Danger On Dakota Ridge

“None of your business.”

He almost smiled. This was the Paige he was used to. “Do you know where he is?” he asked.

“He’s an adult. I don’t keep track of his every move.”

Somehow he doubted this was a philosophy she had adopted willingly, having seen her mother-bear act in court. “Do you want me to call him?” he asked.

“No!”

“I thought maybe you would feel better with him here.”

“No. There’s no need to worry him.”

“Did you tell him about what happened this morning? The other shooting?”

“No. He doesn’t need to know.”

“There’s such a thing as being too independent, you know,” Rob said.

She stood. “Come on. Let’s get you checked in.”

He could have pressed the issue, but what would be the point? Paige wasn’t going to change on his say-so. He reclaimed his roller bag from beside the door and followed her inside.

The interior of the home was comfortably furnished with a mixture of antique and contemporary pieces. Art on the walls depicted local scenery. Rob saw none of the chintz and cutesiness he had feared when his admin had suggested a B and B for his stay. Instead, the decor was low-key and classy—like Paige herself.

She moved to a small desk in what must have been the home’s front parlor or formal living room and unlocked an adjacent cabinet to reveal a computer. “What name is on the credit card you’ll be using?” she asked, typing.

“Robert Allerton.”

“Not Robert Allen?”

“As I said before, I’m not here on business.” Not exactly. He had sworn his admin to secrecy. After he talked to his boss in the morning, he might be assigned to the case, but for now, he was on his own dime.

She scanned the card he handed her, then returned it, along with a set of old-fashioned keys on a brass fob. “The round one is for the front door,” she said. “The other is for your room. You’re in the Grizzly Suite. Turn left at the top of the stairs and go all the way to the end of the hallway. Breakfast is from seven to nine each morning.”

He replaced the card in his wallet. “Dwight was right,” he said. “You’d be safer if you moved to a location that was unknown to whoever is targeting you.”

“I have a business to run and a life to live. I can’t stop everything to go hide out in a cave somewhere until you or Dwight or whoever decides it’s safe to come out. I’ll be smart and take precautions, but I won’t do what these men want.”

“What do you think they want?” he asked.

She shut the cabinet door and locked it. “For me to keep quiet about what I saw. That has to be the reason they want me dead. They think they can frighten me into shutting up. But all they’ve done is make me more determined to find out what is going on up there.”

She started to move from behind the desk, but Rob blocked her, one hand on her arm, near enough that when she inhaled sharply, the tips of her breasts brushed his sleeve. He fought the urge to pull her close and kiss the protest from her lips. Did she have any idea how maddening and enticing he found her? “Don’t get any ideas about investigating this on your own,” he said. “That could be dangerous.”

“I’ll be careful.”

Careful might not be enough, but he wasn’t going to get anywhere arguing with her about it. He moved aside and started to turn toward the stairs, but she put out a hand to stop him, then grabbed hold of the sleeve of his jacket. “Rob?”

He turned back, looking into her eyes, which were the color of storm clouds, fringed with thick brown lashes. Eyes that could make a man forget every angry word she had ever leveled at him. “Yes?”

She swallowed, color rising in her cheeks. “Thank you.”

“What are you thanking me for?”

“For saving my life.”

He could have dismissed this with a denial that he had done anything special. He had reacted on pure instinct, with no time to think about what he was doing or why. But he wouldn’t let her off the hook that easily. “You know that old superstition,” he said.

Two shallow lines formed between her eyebrows. “What old superstition?”

“When you save a person’s life, then you’re responsible for them.”

She released her hold on him as if she had been scorched. “No man is responsible for me.”

He smiled, a heated curve of his lips that had reduced more than one woman to breathlessness. “Have I ever told you I’m a very superstitious person? And I take my responsibilities very seriously.” He leaned forward and kissed her cheek, feeling the heat of her skin and breathing in the herbal scent of her shampoo.

When he stepped back, he half expected her to slap him. Maybe he even deserved it, but that kiss had been worth it. Instead, she only tried to wound him with her gaze. Still smiling, he picked up his bag and headed for the stairs, taking them two at a time to the second floor. His stay at the Bear’s Den was going to be very interesting, indeed.

Chapter Six (#uf0d436f3-bb4b-5555-9bea-2e72a98ac7a0)

Paige lay awake for hours that night, reliving every moment of being shot at—the sound of the bullets, the fear that had threatened to choke her, the feel of Rob’s weight on her, crushing and frightening and yet so reassuring. The man was maddening, one moment so tender and protective, the next knowing exactly what to say to make her angry. All that nonsense about him being responsible for her—and then he’d had the nerve to kiss her.

That the kiss hadn’t been on the lips unnerved her even more. If he had insisted on kissing her mouth, she could have told herself he had practically assaulted her, and that he’d taken liberties to which he wasn’t entitled. But that gentle brush of his lips against her cheek had been both tender and incredibly sensuous. She still trembled at the memory, at the intensity of her awareness of him—the scent of his aftershave, the soft cotton of his shirtsleeve, the incredible heat of his mouth.

She shouldn’t have let him get away with it. She should have told him off then and there. But she couldn’t find the words to do it. When he had left her, still smiling that I’m-so-sexy grin, she had had to bite her lip to keep from calling him back. In that moment, if he had tried to kiss her mouth, she would have pulled him to her willingly.

After that, it took a long time for her to drift into a restless sleep. She woke several hours later with a start and stared into the darkness, heart pounding. She held her breath and strained her ears to listen. Yes, that was definitely the sound of the back door opening. She turned her head to check the bedside clock. One thirty-two. She heard shuffling, then the sound of someone walking—no, tiptoeing—past her door.

She sat up and switched on the lamp. “Parker, is that you?” she called.

“Yes. Go back to sleep.”

Instead, she got up and went to the bedroom door and opened it. Parker stood in the hallway, hair rumpled, shoulders slumped. Her first instinct was to demand to know where he had been, but she stifled the words. “You look tired,” she said instead.

He shrugged. “I’m okay.” He turned away. “Good night.”

“Wait,” she said. “There’s something I need to tell you.”

He stopped, but didn’t look back at her. “What is it?”

“Rob Allerton is here,” she said.

“Yeah. You already told me he’s in town. So what?”

“No—he’s here.”

He did turn this time, and craned his neck, trying to see past her into her room. “Here?”