Hidden Hearts Read online

  He smiled at her, and of course he had perfect teeth, too. And he knew it. His smile seemed to say come out, come out, I’m really one of the good guys.

  “You can come out now.”

  Imagine that. He’d just told her she was safe—so naturally he expected her to believe it. If she hadn’t been frightened half to death and partly mesmerized by his gorgeous good looks, she would have laughed as he actually put her thoughts into words. Naturally he had a deep, melodic knock-your-socks-off baritone to go with the rest of his perfection. Not once did she take her gaze from his face. Besides the bluest blue eyes she’d ever seen, he had an olive complexion, the kind that didn’t require hours in the sun to tan, a straight aristocratic nose and gleaming white teeth. His black hair was cut short, neat and tidy over the ears. And he wore clothes as if he was born to model. A navy sports jacket emphasized broad shoulders, a white shirt accentuated his acre-sized chest, and khaki slacks, not the least bit rumpled from his fight, showed off slender hips. The only thing menacing about him, besides his huge size, was the five-o’clock shadow that underscored his tough-guy jaw.

  “Look, I’m Roarke Stone. Didn’t your brother tell you to expect me?”

  His voice was as deep and non-threatening as his chuckle, but she didn’t trust Mr. I’m-a-Good-Guy for a second. “My brother?”

  “Jake Cochran.”

  “What about him?” She told herself not to let down her guard. Not to trust his seductive smile. Not to trust one thing he said just because he knew her brother’s name. If he was after the envelope, like the intruder in her apartment, of course he would know her brother’s name. And he’d try to feed her a line to convince her to hand it over.

  He looked slightly puzzled but ready to smooth over her misconceptions. Oh so casually, he spoke. “Jake hired me to protect you.”

  Damn, he was good, coming up with a creative twist—one she hadn’t expected. Still, she didn’t believe him. And she couldn’t quite believe his audacity either. He’d spoken with such conviction, as if he believed his own lies. Despite his charming good looks, those devastating blue eyes and the absolutely divine cheekbones, all she had to remember was how easily he’d lifted her off the ground, how easily he could hurt her, and she shivered.

  Staying out of Roarke Stone’s very long reach, Alexandra picked up her purse and the envelope she’d tossed into the Dumpster. Maybe if he had to jump inside to pursue her, she could climb out the other side before he grabbed her.

  Meanwhile, her brain was thinking at warp speed. She’d keep him talking, distract him. “Who are you here to protect me from?”

  “Maybe the man upstairs.” His eyes narrowed at her accusingly. “Why did you let him into your apartment?”

  Go figure. Now Mr. Perfection was trying to convince her he cared about her safety. Yeah right. But she played along. “Give me a little credit. The guy kicked in the door.”

  “What did he want?”

  She couldn’t believe she was standing inside a Dumpster having this unreal conversation with a man who looked as if he belonged in Hollywood, starring with Cameron Diaz. She noticed that despite the heat, he hadn’t broken a sweat. He didn’t seem to be breathing hard either, but his massive chest indicated he probably had the lung capacity of a distance runner or a marathon swimmer. However he was trying real hard not to breathe through his nose, and she didn’t blame him. It really stank here, and she would dearly love to climb out of the Dumpster and take a three-hour shower—but not so much that she’d risk him grabbing her again.

  She recalled how quickly he’d defeated the other man, how big his biceps were, how fast he’d moved and kept him at arm’s length. Trying to refrain from glowering at him for displaying all that perfection which she was supposed to find irresistible, she attempted to clear up her confusion. “You weren’t working with the man in the uniform?”

  Roarke shook his head and smiled that sexy smile again. “I already told you. Your brother hired me.”

  His smile bounced right off her. “You can’t be serious. And I suppose Jake wants back the stuff he sent me?” she muttered sarcastically, failing to believe this wasn’t simply another ruse to persuade her to turn over the envelope to him. But what could be so valuable about the envelope’s contents that her brother thought she needed protection?

