She bit his arm again, clamping down for all she was worth. Pain shot up to his shoulder and he bent double, certain she’d drawn blood. Her teeth were still attached to his arm. With both hands he grabbed her neck to frighten her and make her let go. Suddenly her body went slack.
He hadn’t choked her too hard-had he? The bile rose up in his throat. He hadn’t meant to hurt her-just stop the vicious biting. He released the woman and jumped up, disgusted with himself.
She shot to her feet and torpedoed away. The little faker wasn’t escaping from him. He rushed after her, caught her in two long strides and grabbed her by the shoulders, then locked his arms around her. For a moment they moved together like dancers. She kicked backward, slamming her heel into his shin and shrieking like a demon. Undoubtedly she was attempting to alert her companion and get his help. He must be outside, where the storm masked the ruckus.
“Goddammit,” Adam roared. He hauled her backward, accidentally stumbling into the sofa and losing his balance. They landed on the cushions, but this time she was on top, still braying like a pissed-off mule.
“Don’t you dare hurt me.”
“I’m not going to hurt you.” He pushed her off him. They were side by side, breathing like marathon runners. It took him a second to tell her, “Just shut up and stay put while I call the cops.”
“You’re calling the police?”
“Hey, I don’t care if you are a woman. You broke into this house-”
“No, I didn’t.” Darkness obscured her face but he felt her long hair whipping across his nose as she turned on him. “You’re the one who shouldn’t be here.”
“What?” Adam was dead certain she was going to scream again. He put his hand over her mouth and anchored her sexy bod in place with the weight of his leg. “Listen. I’m Adam Hunter. I inherited this house from my uncle. I have every right to be here. Who the hell are you?”
He felt her soft lips moving beneath his palm. He slowly lifted his hand. And waited for another bone-rattling shriek.
“I’m Whitney Marshall. I live in the caretaker’s cottage. I just came in to get Jasper.”
Jasper, the butt-ugly show dog he’d first seen at his uncle’s villa in Siros. The little mutt who’d crawled in bed with him the moment Adam had turned down the covers. Could she be telling the truth? Was she taking care of the dog? “I heard breaking glass.”
Two beats of silence. “I know. I knocked over something with my umbrella while I was looking for Jasper so I could feed him.”
“You weren’t calling Jasper.”
“It doesn’t do any good. Jasper won’t come. He usually hides under the coffee table.”
“What about the weapon in your hand?”
“Weapon?” Hostile silence, then, “That was my umbrella.”
Umbrella? Shit. He lifted his leg off her, reluctantly admitting, “I guess I made a mistake.”
“Do you always act like a raving lunatic when you make a mistake?”
She attempted to climb over him, and his sex-starved body again kicked into overdrive. She was caught up in the raincoat and what little she was wearing beneath. Her soft, full breasts brushed his bare chest. She jerked back and he expected her to hit him…or bite him again. She scuttled sideways and crashed to the floor, then scrambled to her feet and charged off into the darkness.
Adam slowly rose, scalp prickling, arm throbbing, blood trickling down from the base of his neck onto his chest. He could still smell her perfume and feel her sexy body beneath his. Of all the freaking luck.
CHAPTER THREE
SWEATING AND PANTING, her heart thundering painfully against her ribs, Whitney raced out into the downpour. She managed to reach the cottage, slam the door shut behind her and quickly lock it. She could still feel the brute’s weight crushing her, his huge hands locking around her neck in a death grip. She’d never been forced to physically defend herself until tonight.
Squeezing her eyes shut and leaning back against the door, she willed her body to stop shaking. She hadn’t been able to get a good look at the creep, but even now she could see his fiendish eyes glittering as if he were on some controlled substance. His features had been obscured by the darkness but she had the impression of white teeth the size of tombstones.
Just when she thought her life was turning around this had to happen. She’d counted on living here, but with that monster in the main house, it would be impossible. She could understand him mistaking her for a burglar-after all, the house had been hit during Calvin Hunter’s funeral-but the creep’s marauding hands…inexcusable.
The big goon probably had a felony record for sexual assault. She heaved a sigh, attempting to catch her breath, and assured herself the man was nothing more than a letch. Still, how could she live here with him so close? She would never get a good night’s sleep.
Where could she go? Her bank account was down to less than a hundred dollars. Her only alternative was to hang in there until Miranda returned, then borrow money from her cousin to rent another place.
Whitney gingerly touched the throbbing lump forming on the back of her head from when he’d knocked her down on the hard tile. The bump was so tender that her eyes watered. The salty tang of his blood was still on her lips from biting him. She’d been dead certain he intended to rape and kill her. So what if she’d drawn blood?
“Serves the creep right,” she muttered out loud.
Lexi and Da Vinci were hovering at her feet, tails swishing in the darkness. She slipped out of the lightweight raincoat and let it drop to the floor. All she had on beneath was the sheer nightie. When she’d thrown on her raincoat to get Jasper, she’d never dreamed she would run into anyone.
“Okay, okay, out of the way,” she told the dogs, her voice shaky.
She bumped into a box and stubbed her toe on the way to the chair beside the sofa, which was loaded with clothes and things she’d heaped there while unpacking. She dropped into the welcoming cushions, feeling slightly nauseous. A panicky feeling returned in a wave of fear that surged upward from the depths of her queasy stomach.
The electric power returned with a blinding flash and the cottage lit up. Not being alone in the dark calmed Whitney a little. She checked the locks on the front and back doors. She was safe.
Briiing-briiing. The telephone rang, and Whitney tensed. She let the machine Miranda had left behind pick up the message.
“It’s me again.” Ryan’s disembodied voice filtered across the room. “Call me no matter how late you get in. It’s really important.”
Naturally, Ryan presumed she would do as he told her. Let him rot in hell along with the beauty queen. They’d married two days after his divorce from Whitney became final. She removed the receiver from the hook. If he called back, he wouldn’t wake her. Let the jerk wait.
Whitney sent the dogs out the back door to do their business before going to bed. Clouds tumbled across the moon as the wind herded them inland. The rain had slackened to a mist, but it dripped off the trees and bushes, plopping onto the small used brick patio behind the cottage.
Whitney wiped off Lexi’s paws with one of Miranda’s old towels. “Good girl. Ready for bed?”
Lexi scampered off for her doggie bed at the foot of Whitney’s bed. Da Vinci was still sniffing around and trying to decide which bush to bless by lifting his leg on it. She allowed him to take his time, remembering Miranda’s warning. They’re called Chiwee-wees for a good reason. Da Vinci was evidently prone to boo-boos and often left suspicious stains on the rug. She waited until the Chihuahua finally selected a spot and hoisted one little leg. She dried him off, then put him on the floor.