After I Mistook My Brother's Rival for Someone Who Wanted Me

I woke with a dry mouth, a pounding head, and a view of the sea that would have been lovely if the bedroom door had opened from my side. The room was too polished to be a hospital and too unfamiliar to be anywhere I had chosen. Pale walls, a high ceiling, a vase of fresh white flowers, and floor-to-ceiling windows that looked out over a cliff. I sat up too quickly. Pain pulled tight around my temples. Then I saw the chair outside the open doorway. Graham Vale sat in it with his sleeves rolled up and his hands clasped between his knees. A g*n rested on the table beside him. My first thought was that I had been kidn*pped. My second thought, because apparently my brain had its own priorities, was that Graham Vale had kidn*pped me because he was secretly in love with me. "Don't get up too fast," he said. "I'm in your house." "You're in a house I rented." "Is that supposed to make me feel better?" "No." He had the kind of face people described as composed when they wanted to avoid saying handsome. Dark hair, sharp cheekbones, and a faint scar across his chin. My brother, Nate, called him ruthless, dishonest, and a thief. I had never met him in person. I had seen his picture in a business magazine and thought he looked like the kind of man who would remember every insult. I touched the side of my head. "Why am I here?" "Because you were about to be taken." "By you?" "By men who don't work for me." I studied him. My whole life, I'd been too quick to mistake attention for attraction. A guy held a door for me, I wondered if he'd chosen the restaurant because of me. Someone at work remembered my coffee order and I spent the afternoon asking friends what it meant. I wasn't proud of it. I simply had a talent for reading romance into any situation where a man looked in my direction. Being held in a bedroom by my brother's enemy seemed like a new personal record. "Did you bring me here because you like me?" I asked. His expression didn't change. "No." The answer came so quickly that it stung. "How did you bring me here, then?" "I got you out of a car." My stomach tightened. I remembered the last clear part of the evening: leaving a fundraiser at the Harbor House with Nate, then waiting near the curb while he went back inside for his coat. A man had approached and said Nate had asked him to drive me home. I'd been tired and annoyed and had gone with him. After that, nothing. "Where's my brother?" "I don't know." "But you knew I was going to be taken." "I knew someone was waiting for you." "And you didn't think to call the police?" "I did." I glanced at the g*n on the table. "Then why is that there?" "Because I don't know whether the police I called are the ones you need." That was the first thing he'd said that made the air seem colder. I swung my legs over the side of the bed. My shoes were gone. "I want to leave." "You can't yet." "Right. So this is a kidnapping." "It's a locked door. I'm not going to pretend it's anything else." He stood. I saw the tension in his shoulders, the careful way he kept his hands visible. It didn't make me feel safe. It did make me believe he understood that I was afraid. "I'm calling Nate," I said. "Your phone is on the desk." I snatched it up. The screen was dark. I pressed the side button; nothing happened. "It's dead," Graham said. "There's a charger." I plugged it in, and the screen came on. A dozen missed calls appeared, most from a number I didn't recognize. One from Nate. The message beneath it was dated the night before. Nate: Get in the car. Don't make a scene. I'll explain tomorrow. I stared at it. "Did you see my messages?" "I saw that one." "Why would you have my phone?" "Because the man who brought you here had it." "Who was he?" "I don't know his name. He ran when I stopped the car." "You expect me to believe you just happened to find me?" "I expect you to believe you're safer behind this door than in the car you were in." I tried Nate's number. The call rang once, then went to voicemail. I called again. Same result. Graham stayed by the doorway. He didn't reach for the phone or try to stop me. That should have counted for something. Instead, I noticed the lock on the outside of the door. "If you want me safe," I said, "let me decide where I'm safe." His eyes met mine. "When I know the road is clear." "And when will that be?" "I don't know." I hated that answer most of all. Graham stepped into the hall. "There's water and food downstairs. I'll be in the study." "Will I be allowed to leave the bedroom?" "You can move around the house. Not outside." "Then you're still keeping me here." "Yes." He didn't soften the truth, didn't call it protection or ask me to be reasonable. He closed the door, and the lock clicked. I looked at my dead-end view of the sea, my phone, and the message from my brother. For the first time in my life, I wished a man's attention meant exactly what I hoped it meant. *****