Free Nightfall by Anne Stuart Page B

what is it that Sean thinks I'm going to provide here? Editorial expertise, secretarial skills, what?"
    "What." The word was brief, intensely suggestive.
    "Forget it."
    "Try telling that to your father."
    She was glad of the darkness then, glad it hid the flush that covered her cheeks. "You're right," she said with a shaky laugh. "He doesn't listen to anybody once he makes up his mind. There's no way in hell you'll convince him you're not palpitating with lust for me."
    "I am."
    The silence was thick, dark, impenetrable. She could feel him, standing too close, not close enough, feel the heat from his body that was somehow icy cold. And then she managed a nervous smile.
    "For a moment I thought you were serious," she said, half-afraid he'd tell her that he was. Dead serious.
    "Where did you go tonight?" he asked instead.
    "Shopping, the movies, dinner," she said brightly. "I don't get to New York that often, and I couldn't pass up a visit to Bloomies. I couldn't find anything to buy, though, and I didn't like the movie much, and of course I didn't run into anyone I knew, even when I was in the park, so it got a little lonely, but then I…"
    "Then you started babbling," he interrupted her. "Do you have a guilty conscience, Cassidy?"
    "Why should I?"
    "I can't imagine. You don't strike me as the sort of person who has even a passing acquaintance with evil. Unless, of course, you count your acquaintance with me."
    She swallowed. "Are you evil?"
    He ignored the question. "Let me give you a piece of advice, Cassidy. If you're feeling guilty, and you're going to lie, the trick is to say as little as possible. There's no reason you need to make excuses. Just answer any direct questions and keep your mouth shut."
    "I'll keep that in mind," she said faintly. "Is that what you did when they arrested you?"
    Even in the dark she could sense his wolfish smile. "Good night, Cassidy."
    She stood, unmoving, as he disappeared down the hallway, and the quiet sound of the door closed behind him. She closed her eyes for a moment, then let out her breath, relaxing her clenched fists. She hadn't even noticed how tense she'd been.
    He was a disturbing man. Even under the best of circumstances she would have found him unsettling. If she'd run into him during the course of her work, she would have steered clear of him. That kind of intensity, that kind of subtle, understated power was a direct threat, to the safe, comfortable life she'd built for herself in Baltimore, away from the rampaging demands of her family. It was a threat to her tenuous peace of mind. Perhaps even to her life itself.
    But there was no avoiding him in the five thousand square feet of Sean's spacious apartment. No avoiding the pall that hung over the place, over his head. No avoiding the draw that she felt as well, to a man who was…
    Evil? Or merely troubled and misjudged?
    She couldn't save him. She'd learned that early on, with her mother's drinking and her father's self-destructive ways. She couldn't save them, she couldn't save anyone but herself. She thought she'd outgrown the need to try.
    But there was something about Richard Tiernan that called to her. And the sooner she learned to shut her ears, block out the noise, the better off she'd be.
     
    She was almost ridiculously easy to play. Richard should have been bored by the lack of challenge, but he wasn't. Everything about Cassidy Roarke fascinated him, even her very predictability. And perhaps she wasn't really that predictable after all. Perhaps it was just that he knew her, in a very elemental way.
    If he'd pushed, she would have run. She was a runner, he knew that. He'd barely touched her, resisting the impulse, the need that had swept over him. He had to move carefully, in stages, invading her space, her mind, her soul. If he made a rash, thoughtless move, he could jeopardize everything. And the stakes were too high to risk failure.
    He needed to be deliberate, unhurried, stalking her so subtly she couldn't