Susan Kearney - Hidden Hearts

He looked slightly puzzled but ready to smooth over her misconceptions. Oh so casually, he spoke. “Jake hired me to protect you.”

Damn, he was good, coming up with a creative twist—one she hadn’t expected. Still, she didn’t believe him. And she couldn’t quite believe his audacity either. He’d spoken with such conviction, as if he believed his own lies. Despite his charming good looks, those devastating blue eyes and the absolutely divine cheekbones, all she had to remember was how easily he’d lifted her off the ground, how easily he could hurt her, and she shivered.

Staying out of Roarke Stone’s very long reach, Alexandra picked up her purse and the envelope she’d tossed into the Dumpster. Maybe if he had to jump inside to pursue her, she could climb out the other side before he grabbed her.

Meanwhile, her brain was thinking at warp speed. She’d keep him talking, distract him. “Who are you here to protect me from?”

“Maybe the man upstairs.” His eyes narrowed at her accusingly. “Why did you let him into your apartment?”

Go figure. Now Mr. Perfection was trying to convince her he cared about her safety. Yeah right. But she played along. “Give me a little credit. The guy kicked in the door.”

“What did he want?”

She couldn’t believe she was standing inside a Dumpster having this unreal conversation with a man who looked as if he belonged in Hollywood, starring with Cameron Diaz. She noticed that despite the heat, he hadn’t broken a sweat. He didn’t seem to be breathing hard either, but his massive chest indicated he probably had the lung capacity of a distance runner or a marathon swimmer. However he was trying real hard not to breathe through his nose, and she didn’t blame him. It really stank here, and she would dearly love to climb out of the Dumpster and take a three-hour shower—but not so much that she’d risk him grabbing her again.

She recalled how quickly he’d defeated the other man, how big his biceps were, how fast he’d moved and kept him at arm’s length. Trying to refrain from glowering at him for displaying all that perfection which she was supposed to find irresistible, she attempted to clear up her confusion. “You weren’t working with the man in the uniform?”

Roarke shook his head and smiled that sexy smile again. “I already told you. Your brother hired me.”

His smile bounced right off her. “You can’t be serious. And I suppose Jake wants back the stuff he sent me?” she muttered sarcastically, failing to believe this wasn’t simply another ruse to persuade her to turn over the envelope to him. But what could be so valuable about the envelope’s contents that her brother thought she needed protection?

He shot her a look loaded with reasonableness. “Jake didn’t mention wanting anything back. He feared he might have inadvertently put you in danger.”

Don’t believe him. No matter how he smiled at her, Roarke Stone—if that was his real name—was making up a story, trying to coax her into trusting him so she’d give him the envelope. Mr. Perfection could take his charms and sell them elsewhere. She wasn’t buying his explanation. Wouldn’t her brother have called her if he’d thought she needed protection? It seemed rather extreme to hire her a bodyguard without even talking to her first. Of course, she hadn’t been home much since she’d been working over eighty hours a week on the new project, but Jake could have left a message at her office.

If he had the number. She didn’t have any idea if her brother knew what she did for a living or if he knew where she worked.

Roarke reached into his back pocket, pulled out a wallet and extracted a business card. She refused to step forward to take it.

He looked surprised and shocked and a tiny bit hurt at her obvious reluctance to believe him. “I can think of much more pleasant places to have this conversation.”

She was sure he could. This guy was too much. But he was so good that she almost believed him. However, she had absolutely no intention of going anywhere more pleasant with him. Not now. Not ever.

“I see no reason to talk to you at all.” Alexandra ignored the slight flush on his face as he stewed over her rejection, as if this was the first time a woman had ever turned him down. He looked so uncomfortable she almost felt sorry for him. Almost. “Why don’t you just turn around and go back to wherever you came from?”

“I’d like to, but I’m afraid I’ve already been paid.” A flash of amusement at her predicament and something else, maybe guilt, flickered in Roarke’s blue eyes. “Besides, I do have a business reputation to maintain.”

Without waiting for her reply, he bent and straightened, picking something up off the pavement. When he raised his hand higher than the lip of the Dumpster, she could see he held the blueprints she’d dropped.

“I thought these plans might be important to you. Are these papers why that man was after you?”

Alexandra uttered a very unladylike word. She’d been hoping to return to where she’d dropped her precious blueprints and recover them. Now he’d ruined that plan, too.

When he offered her the blueprints, she scampered over the edge of the Dumpster’s far side. Roarke made no move to pursue her. Instead he offered the blueprints again, that half-puzzled, half-hurt expression he did so well trying to convince her he was harmless.

When she stayed away, he shrugged. “Can’t say I blame you. I wouldn’t want bits of garbage all over them either. But then again, I wouldn’t want that man upstairs gaining free access to my apartment.”

Alexandra knew better than to return to her apartment where the other man could be waiting for her. What she wanted was to go to her car, use her cell phone and call the police. Keeping the Dumpster between them, she watched Roarke warily, hoping she might distract him enough so she could make it to her car.

As if sensing how much she distrusted him, he held up his hands and backed away another foot or two. “Don’t worry. I don’t intend to come any closer than I have to.” But he kept smiling confidently at her. A perfect smile. An interested smile. An…interested smile?

By the way he scrunched up his nose, she knew she smelled. And it just went to show how fake his offer had been when he’d suggested going somewhere pleasant to talk since he’d made it while she stank just as badly as she did right now. And if she smelled so bad, that smile plastered on his face that indicated interest was likely forced. Fake.

Mentally, she rolled her eyes. As if she’d ever believe Mr. Perfect would consider her even a remote candidate for pleasant conversation. “If you hadn’t chased me, I wouldn’t have had to climb in there.”

“I needed to make sure no one else was waiting for you downstairs.”

Yeah, sure. He cared about her safety. Uh-huh. She edged slowly toward her car, asking questions and somehow knowing he’d have a perfectly logical and innocent-sounding answer no matter what she asked. “What were you doing on my terrace?”

“The man at your front door didn’t look like any delivery man I’d ever seen.”

She strolled toward her car, and he maintained a good eight feet of distance from her. “What do you mean?”

“How many delivery guys can afford a Rolex watch and Air Jordan sneakers? His jacket bulged as if he was carrying a weapon. And he drove a rented Saturn instead of a truck.”

More lies? Or was Roarke Stone really that observant? It didn’t seem fair that the perfect face and magnificent body should have a working brain behind them to boot.

She kept walking toward her car, keys in her hand. “You still haven’t explained why you were on my back stoop.”

“Instinct.”