  He shot her a look loaded with reasonableness. “Jake didn’t mention wanting anything back. He feared he might have inadvertently put you in danger.”

  Don’t believe him. No matter how he smiled at her, Roarke Stone—if that was his real name—was making up a story, trying to coax her into trusting him so she’d give him the envelope. Mr. Perfection could take his charms and sell them elsewhere. She wasn’t buying his explanation. Wouldn’t her brother have called her if he’d thought she needed protection? It seemed rather extreme to hire her a bodyguard without even talking to her first. Of course, she hadn’t been home much since she’d been working over eighty hours a week on the new project, but Jake could have left a message at her office.

  If he had the number. She didn’t have any idea if her brother knew what she did for a living or if he knew where she worked.

  Roarke reached into his back pocket, pulled out a wallet and extracted a business card. She refused to step forward to take it.

  He looked surprised and shocked and a tiny bit hurt at her obvious reluctance to believe him. “I can think of much more pleasant places to have this conversation.”

  She was sure he could. This guy was too much. But he was so good that she almost believed him. However, she had absolutely no intention of going anywhere more pleasant with him. Not now. Not ever.

  “I see no reason to talk to you at all.” Alexandra ignored the slight flush on his face as he stewed over her rejection, as if this was the first time a woman had ever turned him down. He looked so uncomfortable she almost felt sorry for him. Almost. “Why don’t you just turn around and go back to wherever you came from?”

  “I’d like to, but I’m afraid I’ve already been paid.” A flash of amusement at her predicament and something else, maybe guilt, flickered in Roarke’s blue eyes. “Besides, I do have a business reputation to maintain.”

  Without waiting for her reply, he bent and straightened, picking something up off the pavement. When he raised his hand higher than the lip of the Dumpster, she could see he held the blueprints she’d dropped.

  “I thought these plans might be important to you. Are these papers why that man was after you?”

  Alexandra uttered a very unladylike word. She’d been hoping to return to where she’d dropped her precious blueprints and recover them. Now he’d ruined that plan, too.

  When he offered her the blueprints, she scampered over the edge of the Dumpster’s far side. Roarke made no move to pursue her. Instead he offered the blueprints again, that half-puzzled, half-hurt expression he did so well trying to convince her he was harmless.

  When she stayed away, he shrugged. “Can’t say I blame you. I wouldn’t want bits of garbage all over them either. But then again, I wouldn’t want that man upstairs gaining free access to my apartment.”

  Alexandra knew better than to return to her apartment where the other man could be waiting for her. What she wanted was to go to her car, use her cell phone and call the police. Keeping the Dumpster between them, she watched Roarke warily, hoping she might distract him enough so she could make it to her car.

  As if sensing how much she distrusted him, he held up his hands and backed away another foot or two. “Don’t worry. I don’t intend to come any closer than I have to.” But he kept smiling confidently at her. A perfect smile. An interested smile. An…interested smile?

  By the way he scrunched up his nose, she knew she smelled. And it just went to show how fake his offer had been when he’d suggested going somewhere pleasant to talk since he’d made it while she stank just as badly as she did right now. And if she smelled so bad, that smile plastered on his face that indicated interest was likely forced. Fake.<
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  Mentally, she rolled her eyes. As if she’d ever believe Mr. Perfect would consider her even a remote candidate for pleasant conversation. “If you hadn’t chased me, I wouldn’t have had to climb in there.”

  “I needed to make sure no one else was waiting for you downstairs.”

  Yeah, sure. He cared about her safety. Uh-huh. She edged slowly toward her car, asking questions and somehow knowing he’d have a perfectly logical and innocent-sounding answer no matter what she asked. “What were you doing on my terrace?”

  “The man at your front door didn’t look like any delivery man I’d ever seen.”

  She strolled toward her car, and he maintained a good eight feet of distance from her. “What do you mean?”

