Sudden Attraction

Not yet. Maybe never. He was too shaken by the whole encounter. And the worst part was that he knew what she always struggled to conceal—how alone she felt. And she knew the same thing about him.

Both of them had learned to bury that innermost truth but not when someone had invaded your mind.

Invasion? Was that the right word? What the hell had happened?

She broke into his thoughts, speaking in a shaky voice.

“Luke Buckley,” she said. They were meeting for the first time, but she knew his name. “The man who rented Cypress Cottage.”

“Yes,” he answered, knowing her mom could have told her that much. But that didn’t account for her absolute conviction that it was him.

And, unfortunately, she zeroed in on a fact that he needed to keep hidden. “That’s not your real name. You’re …”

“Don’t say it.”

“Why?”

“You know why.”

He clenched his teeth. The whole situation was so damned weird that he wanted to shout a string of curses, if that wouldn’t have made things worse.

This wasn’t the way he would have wanted to meet anyone. Particularly not this woman who—what? Who had connected with him in ways that he still could hardly believe.

He heard himself say, “We have to talk.”

He was sure she wanted to refuse, for a whole host of reasons, starting with the way he’d thrown her to the ground, but she answered with a small sound that signaled acquiescence.

The wind had picked up, and a few fat drops of rain began to fall.

“We’d better get inside before it starts to pour. Come to my cottage.”

She dragged in a breath. “You’ve got to be kidding. You just attacked me on my own property.”

“And you know why,” he said again.

He understood she was still making up her mind as more drops plopped down.

“You left the plantation house,” he said. “Because you were afraid to be there alone in the dark.”

She didn’t bother denying it or asking how he knew. It was the same way she knew that he’d changed his name when he fled to Lafayette, Louisiana.

“I was going to Water Iris, not to you,” she answered in a strained voice.

“You might as well come to Cypress. I’ve got some battery lights.”

She looked toward his cottage. “They’re not on.”

“They can be.”

Luke waited while Gabriella made up her mind. He knew she had to be going over the scene between them. His throwing her to the ground and fastening his hands around her neck. The opening of their minds to a level of intimacy that should have been impossible. The pressure building inside each of their heads. And the sexual need that had overwhelmed them.

That might turn out to be the final factor that sent her running from him. But perhaps she was pretending it hadn’t happened because she finally said, “All right.”

Wordlessly, he started for Cypress, and she followed a few paces behind him.

FROM THE SHADOWS, George Camden watched and listened, his hands clenched as he cursed the way his excellent plans had just gotten screwed up.

When he’d heard the thunder, he’d thought the storm would give him some cover when he broke into the mansion again so he could grab Gabriella. Then he’d watched her come out of the house and thought, what luck.

He’d been on his way toward her when Luke Buckley had tackled her. There was something strange about him, although George hadn’t figured it out yet. But it looked as if the guy had started to assault her, then changed his mind. Yeah, assault had turned into a pretty heated scene.

He laughed. That was an interesting development.

Too bad the guy had stuck his nose in where it didn’t belong.

But why?

He’d heard them talking. It had been a strange conversation, as if George was only hearing part of it. Which could have been true from the way the wind was howling. Maybe it had carried away words spoken softly, but he had caught that Luke Buckley wasn’t his real name. Interesting.

Did they know each other or not? Part of the time it had sounded as if they did—then not so much.

Or maybe the mom had given the daughter an earful about the renter. Did Mrs. Boudreaux know that the guy was using an alias? Or just the daughter?

As drops of rain hit his head, George narrowed his eyes. He hadn’t signed up for this job to be wet and miserable. However, Gabriella had to come out of the guy’s cottage some time, and when she did, he wanted to be ready.

Lips set in a grim line, he moved cautiously across the lawn, finding a spot under a tree that gave him a little shelter—and where he could still watch the cottage door.

Of course, you weren’t supposed to stand under a tree in a lightning storm, but he’d take a chance on that.

As he huddled in the cold, he played the scene again in his mind. Why had Buckley come out in the first place? Did he suspect someone else was on the property? Or was he just jumpy about something to do with his alias?

One thing was sure: renting a cottage on the plantation had put Luke Buckley in the wrong place at the wrong time—as far as George was concerned. Too bad for him.

LUKE AND GABRIELLA HURRIED onto the porch as the storm finally broke, sending rain pouring down.

“Close call,” he muttered as he opened the door.

When she hung back, he stepped quickly inside and turned on two of the battery-powered lamps that he’d bought after Mrs. Boudreaux had told him the electricity often went out in the middle of a storm.

Gabriella came in after him. As she looked around at the mess he’d made of the living room, he suddenly wished that he hadn’t been so quick to offer the lamps. However, if he hadn’t, she might not have come inside.

He knew she was staring at the epitome of a junked-up bachelor pad. He’d been working, and he’d left papers all over the desk. Books and other research materials were stacked on the coffee and end tables. Sitting on top of them were several plates and glasses that he hadn’t carried to the kitchen area, which was at the side of the room.

Of course, he hadn’t expected company, but still, he should have kept the place a little neater. What if his landlady dropped by?

Well, that wasn’t going to happen, he reminded himself.

He quickly picked up the glasses and plates and ferried them to the sink. Probably he should have hired a maid. But then he’d have to put his papers away. They were confidential, and dangerous, come to that.