Dangerous Secrets

2-2

Her snug little efficiency was a constant source of pleasure. She’d hated her last apartment, with its paper-thin walls, where she’d had to wear earplugs to drown out the discordant scream of rap music or angry neighbors arguing. Phantom had lived in perpetual terror, and even tranquil Boulder had hissed in protest when it got too noisy.

Her loft was beautiful—and in comparison to the old place, it was sheer paradise. She loved the extra-high ceilings that allowed full use of her ‘attic’ space, that wide inner balcony along the far wall where she’d laboriously hauled her comfortable queen-sized bed and dresser. Every time she clambered up the metal steps to flop on her rose-hued bedspread, she felt like a little kid at summer camp.

Immediately beneath the ‘attic’ was her bathroom, which sported a delightfully decadent Roman tub. The tiny kitchen boasted all brand-new appliances, and she loved the high breakfast bar she’d installed herself, with its sturdy ivory marble tabletop and long-legged white wooden stools. Soft bronze leather sectional pieces were grouped in one corner of the spacious room to form an intimate entertainment area, and her crowded bookshelves lined the opposite wall.

Her outer balcony was small, but offered a lovely view of downtown Los Angeles. It was especially pretty at night when the air was relatively clear, and all the buildings sparkled like year-round Christmas trees. She still missed Dunbur Park’s quiet serenity, but the big city held a vitality that energized her.

She needed that energy tonight. The afternoon had been exhausting! Everyone had been so excited about her chance encounter with Conor, pumping her for details (as if she’d been involved in some wildly illicit s****l affair!), and pressuring her to meet him for lunch tomorrow.

She didn’t want to think about Conor Fitzpatrick right now. And she certainly didn’t want to meet him tomorrow for lunch! That would just be courting disaster.

All the same…

A shiver rippled down her spine as she remembered the way his long fingers had felt, curling so possessively around hers. The sheer energy he radiated was astounding!

No, no, and no! She absolutely was not going to waltz down that road! It could never lead to anything but heartache. And the stakes were too high for her to risk failing now!

A soft scratching sound notified her that Phantom had done her duty in the high-sided plastic litter box. Obediently she scooped out the two tiny piles, and dumped them into her trash compactor. Then she vaulted up the narrow ladder, and kicked her sensible work shoes into the closet.

An antique silver picture frame was propped up on her nightstand. Smiling, she touched it with gentle fingers. Three beaming faces laughed up at her, frozen forever in that last happy moment they’d shared five years ago. Peggy Malone Delaney, her seven-year-old daughter Melissa, and a much younger Kiera.

“I won’t let you down,” she whispered to the two women she’d known and loved so well. “No matter what it costs me.”

The ringing telephone jolted her, and sent her panicked heart into overdrive. Had something terrible happened to Lissa? Quickly she grabbed the receiver. “Hello?”

“Kiera?” Conor’s rich lilting voice filled her small bedroom. “Good, it is you. I was hoping I’d dialed the right number.”

“Conor.” Momentary relief weakened her knees, and she sank down onto her mattress. Then her hands began to tremble—from delayed reaction, she assured herself. Just because she’d been worried about Lissa. Never, ever because she was thrilled to hear his deep, lyrical voice. “How did you find me?”

His laugh was warm and full of boyish delight. “Directory assistance, of course. Did you think I’d followed you from the park?”

“No, of course not.” Why, after all, would an important man like Conor Fitzpatrick bother tracking her movements?

Because her quick refusal this afternoon had intrigued him, she realized with a quick mental groan. She’d have done better to fawn on him until he got bored, and lost interest in her.

Oh, she never should have let the phone company list her number when she’d changed it again last October! But she’d been so sure no one would suspect innocuous K. Donovan of having even the slightest connection with a far-distant Irishwoman named Peggy Delaney.

Careless, careless, careless! Five cautious years of successful anonymity had dulled her sense of self-preservation!

Before she could start formulating a damage-control plan, Conor’s lilting voice scattered her chaotic thoughts. “I thought maybe we could get together for dinner tonight, since you won’t have time for lunch tomorrow afternoon.”

“Why?” Kiera struggled to keep panic from ringing through her voice. “I’m not an actress or anyone famous. Why bother with me?”

There was a moment of silence, so brief she wondered if she’d imagined it. Then he chuckled. “Obviously you haven’t looked in a mirror lately.”

A hot flush rose to her tanned cheeks. She could almost see him on the other end of the phone, smiling in that sensual way that made women’s hearts flutter. Sternly she ordered her own to settle back down into her chest, and stop trying to batter its way through her rib cage.

“Conor, I don’t think…”

“West Olympic Blvd. That would be the old Reserve Building, right?” Conor overrode her nervous protest before it was half-formed on her tongue. “Listen, I’m over at the Waterworks Plaza off South Olive and 4th Street. That’s only about a mile away from your place, right?”

