Free Prodigal Son by Debra Mullins Page B

computer geek, not some trained super-spy. She’d probably end up trusting the bad guy—as always.
    She rubbed the towel over her hair, regarding her reflection in the mirror, a twist to her mouth. Sucker . She’d let smooth-talking Warren sweep her off her feet with all his chatter of marriage and children and then stood there like an idiot when he’d dropped her like a hot rock to marry someone else. And now there was the attraction to Mr. Cool-As-A-Cucumber Rafe Montana.
    It wasn’t enough that she was far from home, that Danny was MIA and her condo was on the line, that someone had trashed her room. No, she had to develop some irrational fascination with a man whose only motivation for helping her find her brother seemed to be money. And yet compared to the other players in this drama, he appeared to be the most honest. Money, she could understand. The puzzling generosity of Artie Bartow and Adrian Gray, that made no sense. Unless they were both full of it and just trying to use her to find Danny.
    Now that rang true.
    She heard Rafe walking around on the other side of the door, a slab of wood that seemed way too thin when she considered she was about to strip down with him right on the other side of it. But she couldn’t allow her thoughts to linger on that. She tossed the damp towel on the bed, then looked her reflection in the eye and put her hands on her hips. “Stop with the fantasies, McGaffigan. Time to get down to business.”
    She could handle Rafe Montana and this crazy attraction to him. She wasn’t about to let a man sneak past her defenses again. As long as she kept her focus on Danny, she’d be fine.
    But when she opened the door a few minutes later, fully dressed, and saw him standing there, her pulse fluttered. He really was a seriously hot guy. Then he held out a white mug.
    “Coffee,” he said. “Crappy hotel room coffee, but at least it’s hot.” He gave her a crooked grin. “Consider it an apology for the cold shower.”
    She couldn’t say anything for a moment, not when her heart was doing that little flip-flop thing in her chest again, and coherent words would not form on her tongue. He’d made coffee. For her.
    She took the mug and studied the creamy beige liquid. The heat from the mug warmed her hands.
    “I found the other cup on the floor. From what was left, it seemed like you took it light and sweet, but all they have here is powdered creamer. Hope that’s okay.”
    “Fine,” she managed. She glanced at the rug where she’d dropped the cup and saw he’d tried to soak up the drizzle of liquid with the paper napkins from the coffee setup. Wow, a man who noticed things like how she took her coffee or the stain on the rug. Who did something about all of it.
    She lifted her gaze to his, recognized the honest compassion in those stunning blue eyes. Her heart did one slow roll in her chest, and she stopped fooling herself.
    She was in trouble.
    *   *   *
    It was all Rafe could do not to wrap his arms around Cara and promise everything would be all right. She looked like the girl next door, all big eyes and caution, and so not his usual type. Yet he’d been getting visions of her for a couple of days now, and the Hunter sat up and howled whenever she came near. What the hell that meant, he had no idea, but he had no business dwelling on it. She was in trouble and needed his help, and that had to be his focus.
    “Let’s go over what happened,” he said, gesturing toward the couch. “Then we can figure out what to do next.”
    “I don’t think I can sit still.” Shaking her head, she cradled the cup of coffee in both hands and prowled around the room, leaving him to stand as well. “I can’t really … darn it, why can’t I remember?” She glanced over at him. “I’ve always had a nearly photographic memory. The fact that I can’t remember what happened an hour ago…” She blew out a sigh and glanced away, sipping her coffee.
    “I imagine it’s scary.”