Maternity Bride. Maureen Child
scream.” An empty threat. Her mouth and throat were so dry, it was a wonder she could issue these whispery warnings, let alone, scream.
“Oh, for...” He sounded disgusted.
She hobbled backward, listing dangerously to one side. Why couldn’t she think? Why couldn’t she remember something that she’d learned from that overpriced instructor? It was just as she’d always feared. When faced with a real attacker, her mind had gone blank.
Her purse swung around with her jerky movements and slapped her in the abdomen. She grunted with the impact.
“You okay?”
“Hah!” A concerned maniac! Oh God, she was hyperventilating.
“Look lady, if you’d only stand still for a second...”
“I won’t make it easy on you,” she countered and went into a wild series of bobs and weaves. Her broken heel actually helped in the endeavor. She banged her hip on the corner of Patrick’s desk and promised herself that if this madman killed her, she would haunt Patrick Ryan for the rest of his life.
Some friend he is, she thought hysterically. Taking a vacation so that she would be forced to go into his office and get the files her father wanted for tomorrow afternoon’s meeting. If she survived this, maybe she would have her father fire good ol’ Patrick.
“Dammit, woman!” The huge man in black sounded angry. Swell.
She started singing to herself. Well, not really singing, more of a low pitched keening, really. Anything to make enough noise that she didn’t have to hear the man’s voice as he taunted her. Denise took another few steps, then stopped cold as her purse strap snagged on the corner of the desk. Her breath caught, she leaned forward to free herself and at the same time...miraculously, an actual thought occurred to her.
Hurriedly, she dug into her purse. She couldn’t see well in the dark. She had to depend on her fingers finding just what she needed. Blindly, she began tossing item after item out of her bag and onto the floor.
“Come on now,” he urged and came much too close. “If you’ll just relax, we can straighten all of this out.”
Oh, sure. Relax. There’s an idea!
Her breath staggering, her heart beating wildly enough to explode from her chest, Denise’s fingers closed around the can she had been fumbling for. Triumphantly, she yanked it free of the leather purse, held it up and pointed it—hopefully—at the intruder. Just in case though, she closed her eyes and turned her head away as she pushed the aerosol button.
“Damn it!” he shouted and lunged at her.
A squeak of protest squeezed past her throat.
He slapped the can out of her grip and his momentum carried her down to the floor with him. They hit hard, but he had twisted them both around until he took most of the jarring blow. Immediately then, he rolled her beneath him. He lay across her, pinning her down with his imposing size and weight.
Helplessly, Denise heard her can of pepper spray hit the plank floor and roll into the far corner. She inhaled sharply, hoping for a good, long scream, then felt a large, very strong hand clamp down hard on her mouth.
The mingled scents of Old Spice, tobacco and what smelled like motor oil surrounded her.
“Take it easy, will ya?” he said angrily.
Yeah, that’s what she would do, she thought frantically as she fought to draw a shallow breath into her straining lungs. Take it easy. Simple enough for him to say. His body lay full-length atop hers. She felt his belt buckle digging into her stomach and the hard muscular strength of his thighs pressing her legs down.
Why hadn’t she gone home when everyone else in the building had?
Her mind raced with questions she didn’t really want the answers to. What was he doing in Patrick’s office? This was an accounting firm for heaven’s sake. There was no money to steal. And what was he going to do to her? God, she suddenly remembered every horrifying newspaper article she’d ever read about the rising crime rate.
And now she was going to end up as nothing more than a grainy photograph beside a short sad story on page five.
Even as she thought it, her captor eased slightly to one side of her. Still keeping one of his legs tossed across hers, he captured both of her hands in one of his and held them tightly. As he shifted position, he moved into a patch of moonlight.
Denise closed her eyes and told herself not to look. If she couldn’t identify him, maybe he would leave her alone. But somehow, her eyes opened into slits and her gaze drifted to his features anyway.
She gasped and felt a bit of her fear slip away.
He had the nerve to grin at her.
Surprise battled with temper. What was going on here, anyway? Except for his too long hair, a week’s worth of stubble on his cheeks and the black leather jacket he was wearing, her intruder looked an awful lot like Patrick Ryan. In fact, she thought with a growing sense of disgust, enough like him to be his...twin.
“Finally,” he said and nodded at her. “If you hadn’t been so damned eager to spray pepper into my face, I could have introduced myself a while ago.”
“You’re—”
“Mike Ryan.”
“Patrick’s twin,” she said and tried to twist out of his steely grasp.
“Actually,” he countered with a crooked smile, “I prefer to think of Patrick as my twin.”
Dammit, she thought. Why was Patrick’s brother loitering around his office?
“How did you get in here?” she demanded.
“Security let me in.”
“Great. Why were you standing around in a pitch dark office?”
He snorted a laugh. “The power went out. Remember?”
“Well, you might have said something,” she snapped and tried once more to yank free of him. Again, she failed. For some reason, he seemed reluctant to let her go just yet.
“You didn’t give me much of a chance.”
“There was plenty of time to yell, ‘Don’t have a heart attack, I’m Patrick’s brother’,” she countered. Her heartbeat slowed from its trip-hammer pace as she added, “Or do you enjoy scaring women?”
He scowled briefly. “There are lots of things I enjoy doing with women,” he told her in a voice so deep and rough it scraped along her spine. “Fear has nothing to do with any of them.”
She swallowed and found her mouth dry again.
“So,” he went on and dragged the palm of one hand over the curve of her hip. “We both know who I am. Who the hell are you? Does Patrick have a girlfriend I don’t know about?”
Denise fought to ignore the sensation of wicked heat that trailed in the wake of his hand.
“Maybe,” she countered thickly. “But if he does, it isn’t me.”
“Glad to hear it,” he murmured.
She shifted slightly, trying to move away from his disconcerting touch. He followed her.
“Name?” he asked.
“Denise Torrance.” She gritted her teeth and redoubled her efforts to get at least one of her hands free. “This is the Torrance Accounting firm. Patrick works for my father. I needed to pick up some of his files... Why am I explaining any of this to you?”
He shrugged. “Beats me. Am I supposed to believe any of it?”
She drew her head back and glared at him. “Frankly, I don’t care if you believe me or not. But, why would I lie?”
He shrugged again and let that