She recognized Al McCowan, Jr. as an old friend from the university and one of Tony's favorite golfing buddies. The other bulky blond man was one of Tony's childhood friends she hadn't seen around in a long time. Tony didn't like admitting to his rural origins.
Had Tony already discovered what she'd done? Fear iced her blood, but anger boiled too strongly for her to act on any sense of self-preservation, “I sold it,” she called sweetly, handing her scribbled recommendations for gardeners and repairmen to the extremely well-muscled football player tensing up beside her. She patted his arm. “Would you be so kind as to escort me to my car?” she asked politely. She had thought to be gone before Tony arrived, but she'd counted on the house's new owner being sufficient protection against surprises.
She had been right. Tony turned purple and hurled obscenities, but even with his bulky bodyguards in tow, he didn't dare attack one of the Panthers’ newest linemen. Without a word of explanation to anyone—too terrified to speak if the truth be known—Faith marched to her aging Volvo, climbed in, and drove away.
Once safely out of reach, she let exultation balloon inside her, crushing all fear. She wished she could have seen Tony's face when he discovered his house was no longer his home.
The Present
Staring wearily at a bathroom mirror with irregular dark splotches where the silver backing was missing, Faith grimaced at her reflection. She would turn thirty on her next birthday. Already she could see the crow's-feet at the corners of her eyes. What did she have to show for them besides the music of Tony's curses as she walked away? She had a life without a single deep relationship, without love, without any of the things she'd thought to have by now.
And the damned man in the other room was forcing her to examine everything she'd done these last few years, everything she'd so proudly based her new life on. The result wasn't pretty.
He'd
kidnapped
her, damn it. She didn't need to take life lessons from a criminal.
Pulling her hair back in a barrette from her purse, she stalked back into the shabby motel bedroom. It was clean. That was all she could give it. At the sight of Adrian propping the room's one chair against the doorknob, she scowled.
“Keeping thieves out or me in?”
He dropped into the chair, crossed his arms over his chest and stretched his long legs out in front of him, practically filling the narrow aisle between the end of the bed and the dresser. Her tired gaze focused on the scuffed soles of his worn wingtips—courtroom shoes, she used to call them.
“Both,” he responded warily. “The way your mind works, you'll have figured out how to have me locked up and behalfway back to Knoxville before I wake up. I need my sleep.”
Faith glanced at the double bed. She wasn't about to suggest that they share it. Let him suffer.
He hadn't asked to share the bed.
She dropped wearily on the sprung mattress, wrinkled up her nose at the thought of checking the sheets and, removing her comfortable Easy Spirits and suit jacket, lay down as she was. He'd brought in a duffel bag probably containing all his worldly possessions. She didn't even have a toothbrush.
A forty-watt bulb in the reading lamp still burned between them. Adrian's eyelids were already drooping. The shadows from the lamp highlighted the hollows of his sculpted cheekbones, and she wished she had enough talent to draw him. The glimmer of his silver earring captivated her. If all she wanted was sex, she might as well have taken up with Artie from the band. He'd be a lot less trouble.
She flung the spare pillow at her kidnapper.
Adrian jerked up, caught it, and glancing at her warily, shoved it behind his back.
“Kidnapping is a federal offense.” She couldn't go to sleep like this. He might as well suffer with her.
“So sue me.” He shut his eyes again.
She wanted to turn the lamp off so she wouldn't see the breadth of his shoulders
Had Tony already discovered what she'd done? Fear iced her blood, but anger boiled too strongly for her to act on any sense of self-preservation, “I sold it,” she called sweetly, handing her scribbled recommendations for gardeners and repairmen to the extremely well-muscled football player tensing up beside her. She patted his arm. “Would you be so kind as to escort me to my car?” she asked politely. She had thought to be gone before Tony arrived, but she'd counted on the house's new owner being sufficient protection against surprises.
She had been right. Tony turned purple and hurled obscenities, but even with his bulky bodyguards in tow, he didn't dare attack one of the Panthers’ newest linemen. Without a word of explanation to anyone—too terrified to speak if the truth be known—Faith marched to her aging Volvo, climbed in, and drove away.
Once safely out of reach, she let exultation balloon inside her, crushing all fear. She wished she could have seen Tony's face when he discovered his house was no longer his home.
The Present
Staring wearily at a bathroom mirror with irregular dark splotches where the silver backing was missing, Faith grimaced at her reflection. She would turn thirty on her next birthday. Already she could see the crow's-feet at the corners of her eyes. What did she have to show for them besides the music of Tony's curses as she walked away? She had a life without a single deep relationship, without love, without any of the things she'd thought to have by now.
And the damned man in the other room was forcing her to examine everything she'd done these last few years, everything she'd so proudly based her new life on. The result wasn't pretty.
He'd
kidnapped
her, damn it. She didn't need to take life lessons from a criminal.
Pulling her hair back in a barrette from her purse, she stalked back into the shabby motel bedroom. It was clean. That was all she could give it. At the sight of Adrian propping the room's one chair against the doorknob, she scowled.
“Keeping thieves out or me in?”
He dropped into the chair, crossed his arms over his chest and stretched his long legs out in front of him, practically filling the narrow aisle between the end of the bed and the dresser. Her tired gaze focused on the scuffed soles of his worn wingtips—courtroom shoes, she used to call them.
“Both,” he responded warily. “The way your mind works, you'll have figured out how to have me locked up and behalfway back to Knoxville before I wake up. I need my sleep.”
Faith glanced at the double bed. She wasn't about to suggest that they share it. Let him suffer.
He hadn't asked to share the bed.
She dropped wearily on the sprung mattress, wrinkled up her nose at the thought of checking the sheets and, removing her comfortable Easy Spirits and suit jacket, lay down as she was. He'd brought in a duffel bag probably containing all his worldly possessions. She didn't even have a toothbrush.
A forty-watt bulb in the reading lamp still burned between them. Adrian's eyelids were already drooping. The shadows from the lamp highlighted the hollows of his sculpted cheekbones, and she wished she had enough talent to draw him. The glimmer of his silver earring captivated her. If all she wanted was sex, she might as well have taken up with Artie from the band. He'd be a lot less trouble.
She flung the spare pillow at her kidnapper.
Adrian jerked up, caught it, and glancing at her warily, shoved it behind his back.
“Kidnapping is a federal offense.” She couldn't go to sleep like this. He might as well suffer with her.
“So sue me.” He shut his eyes again.
She wanted to turn the lamp off so she wouldn't see the breadth of his shoulders
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