“Yes, but what on earth are you doing…”

Oh, of course, she thought with another quick groan. Now he was at his agent’s office! Didn’t that just figure?

And now that he knew she existed, it was far too close for her peace of mind!

“All-afternoon meeting with my agent.” Again he cut her off so smoothly that her head spun. “And it turns out I’ll probably be swamped tomorrow, too…these contract negotiations can take forever! So I thought, if you haven’t had dinner yet, we could go somewhere informal and catch a bite. Lost Souls Café, maybe, or Pitfire Pizza.”

“You like Pitfire Pizza?”

The amazement in her voice made him grin. “Their Margherita pizza is the best in town.”

“Well yes, but…”

“Have you eaten yet?”

“Well no, but…”

“Then my timing’s perfect! I’ll be there in a few minutes.”

“Conor, wait! You can’t just…”

“Kiera.” A slow smile curved his lips, and his voice dropped to a deliberately intimate murmur. “I’m not going to take ‘no’ for an answer.”

Then he was gone.

Shaken, Kiera stared blankly at the buzzing phone in her hand. This just couldn’t be happening! Conor Fitzpatrick could not be calling her, flirting outrageously with her, taking her out for pizza!

Oh sweet heavens, what was she going to wear? A different kind of panic, purely feminine, washed through her like an icy wave. What could she wear that would impress Hollywood’s sexiest new superstar? None of her clothes were glittery or slinky or risqué, like the sultry models constantly being paired with him in the gossip rags. She was so far out of their league, it was pathetic.

She wasn’t trying to impress him. He’d simply have to take her as she was. And if that wasn’t good enough…well, too bad. She didn’t want him around, anyway.

But oh, her work clothes stank of Lisa’s obnoxious clove-scented cigarettes. And her long hair was all mussed from driving home in freeway traffic with the windows down. And…

Peggy’s picture! He mustn’t see it! Gasping, she snatched it off the table, and thrust it deep into the bottom of her lingerie drawer. Not that she was ever going to allow him up into her bedroom. But still. He was a clever, persuasive fellow, and she couldn’t be too careful. If he ever learned of her connection to Peggy, the results could be catastrophic.

The Waterworks Plaza was so close, even by L.A. standards, that he might arrive at any minute. Oh, if only she’d had more warning! Maybe then she could have figured out a way to wriggle out of this predicament.

But that was probably what he’d been counting on. Conor Fitzpatrick was no one’s fool.

A quick survey of her makeshift closet was depressing. Most of her clothes were purely practical. Blouses, slacks, a few sweaters for those rare chilly days. Nothing good enough for a date with Conor Fitzpatrick.

It’s not a date! He just wants to share a pizza with someone from his homeland.

Then why was she feeling so panicky?

Scowling, Kiera hurled her dirty clothes into the hamper, and snatched a colorful sundress off the rack. The evening was balmy; and in any case the pizza parlor was always warm, so she wouldn’t need a jacket. She rarely bothered wearing makeup, and blessed that fact now as she dragged a brush through her unruly auburn curls, then secured the entire length in a simple ponytail.

If that wasn’t good enough for a quick, informal pizza, he had only himself to blame.

Right on cue, her intercom buzzed. Her heart pounded as she swung down the narrow staircase and raced across the room to answer it. “Yes, Frank?”

“A Mr. Fitzpatrick is here to see you, Miss Donovan.”

The current building concierge was a retired cop who’d spent twenty years as one of L.A.’s finest. He was tough as nails, bland as skim milk, and utterly unflappable. Even when a midnight party had gotten out of hand, several months back, and three guests had been rushed to the hospital on stretchers, he hadn’t twitched an eyebrow. Surely she wasn’t hearing a trace of excitement in his gruff voice now!

“Shall I pass him through?”

Well, she was as ready as she could get on such short notice. Heaven help her! “Yes, Frank. Thank you.”

She’d never once dreamed of becoming a movie star—but as she nervously paced back and forth across the single room, she felt just like an actress waiting for her cue.

Please, God, don’t let me say or do anything tonight to put us all in danger!

From her corner by the stove, Phantom offered her an encouraging “rowr!” And then it was too late for prayers as she stepped forward to open the wide double doors.

“Miss Donovan.” Conor swept into a courtly bow as she moved back to allow him entry. He looked magnificent in his lightweight chinos, short-sleeve shirt, and trendy gray sweater vest. Lamplight from the hall gleamed in his thick black hair.

“Mr. Fitzpatrick.” If he could be absurdly formal, so could she. And maybe it would set the right tone for tonight’s outing, keeping them from getting too intimate.

