Vivian Arend - High Passion

Vincent rubbed his forehead for a moment, took a deep breath, then held up his hands in surrender. “Listen to me. You were in the hospital. How is that taking care of yourself?”

“How did you hear I was sick?” An even more concerning thought stuck, and she wrapped the robe front closer. “And how did you find me? What are you doing here?”

Vincent stood straighter, looking over her shoulder into the house. “This is your lover’s place. He gave me his card, remember? When you left your apartment you had to have found somewhere to live, and here you are.”

“Here I am, and here I stay,” Alisha retorted. “Thank you for your interest in my health. I’m fine. Now go back to Toronto, and don’t expect me to change my plans. I’m not marrying you, and I’m not leaving Banff. You need to accept that.”

She moved to close the door, but Vincent moved faster, shoving his foot into the gap and stopping her from locking him out. He lowered his chin and stared hard, his dark eyes glittering in the afternoon light. His voice softened, but the words came out brittle like shards of glass. “No, you need to accept that you will be returning. The sooner you get that through your head, the less traumatic this will be for all of us.”

“Do I need to go to the police, Vincent? Because if I have to, I will,” Alisha warned. “You’re threatening me.”

“Of course not.” Vincent took a far too intense perusal down to her bare toes and back up, lingering on her chest. “Why would I threaten the woman I love, and intend to—”

“The woman you love?” Alisha blurt out. “Damn you to hell, that’s bullshit.”

Vincent clicked his tongue. “Such language.”

His scold broke her meager control. Alisha was furious with him, and upset that he’d attempt to order her around. She spoke clearly, enunciating every word. “You don’t like my fucking language? Get your fucking foot out of the fucking door, and you won’t have to fucking listen to me anymore.”

He scowled harder. “That’s so mature.”

Her limbs were trembling and she rocked the door, hard. “Get. Out.”

“Why are you making this so difficult, Alisha?” Vincent leaned on the door frame, pushing himself farther into the room. “I’ve been patient. I’ve been supportive. Be reasonable.”

She came close to stuttering. “Be reasonable ?”

His tone was nearly parental. Judgmental. “You have no home anymore, or won’t in a few weeks’ time. You’re sponging on others’ goodwill. Sleeping with one member of your team after the other to simply have a roof over your head. You don’t need to whore yourself like this, Alisha.”

This time words escaped her. She couldn’t form complete sentences, let alone coherent ones.

Maybe the steam escaping her ears or the furious rage causing her face to heat tipped him off because he caught hold of her wrist just before she slammed a fist into him. “Don’t even try. You wanted to play your little games, and flaunted your ability to turn your back on your family, and I allowed it. But that’s over. Get yourself to Toronto by Christmas or you’ll regret it.”

“The only thing I regret is opening the door in the first place.” She narrowed her eyes and stepped back, going for her phone.

“It’s a dangerous business you’re in, Alisha. I’d hate for something to happen to anyone who works with you.” He stepped fully onto the porch. “Someone close to you. It’s not impossible to influence a person’s destiny. Just a tiny nudge at the right moment can make all the difference.”

“Alisha, who are you talking to?”

Alisha twisted to the side to discover Devon in the hallway, blinking hard as he pulled to vertical. She glanced at the front door only to find that Vincent was gone.

Warm hands wrapped around her as Devon closed the distance between them. He tucked his head in close and kissed her neck, the heat of sleep wrapping around them both as she made a quick judgment call. Devon didn’t need to know everything about the visit from Vincent. She’d just . . . downplay it.

“We had a visitor, but he’s gone.”

Devon jolted upright. “That’s what you called your vampire friend the other day.”

He stormed toward the entrance, her hands falling aside unheeded as he hauled the door open. They were in time to see the red taillights of Vincent’s rented Ferrari head away down the back drive.

Devon turned, fully awake now. “Are you okay?”

She nodded. “He didn’t do anything except make his usual demands for me to stop this independence charade and return to my place in the big scheme of things. As his arm candy.”

Devon glanced out again before firmly closing the door. “How did he know you were here?”

She wrinkled her nose. “You gave him a business card.”

He shook his head. “No, how did he know you were here , in my house?”

Alisha frowned. “He also talked about my trip to the hospital. And he mentioned something that makes me think he knew I spent a night at Tripp’s.”

Devon’s lips tightened. “You said you didn’t want the media involved, but in light of the drugging, you need to mention a few things when you talk to the police. If you’re worried about the media finding out we can ask Marcus who’s the best to discuss this with—he and Becki have contacts in the RCMP.”

Alisha tugged him toward the kitchen. “After we eat. I’m starving.”

“But after?” Devon hugged her close when she nodded. “Good. And next time? Don’t open the door.”

“Trust me, I’m kicking myself for that already.”

He tweaked her nose and she blushed, and all his bare skin was far too tempting. Stupid as it was with all the other concerns, those bands of muscle wrapping around his torso were begging for her to use her tongue on them. The faint trail of hair disappearing under the elastic of his boxers teasing like a siren’s song. If it weren’t for the animal in her stomach begging to be fed, she’d have dragged him to the bedroom instead of the kitchen.

She ignored the lust that rose far too quickly, in spite of all her lingering concern about exactly what Vincent had been referring to in terms of someone close to her being hurt. Food first, everything else after.

Alisha had been quiet since they’d left the RCMP station. Devon figured some of that was fallout from the drugging—and even thinking about that again triggered the most astonishing sensations deep inside him.

Someone had drugged her.

Fury, frustration, fear—everything driving him crazy was bottled up with nowhere to go because the last thing she needed right now on top of everything else was him being ballistic.

When they’d placed her on the gurney he’d had a tight grip on her fingers and hadn’t planned on letting go anytime soon. The sight of a uniformed RCMP officer bearing down on him had shaken him more because he’d had to allow her to slip away behind a door where he couldn’t see what was happening.

So now as Devon held her hand, he was hyperaware of the warmth of her fingers in his. Aware of how she could be torn away in an instant. The thoughts that kept popping into his head were not the casual reflections of a friend, but of someone wanting more, and the idea wasn’t nearly frightening enough.

They walked down Main Street, the tourists around them wandering slowly and peering into windows while he and Alisha paced quicker on the edge of the wide walkway.

Alisha slowed for a moment, and he tried to see what had caught her eye, but it was the usual shop full of knickknacks stamped with BANFF NATIONAL PARK. Cute, wide-eyed, stuffed toy beavers and chocolate-covered almonds packaged as moose droppings. Thick slabs of rich fudge and furry toques with attached antlers.