Kylie Brant - Alias Smith And Jones

Jones slapped the door beside her head. “There was every reason,” he disputed, shoving his face close to hers. “Do you have any idea what can happen to a woman on her own in a place like this?”

His second hand joined the first against the door on the other side of her head, effectively caging her. And she couldn’t be sure whether the wild pumping of her pulse was due more to his words or to his nearness.

“You’re right, of course. But believe it or not, I do take precautions. I don’t take chances, and I am not without self-defense training.”

“Prove it.” The note of mockery in his voice was at odds with the dangerous light still burning in his eyes. “You’ve got a man cornering you, wanting more than you care to give. Stop me.”

www.millsandboon.co.uk

lives with her husband and five children in Iowa. She works full-time as a teacher of learning disabled students. Much of her free time is spent in her role as professional spectator at her kids’ sporting events.

An avid reader, Kylie enjoys stories of love, mystery and suspense—and she insists on happy endings! When her youngest children, a set of twins, turned four, she decided to try her hand at writing. Now most weekends and all summer she can be found at the computer, spinning her own tales of romance and happily-ever-afters.

Kylie invites readers to write to her at P.O. Box 231, Charles City, IA 50616. Or you can visit her Web site at www.kyliebrant.com.

For Aunt Bonnie and Uncle Wilbur, with love

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Analiese Tremaine didn’t go around seducing men. If asked, the available men in Tangipohoa Parish could attest that even thinking of Analiese in a sexual way would be tantamount to signing a death warrant. Her three older brothers were as protective of her as a pack of wild dogs, and since the Tremaines owned just about everything round those parts, a fella could be dead and buried and no one would dare question the disappearance. The talk hadn’t hurt Analiese’s brothers’ reputations a whit, but neither had it done anything interesting for her social life.

She’d never had more reason to regret her dearth of experience. The man she’d traveled a thousand miles to hire was scowling down at her. His face, which might have been handsome without the day’s growth of beard, was a mask of impatience. At a time like this a woman could use a bit more exposure to the art of flirtation and seduction. As it was, she could only chalk up one more grievance against her brothers and hope that the smile she aimed at the man looked more confident than desperate.

“Listen, Mr.—”

“Jones. No ‘mister.’ Just Jones.”

The fact that he gave no first name made her pause. There’d been no mention of one in her brother’s files, either. Just Jones, and a private number she’d traced, with no little difficulty, to this island. To this half-naked man.

He either hadn’t bothered with a shirt that day or had dispensed with it as the temperature soared. His brown hair was clubbed back into a short ponytail, and the sun had streaked it tawny. His lashes, absurdly long for a man, were tipped with the same color. But there was nothing warm about his expression. Most people would have quailed beneath the menacing look in his narrowed gray gaze, but Analiese considered herself something of an expert in dealing with short-tempered males.

“I’ll double your normal fee.”

“I said no, lady. I meant it.”

He turned and began striding down the dock. Hurrying after him, she divided her attention between her words and her footing. Huge cords of rope lay in jumbles on the dock, a treacherous obstacle course for the unwary. “Do you really think that’s wise? You’re turning down quite a bit of money. A man who makes his living as you do can’t afford to be picky, can he?”

Her remark brought him around, but because her gaze was on her feet, she rammed into him with enough force to jolt her teeth together. Two hard hands clamped around her forearms and set her away, but not before she’d felt for herself the steely muscles beneath that burnished skin. Smelled the mingled scents of sun, sea, sweat. Scents that shouldn’t have been so appealing.

“What the hell’s that supposed to mean?”

Analiese preferred to blame her breathlessness on the force of the recent impact rather than her proximity to his rock hard body. “I’m…um…” Since the sight of his tanned muscled torso seemed to have stricken her dumb, she averted her gaze from the distraction in question and gathered her scattered thoughts. “I meant your occupation, of course. It’s dependent on tourists and weather, isn’t it?”

When she chanced another look at him, his expression had eased infinitesimally, but was no more welcoming. “Listen, lady…”

“Smith.” Raising her Ray Bans with one hand, Analiese offered him the other, along with the phony name on her passport. “Ann Smith.”

He ignored both her hand and the introduction. “Like I said, I’ve got a three-day fishing party to take out at dawn tomorrow. Try one of the other charter services I told you about. I’m booked.”

“Are they as good as you are?”

“No one’s as good as I am.” His well-formed mouth didn’t even quiver with a hint of humor. It was a simple statement of fact from a man who lacked an ounce of humility. “But I’m not available.” He turned around again, clearly believing the matter closed.

She trotted after him. “Your party could be sent to one of the other services. They wouldn’t have to be inconvenienced at all.”

“They won’t be. Because they’ve already got me.”

“I’ll give you two and a half times your regular fee.” Desperation sounded in Ana’s voice, and she made a conscious effort to smooth it. It wouldn’t do to let this man suspect how badly she needed him. Or why.

“Nope.” Nimbly he leaped from the dock to the deck of the gleaming white ship with Nefarious emblazoned on its bow.

She took a moment to wonder if the ship had been named when he’d bought it or if he’d christened it himself. And if he had, what the name symbolized. But frustration edged out curiosity. “Would you mind telling me why?”

He sent a glance her way, then bent forward to more tightly secure the ship’s mooring. “No, I don’t mind.” His sudden verbosity should have warned her. He’d been maddeningly reticent up to now. “Number one—I gave the other party my word. That might not mean much to folks like you, but it does to me. And two…” He looked at her then, really looked at her. An insolently thorough once-over that left her flesh tingling as though he’d stroked her skin with one callused palm. “…you look like trouble. I don’t like trouble.”

There was a definite glimmer of satisfaction in his pale gray eyes as he took in her gaping jaw, before he turned his back on her.

When she found her tongue again, she managed, “Trouble? What kind of trouble could I possibly cause?”

“You’re a woman, aren’t you?”

Her answer, if she’d been able to form one, would have fallen on deaf ears. He’d gone below deck and left her, jaw hanging open and temper on the rise, to bake in the tropical sunshine.