  “How many delivery guys can afford a Rolex watch and Air Jordan sneakers? His jacket bulged as if he was carrying a weapon. And he drove a rented Saturn instead of a truck.”

  More lies? Or was Roarke Stone really that observant? It didn’t seem fair that the perfect face and magnificent body should have a working brain behind them to boot.

  She kept walking toward her car, keys in her hand. “You still haven’t explained why you were on my back stoop.”

  “Instinct.”

  “What do you mean?” Casually, she unlocked her car, hoping to slip inside and lock it before Roarke prevented her from escaping.

  “I figured if you were home, the man was trouble. It seemed likely you might try and leave out the back—just like you’re trying to abandon me now.” Roarke advanced, leaned inside and plucked her cell phone from the cradle and held it up. “Instinct. This what you’re looking for?”

  Damn his instincts. She’d almost relaxed, thought he’d been relaxed, too. He was that good. She realized her mistake after he’d taken away her phone with lightning speed, moving too fast for her to block him.

  Fear came back, sinking and swooping in her stomach. “I need to report the break-in to the cops.”

  “Why?”

  “Well, duh! So they can catch him.”

  “That’s an admirable idea but a naive one.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “But it’s my job to protect you, and I can do that better without the local authorities interfering.”

  She didn’t like the way his eyes had gone from calm to stormy, making her feel as though she was barely keeping her head above high seas. “You can protect me better than the police?”

  “Absolutely.”

  His self-assurance pumped another jolt of fear into her veins. This couldn’t be happening to her.

  “I suggest we return to your apartment. Together.”

  Together? She didn’t like the purposeful look in his eyes. Eyes that expected her to melt simply because they focused on her. And why would he take her back there? She started to back away. When he moved, he acted with a blur of speed, bracketing her wrist with his hand before she’d had a chance to jerk back.

  She tugged, but might as well have tried to move a front-end loader. “Let go.”

  “No can do. I’m responsible for you now.”

  Sure he was. She didn’t like the sound of that self-confident declaration one bit. It was too take-charge, too commanding and way too macho, reminding her of another man in her past, one who’d hurt her badly.

  Roarke tugged her gently away from her car. She stiffened her legs and almost fell on her face as he dragged her forward, her resistance futile.

  Suddenly he stopped, and she almost ran into him. Roarke’s incredible patience seemed to be running out. He grimaced with distaste at her smell. Right now she was very glad she smelled, because the last thing she wanted was for this too-perfect man to find her attractive in any way.

  His charming tone now held an edge. “This would be easier if you cooperated.”

  “Cooperate?” She didn’t bother to hide her growing panic. Didn’t care that he looked truly sorry for causing her fear. If he didn’t want her to be scared, he could let her go. “Am I supposed to read your mind and know where we’re going? Am I supposed to know which way you intend to tug me and when?” She didn’t want to go anywhere. Especially to her apartment.

  Especially with Roarke Stone.

  Chapter Two

  Alexandra glanced sideways at Roarke and wondered how to persuade him to head anywhere but back upstairs. Clearly, the man was used to getting his own way.

  But she needed to stay in public view. Sooner or later, someone might come by, someone she could call to for help. Or maybe calling for help wouldn’t be believable—not if anyone came close enough to see Roarke’s too-handsome face. Maybe she should yell Fire.

  Roarke seemed oblivious to the possibility of rescue. He stood calmly, supremely confident that everything would go his way. Yet when she looked more closely she noted that despite the stillness of his head, his eyes scanned from side to side as he half-led, half-pulled her around the building and out into the sunlight.

  The big jerk. If she wouldn’t cooperate, he’d use force. No problem seemed to deter him. Alexandra gasped and yanked him to a halt.

  “Now what?” Roarke sounded as though he suspected she was up to mischief.

