than likely I will.”
He was two steps beyond the door when she flung it open. With a deadly accurate precision, he whirled around and confronted her.