What spooked her?
I need to find out and neutralize it—now.
Vanessa runs headlong into me, as if she was too afraid of what might be behind her to look straight ahead. When she bounces off my chest, she gasps. I’m unexpected. She drops everything, eyes wide, backing away from me like I’m part of the problem, rather than the answer to it.
If there’s danger in the house, she’s not running back inside.
I take her arms in an unyielding grip, pull her against me, and press her body into mine.
Holy fuck, I’ve only once been as close to Vanessa Hartley as I am right now. And it ended with her lips on mine.
The memory, even if it’s ancient, isn’t helping my restraint. I need to start using the head on my shoulders, not the one between my legs.
When she opens her mouth to scream, I clap my hand over it and whisper, “Shh, Vanessa. Don’t be afraid.”
Vanessa
Is this stranger crazy? I’m beyond afraid; I’m terrified. And how does he know my name?
Then his voice penetrates my haze of fear. “Rush?”
He wraps gentle but firm fingers around my arm. “Yeah. What’s going on?”
As far as he knows, we’re acquaintances by virtue of working under the same roof. My horrible high school embarrassment aside—one he seems to have blessedly forgotten—we’ve rarely spoken more than a passing greeting. Why is he at my house now? How did he find out where I live? And why is he staring at me as if he knows what I look like naked?
Then I realize that, other than my transparent bra and tiny, soaked panties, I am.
A warm blush spreads across my cheeks, and I thank god for the dark. “W-what are you doing here?”
He drops his hands to my hips. His touch burns through my body as he pulls me closer. Immediately, I know three things: He’s one giant slab of muscle, his heart is beating slow and strong, and his cock is steely hard between us.
Suddenly, it’s impossible to think.
“Nothing that won’t wait until you’ve told me what’s scared you. Talk to me.”
Normally, I’d be dying to know what could be compelling enough to make my work crush hunt me down on a Friday night, but I have a more pressing issue. “Someone’s been in my house.”
Instantly, his demeanor changes. His body tenses. Every sense goes on alert. “You’re sure? Did you see anyone?”
“No, but—”
“Has something been tampered with?”
No one trashed the place or robbed me blind but… “Everything.”
As I whisper the run-down, Rush scans our surroundings, even more watchful. And I have the distinct impression he feels me trembling, that he knows my body is covered in goose bumps. Can he tell my nipples are painfully hard, too? “That’s everything I noticed.”
“Were you changing when you realized what was happening?”
I shake my head. “I got caught in the rainstorm, and I came in for dry clothes but…”
“You realized your house had been breached and left. Have you given your alarm code to anyone? A friend or neighbor?”
“No.”
“Handyman?”
“I don’t have one.”
“Lover?”
I don’t have one of those, either. Is he asking because he’s worried someone I’m seeing might be crazy? Or because he wants to know if I’m taken?
Stop being ridiculous. He’s head of hotel security; he’s doing what he’s trained to do.
“No.”
“Is your intruder still in the house?”
“I-I’m not sure.”
“Have you called the police?”
I shake my head. “I was coming out to my car to do that.”
Suddenly, he’s got a gun in his big hand. “Call now. I’ll search inside.”
The second he nudges me aside and steps over the threshold, standing alone on the porch in the dark while mostly naked doesn’t seem wise. “I’ll go with you.”
He hesitates. “Tell you what, I’ll search the perimeter first. You stay right behind me and call nine one one.”
I’m not sure what he thinks he’ll find, but I feel a lot safer with him than I do exposed in my front yard by myself, so I nod and fumble around on the porch until I find my messenger bag. As I pluck my phone free, he tucks me behind his broad back and heads down the porch steps for the side yard, illuminating our surroundings with the flashlight on his phone. I manage to control my trembling fingers long enough to dial for help.
“Nine one one. What’s your emergency?”
“There’s been a break-in at my house.”
“Address?”
I answer that question, along with subsequent others while following Rush around the back of the house. No, I can’t tell if the intruder is gone. No, I didn’t notice anything missing. No, I don’t know how he got into the house.
Rush checks the last window on his circle around my cottage, then dims his phone. “There’s no obvious entry point. No forced doors or broken windows.”
Then how would anyone have gotten in and disarmed my alarm? I’m struggling to figure that out when the dispatcher tells me the police are en route and should be there shortly.