The Keeper (14 page)

"That you do that, and your
aunt's house…"

"What does that mean?"

"How long have you been
divorced?"

He changed the subject again and to
something not at all pertinent. Where was that other guy? "You know, I
want to put some clothes on." She flushed hot, feeling perspiration pop
out on her upper lip, under her breasts. Being almost naked under this robe was
becoming more and more uncomfortable by the minute. His questions were too
personal, and he asked them for no earthly reason than…well, she didn't know
why. "I'm going upstairs."

"Better not. The prowler might
be up there."

"Well, you don't seem
concerned enough about it to quit asking me nonsensical questions and check for
yourself, so I'm not going to worry about it either." She took the stairs
to the second floor two at a time.

Ripping open the closet door in her
bedroom, she grabbed a pair of jeans and struggled into them hopping first on
one foot then the other. A T-shirt that she'd taken off earlier lay on the bed.
She started to pull it over her head. A bra. The robe was bad enough; she
couldn't go back down without a bra.

Hands shaking and in a rush, she
hooked the snap between her breasts, jiggling a little to settle herself in the
cups. She rubbed at the burning prickles on the back of her neck. Crossman. It
was Crossman. She knew it was him before she turned around.

He stared at her from the darkened
hallway, his rapt gaze heating her skin. She crossed her arms over her breasts.
To give the devil his due, he drew his gaze up to her face. She wondered if he
was married, because the way he looked at her made her hope he wasn't. She
didn't want to get involved in any complication like that again.

Suddenly, he was gone.

Whoa, back up there, girl. Prowler.
Remember? The whole reason for all this. A couple of good looking cops have
ridden to your rescue, and you're vulnerable right now. Yes, she was vulnerable
physically and emotionally. She yanked the T-shirt on and headed out the door.
How had things gotten so out of hand?

A foot shuffling sound caught her
attention. There he was at the end of the hall, leaning his behind on the
window sill. She couldn't see his expression for the dark shadows, thankfully.
His eyes were dark enough in the full light.

"I'm sorry."

She shivered at his deep-voiced
apology.

"The door was open. I was just
checking on you."

He sounded sincere. "Okay,"
she managed to respond grudgingly before she headed for the stairs. She still
had the prowler situation to deal with and another deputy in the house.

Back in the kitchen, said deputy
swung open the back door and stepped inside. "Someone was out there."

"Whoa!" She collapsed
onto a dining chair, leaned her elbow on the table, rubbed her forehead.

"There were footprints and
broken twigs on the bushes below the kitchen window. I checked the shed and
garage. They're clear. The woods are another matter." Pete gestured with
his big flashlight. "We'd need more people and daylight. The day shift can
do a look-see tomorrow."

She glanced at Hank Crossman, his
expression unprofessional and blatantly sensual. She tried to blink him away,
but the sight of him was such an enjoyable distraction. With him around,
nothing could harm her. His dark-haired forearms were as muscled as his
shoulders and biceps. He'd hooked his thumbs into his gun belt like an old
western gunfighter and pumped his chest out aggressively. Khaki uniform pants
clung closely to his hips and long legs. He was immensely drool-worthy.

"Ma'am, do you have anyone in
town to stay with tonight?" Pete said. "There is evidence that
someone was out there. He's probably gone by now, but you shouldn't be alone."

"No, I don't want to leave the
house. I'm sure I'll be all right. The person would be crazy to come back now.
I'll just lock the doors and put a chair against the doorknob of my bedroom.
And I do have my bat." From their expressions, it was easy to see they
didn't think too much of her plan. Well, that's their problem. "Will
someone come out in the morning?"

"Yes, ma'am," Pete
assured her. "I'm going back to the station, Hank. I'll write a report.
See you later?"

"Yeah," Hank responded
absently to Pete's retreating back before turning again to her. "You're
sure you'll be all right, Nickie?"

His deep voice rumbled through long
dormant nerves. It had been a long time since she'd slept with a man—not that
this one had even asked her, at least not in words.

"I am sorry
about…upstairs," he muttered.

He sounded rusty, apologies
probably something he didn't do much. His presence was overwhelming. She didn't
know what to make of it.