Quite suddenly, the quaint little ritual made her homesick for Dunbur Park. She straightened from her half-mocking curtsy with a wistful sigh that shifted to wondering delight as he offered her a delicate flower. “You brought me a rose. Conor, you didn’t need to do that!” How could he have possibly known her weakness for romance? Already she could feel her heart melting into a puddle at his feet.

His long fingers brushed against hers before she took a hasty step back. “I wasn’t sure what kind of flowers you liked.” His wry confession was entirely too endearing. “But roses are nearly always a safe choice, even for a very unusual woman.”

Oh God, she was sinking fast! Quickly Kiera turned away before his unorthodox flattery shook the foundations of her world. “Let me find a vase. It won’t take a moment.”

“I’m not in any hurry.” Lazily he closed the door behind him, and took a moment to study her cozy single-room apartment. Everything was clean and tidy, and her furniture, though obviously second-hand, was in good repair. He liked the way she’d decorated the place in warm earthy jewel tones.

A rust-and-emerald throw rug separated the tiny kitchenette from her living room; contrasting sapphire and ruby pillows were neatly angled on her bronze sectional couch. Even her inexpensive paintings and wall hangings were rich with vibrant color.

“I like it.” His approving gesture encompassed the room…but it was Kiera herself who drew his greatest appreciation. She looked fresh and wholesome in her colorful summer dress and cross-laced white sandals. Thin aqua spaghetti straps emphasized her golden tan, and the explosion of muted ocean colors across her bodice and flowing skirt made her seem delicate without being fragile.

In back, the sundress dipped into a deep vee that exposed her slender back, and ended just above her waist. Conor’s mouth watered. How could any woman look so innocent and so unbearably sexy at the same time?

What would it feel like to ease that silky wisp off her body, freeing those beautiful breasts and…

No! With a tremendous effort, he thrust the provocative fantasy away. Tonight wasn’t about s*x; it was about forging a friendship. God willing, there would be time later for lots of hot, steamy s*x. But not now, and probably not for quite some time. Liam had been right; Kiera Donovan was as skittish as a newborn colt. It would take time to earn her trust, and her friendship. He’d just have to keep his raging libido under control.

Kiera turned then, and the look in his vivid blue eyes made her knees tremble. How was it possible for any one man to radiate such potent raw s*x appeal? It was no wonder women across the globe fell at his feet and doted on his every word!

What on earth was he doing here in her humble apartment?

Did he know? The sudden horrifying thought made her suck in a panicked gasp. What if he’d already had her checked out, and he knew about Peggy and Melissa?

Oh, she’d have to be so very careful tonight, and not say a single word that revealed her dangerous secret!

“Is anything wrong?”

“No, of course not.” Quickly she marshaled a carefree smile, and brushed back a loose wisp of hair. “I just realized, I still need to feed Phantom and Boulder.”

On cue, the tiny cat greeted him with a high-pitched “rowr!” from her comfortable bed by the kitchen stove. It was so obviously a friendly welcome that he grinned in response. “See? I told you she has good taste.”

Kiera pointedly ignored him, and reached into the fridge. “Here you go, baby,” she smiled, placing what looked like a raw hamburger patty in the kitten’s shallow food dish. Then she set down a large bowl, which was loaded with dark leafy greens, by the dishwasher. “Time to eat, Boulder!”

And Conor gaped in amazement as a huge dome-shaped rock, which he’d previously taken for some weird piece of sculpture, sprouted thick feet and a long curving neck, and began plodding across the room.

“What the hell is that?”

His visible shock made Kiera burst into laughter. “An African tortoise. His name is Boulder—for obvious reasons.”

“I can see it’s a tortoise.” Conor’s voice sharpened with exasperation. “What the bloody hell is it doing in a Los Angeles apartment?”

“Living.” Kiera’s simple reply made him want to strangle something. “We belong to each other.”

“What?”

Okay, he could see how it might belong to her. Though he wasn’t sure why any sane person would want to lug around a huge lumpy hundred-pound tortoise.

But how could she possibly belong to it?

“Boulder originally came with an old roommate of mine,” she explained, taking pity on his obvious frustration. “She couldn’t pay her half of the rent, and skipped out—leaving him behind. We understand each other well enough, and he seems to enjoy being with me. So I brought him to California. He loves basking out on the balcony when the smog levels are low.”

“Just like that.”

“Just like that.” Kiera smiled, and bent to lay a hand on the tortoise’s bumpy shell. “He’s sixty years old, believe it or not, and likely to live at least another sixty. And grow twice his current size. I couldn’t just abandon him. He’d have ended up in a zoo, being poked and prodded all day. And he’d have hated that. He’s very smart.”

A sixty-year-old tortoise, and a cat that rode around in her purse. Conor gave himself a brisk mental shake, and wondered what other surprises Kiera Donovan had in store for him.

Well, one thing was certain…tonight was definitely not going to be boring!