Heather Graham Pozzessere - Never Sleep With Strangers

“She was already undergoing treatments.”

“But she was a woman, and women can be vain. Maybe she was afraid of losing her hair, her looks—or even losing you because of it.”

He shook his head impatiently. “She knew about the cancer when we were married. She told me about it, so she knew I was aware of everything we might be going through. She didn’t kill herself. And she was very coordinated. She didn’t trip.”

“Well, then, in your mind, you definitely believe that someone murdered her.”

“Yes,” he said.

“But who—”

He leaned forward. She could see leashed tension in the pounding of a vein in his throat.

“Someone killed her,” he said harshly, “but I didn’t. And the matter of who did is not your concern. I don’t want you involved in any way.”

“But—”

“Why did you run away from me?” he asked abruptly.

“What? I—I—”

“Don’t stutter. And don’t tell me that it was a long time ago, or that you don’t know what I’m talking about.”

She lifted her hands. “Cassandra came. I left.”

“Why?”

Sabrina stared at him blankly. “It really was a long time ago—”

“Why?” he interrupted more heatedly.

“She said she was your fiancée. Apparently, she was.”

He shook his head angrily. “We were broken up. I had no commitments. I told you that.”

She shrugged. “But you married her.”

“Later. Yes, I did marry her. She was beautiful and tempting and all the rest, and we did have a history between us. And she was afraid of facing her illness alone, and she wanted me to be with her, and yes, she was a bitch as well, and yes again, it wasn’t working at all and I was planning on getting a divorce.”

There was a strange anger in his voice, as if he were revealing intimacies under duress, as if the words were spilling from him against his will. Then his tone changed abruptly and he queried wryly, “And what about you? Running naked from your honeymoon suite in Paris?”

“That was a long time ago as well, and it’s really—”

“None of my business? You’re absolutely right. It isn’t. But that doesn’t mean I don’t want to know.” He smiled a little. “Whenever you’re ready to tell me.”

She stared at him, surprised to find that she was not offended. His words might have been blunt, even arrogant, but from the way he smiled, she suddenly realized that he understood a great deal.

“Hey!”

Camy Clark came back into the great hall and put her hands on her hips. “You guys are supposed to return to your rooms for the next hour—and that means you, too, boss!” she said firmly.

“Okay, okay, we’re leaving,” Jon assured her.

He got to his feet with a lithe, easy movement and managed to be at Sabrina’s seat before she could rise. He stood behind her, graciously pulling out her chair. His scent was masculine and subtle—of soap and a hint of aftershave. He remained one of the most attractive and sensual men she had ever met, and even without touching, she could feel him at her back with every fiber of her being. She was tempted to turn around and throw herself at him.

Naturally, she didn’t.

She rose, thanked him and smiled at Camy. And, leaving the great hall, she fairly flew up the stairs.

Yet as she reached her door on the second floor, she felt him behind her again. Knew he was there before he spoke.

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