“What’re you worth? Five million? Ten?” she asked, her blue eyes narrowing. “Twenty?”
“It has nothing to do with this.”
“You mean ‘us,’ don’t you? It has nothing to do with ‘us’?”
“Yes.”
“That’s where you’re wrong! It has everything to do with us and every damned woman you ever took to bed. You think you’re so ridiculously charming and good-looking that women can’t help falling for you?” Glaring at him, she answered her own question. “It’s the money, James.” She was so close now, he felt the heat radiating from her, saw the bits of darker blue in her light eyes. “It’s all about the money. Every damned woman you’ve dated in your entire miserable life has known you had money. Including Jennifer and Rebecca and that slut Sophia.”
He tensed then, wanting to shake her. “Including you?”
She didn’t answer.
“Including you?” he repeated.
She angled her chin upward and whispered, “Including me. If you want to know the truth—”
“I do.”
“That’s what started it all. My interest. But then? Then I was stupid enough to actually fall for you.”
For a second, he almost believed her. But the harsh glint in her gaze, the tight, hard corners of her mouth, and the almost crazed expression told him not to trust her. “I already said, I’m sorry, and I am—”
“Bullshit!”
Enough. “Okay. Maybe you should go.”
“Now you’re throwing me out?” Her rage exploded. “Well, fuck you, James! Fuck you!”
“Megan,” he started when she lunged at him. He stepped backward.
Too late.
“Bastard!” She swiped at him with her hands, her right fingernails scraping down the side of his face.
“Stop!” He grabbed one wrist.
It wasn’t enough. She threw herself against him, and she flailed at him with her free hand.
He stumbled backward, falling, with her atop him.
He remembered his shoulder slamming into the fireplace and his body scraping downward in a single moment. His head bounced against the bricks of the hearth. For a dizzying second, he saw her climbing off him, her horrified expression in his line of vision, the sound of his dog barking from behind the kitchen door ringing in his ears before everything went dark.
“Holy shit,” he whispered now as the hot water cascaded over his good shoulder and down his torso. For a second, he was unsteady and propped himself against the tile wall, trying to gain his equilibrium. He ran a hand over his wet face as he steadied himself. Memories assailed him, making him feel weak . . . weaker. He managed to twist off the faucet and reach out of the shower for a towel. Ralph had taken up residence on the bath mat, and he had to nudge the dog aside with a wet foot.
With an effort, he dried himself off. He decided against shaving—the beard would help hide the scratches still visible beneath his stubble—and managed to struggle into his clothes before it hit him that he had no car, no means of transportation. The police were still holding his truck and Explorer, both vehicles being searched for evidence.
“Of what?” he said aloud. But he knew. They were looking for bloodstains or personal items, even DNA. From Megan. No doubt they would find a hair or two, maybe a forgotten tube of lipstick or earring or something personal she’d forgotten, but there would be no evidence of crime. Because there was none.
He hadn’t harmed her that night.
Nor ever before.
But there was still something missing, something he couldn’t completely recall, a forgotten detail or two of that night that teased at his memory, almost surfacing, but not quite. “What?” he whispered, but whatever was plucking at the strands of his memory was gone, retreating quickly.
He slipped the sling over his shoulder and was about to call Bobby for a ride when he realized he didn’t have his phone, either. No wheels, no means of communication other than the hotel phone. “Great,” he muttered, about to leave when he spied the bracelet, a single band of glittering clear stones that he assumed weren’t real diamonds, left on one of the side tables next to the bed.
Sophia’s.
In a flash, he remembered her astride him in the bed, her long legs bent at the knees as she straddled him, the bracelet still catching the half-light washing in from the window. He’d reached up with his good hand to touch her smooth abdomen, stretched taut, the skin silken beneath his fingertips as they skimmed the underside of her full breasts where her hair fell in a sexy tangle, her erect pink nipples peeking through the blond tresses.
Now, his breath caught in the back of his throat as the image faded. He swallowed hard.
What the hell have you gotten yourself into?
Rebecca, Megan, and now Sophia?
That was the problem. He loved beautiful, smart women. In Sophia’s case, he couldn’t help but notice her. She was everywhere he turned. At the shop, at the café, in town, wherever—it was almost as if she knew instinctively where he’d be, almost as if she were in two places at the same time. Impossible, of course, and maybe it was just his rationalization for not being able to avoid her, to be enchanted by a blonde with an impish spark in her eye, a quick wit and easy smile. She was funny and clever, and he found himself looking forward to being with her. She laughed a lot, a tinkling little giggle that brought a smile to his face. She’d been beyond charming when he’d first met her at the inn, when she’d come looking for a job, and he’d been unable to resist her, couldn’t resist her still.
Another memory surfaced, an older one. He and Sophia had been together in another place. Her apartment. She’d found him in the shower, stripped off her clothes, and joined him in the tight space, eagerly running her hands down his body under the hot water. He hadn’t been able