  If he was a bodyguard, which she still very much doubted, he wasn’t taking her situation seriously enough to suit her. But he seemed just too handsome and too supremely confident to be a bad guy. Alexandra had to remind herself that Ted Bundy had looked handsome throughout the trial in which he was convicted of killing several coeds. He’d looked good right up to the day the State of Florida had fried him in Old Sparky, the electric chair. Good looks had nothing to do with morals or whether one chose to be a criminal. Neither did confidence. Or arrogance.

  She really didn’t like Roarke Stone. She didn’t like the way he assumed she would go along with whatever he said. She didn’t like the way he used his smile to try to convince her he was a good guy. And she especially didn’t like the way her pulse quickened at his extraordinary looks and kept making her forget how dangerous he could be.

  Still, if she had to be manhandled, she preferred Roarke to the man he’d fought upstairs. The man who might have recovered and might even now be waiting for them to return. “That man might still be up there.”

  “Don’t worry about him. He’s long gone.” Roarke didn’t blink one long black eyelash at her suggestion that they might be about to walk into danger. He tugged her along the sidewalk toward the steps leading up to her terrace.

  “You can’t know he left,” she insisted, knowing that trying to change Roarke’s one-track mind was probably futile.

  “I saw him drive away in his Saturn while you were in the Dumpster.”

  Ha! She’d caught him. “So you lied to me when you said he was upstairs ransacking my apartment?”

  “I said I wouldn’t want that man upstairs having free access to my apartment.” He repeated his earlier words exactly. He didn’t even bother with a sheepish grin when he added, “I didn’t say he was there.”

  But he’d implied it. And his excuse seemed too convenient. Roarke must have been born with a remarkable memory to recall his own words with robotic precision. Only there was nothing robotic about the way his eyes lit up with desire when he glanced her way. Nothing robotic about the way her tummy fluttered in response.

  Alexandra had met several men like him during her career. Smart. Good-looking. Self-assured. Unfortunately, one was a past boyfriend. And she’d learned not to trust a word Patrick said.

  Her ex-lover had been so convincing that she’d often wondered if he had believed his own distortions of the truth. He’d been too handsome for her good—just like Roarke. She’d been naive back then. Before she’d realized that his gorgeous face hid a rotten character, he’d broken her heart. She’d learned a lesson she hadn’t forgotten.

  If she could just keep Roarke spinning his tall tales, surely someone would come along soon. Someone who would notice she wasn’t willingly walking alongside him. Someone who would call the fire department when she shouted. But she didn’t yell yet, waitin
g for the right moment when she’d spy one of her neighbors, knowing she might only have one chance.

  She tried to keep her tone conversational. As if every day strange men pulled her along the sidewalk with them. “Why didn’t you go after the man who broke into my apartment?”

  “My job is to protect you.”

  “Well, I’d feel a lot more protected if the bad guy was in jail instead of driving away.” Her words might be sarcastic, but in truth, she was starting to shake inside. Since she rarely came home during office hours, she hadn’t realized just how deserted the apartments were during the day. Not a curtain moved. No kids played outside.

  He spoke with a confidence that didn’t reassure her. “I have the license-plate number.”

  “You do?” If he’d written that down, it would help her believe he really was a bodyguard sent by her brother to protect her. Her hopes rose a notch. Surely she couldn’t be lucky enough for this guy to be legitimate. “Let’s see the number. We can call it in to the cops and let them trace it. They might lock the guy up before lunchtime.”

  “First of all, I didn’t have time to write down anything.” Her hopes plummeted. With his free hand, he pointed to his temple. “I memorized the number and letter combination. And second, you have unfounded faith in a police department that’s overworked and underpaid. Have you ever reported a crime?”

  “My car was stolen once.” It had taken the officers hours to come out and take her statement.

  “And?”

  “They found it.”

  “How long did it take?”

  “Three months,” she admitted, wondering how else she could stall. “If my brother Jake really hired you, tell me what he looks like.”