Home to Stay at Loose Id

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Preview of Ancient Ties

Chapter One

Aquae Sulis

Mensis Iunius, AD 161

"Step inside, my dear
girl."

How odd. The sensuously potent
female voice danced through Janney Forrester's mind.

"Your destiny awaits."

"That's just cheesy," she
muttered aloud. "What in the world…" She shifted her eyes
suspiciously from side to side. "It was in ruins a minute ago. How can
this be?" She held her breath, blinking, wondering if she was losing her
mind. How was it possible that now there was a fountain bubbling musically, the
mosaic floor was intact and ablaze with vivid colors? The walls, too, were rich
with cleverly painted scenes of men and women, or gods and goddesses, she
didn't know which. It was amazingly beautiful. Strange. Captivating. But she
was really starting to freak out.

"This is crazy." With a
strangled gasp, she turned around. "What the hell is going on?" A
wooden door filled the portal. "I didn't come through a door."
Unbelieving, pressing shaking fingers to the center of her forehead, she turned
back to the room. Her scalp prickled. Disoriented, she struggled to make sense
of things, and fought to fill her lungs with air. Tried to calm her racing
heart. She heard voices over the burbling fountain, but couldn't catch the
words. Her gaze flew to the other end of the room, and she froze stock-still as
a man appeared in a doorway. Broad shoulders filled the frame. He wore what
looked like a tunic. She'd seen enough gladiator movies to recognize it.
Strapped, lace-up sandals wrapped his large feet. She gaped, pressing her lips
together.

Are they making a movie? There
hadn't been any trucks or people outside, but how else to explain this man?

My God, he's as stunning as a movie
star.

From head to toe, he was all man.
Short dark hair salted with strands of silver, broad cheekbones, and a
masculine, square chin with a delicious cleft. Then there were the lips. She bit
her own. How would those firm, full lips feel skimming across her body? She
angled her head. Hot, she felt hot. And sweaty. What am I thinking? Thank
goodness, he hasn't seen me yet. It would be too embarrassing to be caught
drooling.

The man's wrist was draped casually
over the hilt of a sword. He's armed! A copper and silver belt hung around his
hips, the sword on the left side and a dagger in an enameled sheath on the
other. Before she could even think what to do or say, his gaze met hers. She
tried to turn away, but his dark chocolate eyes held her enthralled. She should
be afraid. A stranger with a sword stared back at her. She opened her mouth
intending to say hello, but his eyes narrowed in breath-stealing suspicion as
he mumbled unintelligibly.

"Marek, who is it?"

She had no idea what he said, but
she understood the woman behind him. His name is Marek.

The woman was also dressed as an
ancient Roman; a floor-length tunic covered her from shoulders to feet.

Janney's mind whirled with
questions. "I don't understand this. From outside, this place looks
deserted."

The man had held her gaze at first,
but now he slowly, and oh so thoroughly, inspected her. The resulting heat
scorched her from the inside out.

Her heart thudded in her chest. It
was no time to be turned on. She broke their eye contact. Locking her shaky
knees, she glanced over to the fountain and then took in the rest of the room.
From outside, it had looked dull and dusty. Now it wasn't. The walls and mosaic
floor wore bright, rich colors. They were real.

He was real. Very real.

The man—Marek—spoke again,
"What are you doing here?"

The sexy, low thrum of his voice
startled her. Now I understand him? This is too weird. It was like a play, and
she didn't know her lines. Fantasy and reality fought in her head, and as
reality won, she regained her senses.

Oh, for crying out loud, it's a
re-creation, a museum. These people are museum guides, something like that.
Forgetting for the moment that she'd driven out into the English countryside
and that this place appeared to be in ruins, she grasped onto what seemed to be
the most logical explanation.

"And why do you have
that?" He pointed to the object she held in her hand. "Where did you
find it?"

She balanced the wide gold bracelet
in her upturned palm, squinting at it as if she'd never seen it before. The
dull gleam of the jewelry wedged between stones in the outer wall of the villa
had caught her eye. She figured it had to be a costume piece, because it was
unlikely that a real gold bracelet would be lying around in the dirt.
"This? I found it outside."

