Harden. Diana Palmer
I was…I was driving.” She looked up, her face terrible. “The road was slick and I lost control of the car. I killed him! I killed my baby and I killed Tim…!”
He took her by the shoulders, fascinated by the feel of her soft skin even as he registered the thinness of them. “God decided that it was his time to die,” Harden corrected.
“There isn’t a God!” she whispered, her face white with pain and remembered anguish.
“Yes, there is,” he said softly. His broad chest rose and fell. “Come on.”
“Where are you taking me?”
“Home.”
“No!”
She was pulling against his hand. “I won’t go back there tonight, I can’t! He haunts me….”
He stopped. His eyes searched her face quietly. “I don’t want you physically. But you can stay with me tonight, if you like. There’s a spare bed and you’ll be safe.”
He couldn’t believe he was making the offer. He, who hated women. But there was something so terribly fragile about her. She wasn’t sober, and he didn’t want her trying something stupid. It would lie heavily on his conscience; at least, that was what he told himself to justify his interest.
She stared at him quietly. “I’m a stranger.”
“So am I.”
She hesitated. “My name is Miranda Warren,” she said finally.
“Harden Tremayne. You’re not a stranger anymore. Come on.”
She let him guide her back to the hotel, her steps not quite steady. She looked up at him curiously. He was wearing an expensive hat and suit. Even his boots looked expensive. Her mind was still whirling, but she had enough sense left to realize that he might think she was targeting him because he had money.
“I should go to my own apartment,” she said hesitantly.
“Why?”
He was blunt. So was she. “Because you look very well-to-do. I’m a secretary. Tim was a reporter. I’m not at all wealthy, and I don’t want you to get the wrong idea about me.”
“I told you, I don’t want a woman tonight,” he said irritably.
“It isn’t just that.” She shifted restlessly. “You might think I deliberately staged all this to rob you.”
His eyebrows rose. “What an intriguing thought,” he murmured dryly.
“Yes, isn’t it?” she said wryly. “But if I were planning any such thing, I’d pick someone who looked less dangerous.”
He smiled faintly. “Afraid of me?” he asked deeply.
She searched his hard face. “I have a feeling I should be. But, no, I’m not. You’ve been very kind. I just had a moment’s panic. I wouldn’t really have thrown myself off the bridge, you know. I hate getting wet.” She shifted. “I really should go home.”
“You really should come with me,” he replied. “I won’t rest, wondering if you’ve got another bridge picked out. Come on. I don’t think you’re a would-be thief, and I’m tired.”
“Are you sure?” she asked.
He nodded. “I’m sure.”
She let him lead her into the hotel and around to the elevator. It was one of the best hotels in the city, and he went straight up to the luxury suites. He unlocked the door and let her in. There was a huge sitting room that led off in either direction to two separate bedrooms. Evan had planned to come up with Harden from Texas. At the last minute, though, there’d been an emergency and Evan had stayed behind to handle it.
Miranda began to feel nervous. She really knew nothing about this man, and she knew she was out of control. But there was something in his eyes that reassured her. He was a strong man. He positively radiated strength, and she needed that tonight. Needed someone to lean on, someone to take care of her, just this once. Tim had been more child than husband, always expecting her to handle things. Bills, telephone calls about broken appliances, the checkbook, groceries, dry cleaning, housekeeping—all that had been Miranda’s job. Tim worked and came home and watched television, and then expected sex on demand. Miranda hadn’t liked sex. It was an unpleasant duty that she tried to perform with the same resignation that she applied to all her other chores. Tim knew, of course he did. She’d gotten pregnant, and Tim hadn’t liked it. He found her repulsive pregnant. That had been an unexpected benefit. But now there was no pregnancy. Her hand went to her stomach and her face contorted. She’d lost her baby….
“Stop that,” Harden said unexpectedly, his pale blue eyes flashing at her when he saw the expression on her face. “Agonizing over it isn’t going to change one damned thing.” He tossed his hotel key on the coffee table and motioned her into a chair. “I keep a pot of coffee on. Would you like a cup?”
“Yes, please,” she said with resignation. She slumped down into the chair, feeling as if all the life had drained out of her. “I can get it,” she added quickly, starting to rise.
He frowned. “I’m perfectly capable of pouring coffee,” he said shortly.
“Sorry,” she said with a shy smile. “I’m used to waiting on Tim.”
He searched her eyes. “Had you trained, did he?” he asked.
She gasped.
He turned. “Black, or do you like something in it?”
“I…I like it black,” she stammered.
“Good. There’s no cream.”
She’d never been in a hotel penthouse before. It was beautiful. It overlooked the lake and the beachfront, and she didn’t like thinking about what it must have cost. She got to her feet and walked a little unsteadily to the patio door that overlooked Chicago at night. She wanted to go outside and get a breath of air, but she couldn’t get the sliding door to work.
“Oh, for God’s sake, not again!” came a curt, angry deep voice from behind her. Lean, strong hands caught her waist from behind, lifting and turning her effortlessly before he frog-marched her back to her chair and sat her down in it. “Now stay put,” he said shortly. “I am not having any more leaping episodes tonight, do you understand me?”
She swallowed. He was very tall, and extremely intimidating. She’d always managed to manipulate Tim when he had bad moods, but this man didn’t look as if he was controllable any way at all. “Yes,” she said through tight lips. “But I wasn’t going to jump. I just wanted to see the view—”
He cut her off. “Here. Drink this. It won’t sober you up, but it might lighten your mood a bit.”
He pushed a cup and saucer toward her. The smell of strong coffee drifted up into her nostrils as she lifted the cup.
“Careful,” he said. “Don’t spill it on that pretty dress.”
“It’s old,” she replied with a sad smile. “My clothes have to last years. Tim was furious that I wasted money on this one, but I wanted just one nice dress.”
He sat down across from her and leaned back, crossing his long legs before he lit a cigarette and dragged an ashtray closer. “If you don’t like the smoke, I’ll turn the air-conditioning up,” he offered.
“I don’t mind it,” she replied. “I used to smoke, but Tim made me quit. He didn’t like it.”
Harden was getting a picture of the late Tim that he didn’t like. He blew out a cloud of smoke, his eyes raking her face, absorbing the fragility in it. “What kind of secretary are you?”
“Legal,” she said. “I work for a firm of attorneys. It’s a good job. I’m a paralegal now. I took night courses to learn it. I do a lot of legwork and researching