"That's yours, Marek,"
the woman said. "You thought you'd lost it."

"Well, here." Janney held
out her hand. He strode to within arm's length and snatched it from her. In
those brief seconds that their fingers touched, she felt it—searing, sizzling
heat spiking across her skin, through her veins; the hair on her arms stood on
end.

He felt it, too, if the stunned
gaze locked on hers was any indication. She had to tip her head back to keep
eye contact. Their toes almost touched, hands still inches apart. She was aware
of his chest expanding. His parted lips mirrored hers. God, she couldn't
breathe. His eyes burned with a smoldering intensity she'd never imagined
directed toward her. The heat from his body almost swamped her.

Abruptly, he snapped the gold cuff
bracelet on his wrist. The click of it broke the spell, his dark eyes
shuttered, and he turned away.

"Marek." Chiding him, the
woman deftly moved him aside. "I am Augusta Luken Paullinus. This is my
home. Welcome."

Janney focused on the woman's
genuine smile and tried to make sense of what was happening. "Um,
okay," she said carefully. "My name is Janney Forrester. You have a
lovely home." She'd play along. Her gaze, though on the woman, was soon
drawn magnetically back to the man, gauging his reaction. It wasn't good.

"May I present Marek Benin
Verus, Primus Pilus of the Sixth Legion of Rome."

"Where do you come from?"
he demanded, glowering at her.

She definitely understood that.
This was the oddest house tour she'd ever been on. This guy looked older, maybe
close to forty, because his face was tanned like he'd spent a lot of his time
outdoors.

Maybe he's an out-of-work actor,
and that's why he's so surly. This is all he could get right now. Oh, cripes, don't
feel sorry for him.

Massive shoulders, sculpted muscles
in his upper arms, strong sinewy legs. Even through the cloth of his tunic, she
could see that his chest was broad, his stomach trim and flat.

The woman was friendlier, but
Janney's gaze kept going back to the man. His face looked lived-in, little fans
of lines beside his dark chocolate eyes, shallow grooves on the sides of those
hard lips. Her breath caught sharply.

I should leave now. I shouldn't be
looking at his lips. This situation is extremely weird, and I need to get out
of here.

"I have to go. Thank
you." She whirled around and headed back to the front door, the wooden
door that hadn't been there when she came in. Jerking it open and crossing the
threshold, she was startled to see people in a large, walled courtyard. People.
Horse-drawn carts filled with food and pottery. She heard people talking and
laughing and shouting orders. People in ancient Roman clothing.

"Um, wrong door," she
muttered as she ducked back in.

The man had moved to stand by the
fountain, his arms folded across his chest.

"This must not have been the
door I came in." She briefly made eye contact with him, trying not to
broadcast her growing fear. Just calm down and find the outside door. Darting a
glance around the reception room, she saw only two doorways, the one she was in
and the one Augusta and Marek had come through.

"Listen, how do I get out? I
need to get back to town. People are expecting me." She spoke slowly with
a false composure and hoped the little lie would give her some protection. In
truth, no one in Bath knew where she was.

"There. That is the outside
door." He nodded toward the door behind her.

"But when I came in, nothing
was out there. It was a field overgrown with weeds and bushes." Her voice
rose to a panic pitch. "Now there are people and animals." Scowling,
pressing her lips tightly together, watching the man out of the corner of her
eye, she backed along the wall away from him.

There must be a hidden door. Calm
down. She heard her mother's voice warning her against the dangers of traveling
alone in a foreign country. Damn!

Taking a deep breath, hoping for
calm, she said, "Look, I'm meeting some people. If you'll just show me the
way out, I'll be on my way."

"Janney Forrester, where are
you trying to go?"

Now he sounded confused, too. Maybe
this wasn't some kind of trick after all. Or maybe he was a better actor than
she gave him credit for. "I want to leave. Please just show me how to get
out." If she heard that velvet-over-gravel voice one more time, she'd melt
into a puddle at his feet. Even though he sounded confused, and she was
bewildered, her heart skittered at his primal sensuality.