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Secret Cinderella
Dani Sinclair
DESPERATELY SEEKING PRINCE CHARMINGHer desperate plan to save her brother left Melanie Andrews with a dead body on her hands, a killer at her heels and nowhere to run–except into Roderick Laughlin's arms. As soon as she saw the seductive, self-made man in the crowded ballroom, she knew she'd found a temporary haven. And as the clock struck twelve, Melanie pressed a burning kiss on his lips and escaped into the night, thinking she'd never see him again.She thought wrong.The taste of her was seared into his mind, and there was nowhere Roderick's mysterious Cinderella could hide. Because she'd gotten mixed up in a deadly game, one only Roderick could protect her from–as soon as he convinced her he was the only man to trust….



Roderick turned and nearly bowled over the petite young woman who had sprung from nowhere to stand directly in his path
“Darling! Thank you. Are we ready to leave now?”
In a single motion almost faster than the eye could follow, she lifted the sable coat from his careless fingers. He had only an instant to notice the shocking bit of glittery green that posed as a dress on her provocative form before both were concealed in the folds of the coat.
“What the devil do you think you’re doing?”
She didn’t even look at him. Her gaze searched the crowd. Instinctively he raised his head to see what had caused the flash of fear that darkened her lively blue eyes. He was still surveying the crowd when, without warning, she stretched up on her toes. Clasping his face, she tugged it down to within inches of her own. Her lips covered his.
“Please help me,” she whispered.

Secret Cinderella
Dani Sinclair

www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
For Scott, Megan and Amanda; Ciara, Lisa and Rachel; Justin and Rick; Evan, Trevor, Kyle and Ryan; Mike, Eddie, Rene and Michele, because family is important. And for Roger, Chip, Dan and Barb, as ever. Love you guys!

ABOUT THE AUTHOR
An avid reader, Dani Sinclair didn’t discover romance novels until her mother lent her one when she’d come for a visit. Dani’s been hooked on the genre ever since. But she didn’t take up writing seriously until her two sons were grown. With the premiere of Mystery Baby for Harlequin Intrigue in 1996, Dani’s kept her computer busy ever since. Her third novel, Better Watch Out, was a RITA
Award finalist in 1998. Dani lives outside Washington, D.C., a place she’s found to be a great source for both intrigue and humor!

CAST OF CHARACTERS
Melanie (Mel) Andrews—The white sheep amongst a family of thieves, she thought she’d escaped her criminal legacy. Now she must use her unusual skills to find a killer.
Roderick Laughlin III—–The wealthy CEO plays Prince Charming for a night—and finds he’s helped a beautiful woman flee a murder scene.
Gary Andrews—Mel’s brother may be a genius when it comes to writing computer programs, but he’s already wanted for burglary. Could he have added murder to the charges?
Carl Boswell—Roderick’s vice president didn’t intend to die. But did he intend to sell out Roderick, or was he trying to trap a thief?
Claire Bradshaw—Mel’s neighbor and good friend has moved on from her own shady past. Or has she?
Harold DiAngelis—Gary’s co-worker moonlights as a security guard. Has he moved into the big leagues with murder and theft?
Shereen Oro—The international model has been dating Roderick exclusively for the past several months, but she isn’t above flirting with the competition.
Larry Wilhelm—The CEO of Roderick’s chief competition may want to compete for more than just business.

Contents
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen

Prologue
“Mel?”
Melanie Andrews gripped the phone more tightly and hit the mute button on the television remote.
“Gary? What’s wrong?”
Her brother’s sigh carried clearly to her ear.
“I’m in a jam. I need a favor.”
Seven years older, her brother had never once asked for anything resembling a favor.
“Name it.”
She sensed his wry smile, but it was the ragged sound of his breathing that sent her heart skidding nervously in her chest.
“How rusty are your skills?”
Her mouth went dry. She’d known the moment she heard his voice he was in trouble, but this…
“How sharp do they need to be?” she asked nervously.
“There’s a New Year’s Eve party tonight in the hospitality suite at the Rorhem Hotel downtown.”
Her stomach contracted. He pushed out words as if the effort were painful.
“Carl Boswell is going to pass a DVD to someone at that party. I need you to steal it first.”
She inhaled sharply. “Boswell is the man from RAL who was going to buy your program.”
“Yeah. He decided to steal it instead.” The ironic tone he tried for was lost in the sound of his labored breathing.
“You’re hurt.”
He ignored the interruption. “Six-four, two-thirty. Sandy red hair. Sharp widow’s peak.”
He was fading fast. Her stomach twisted with fear. “I’ll get the DVD. I’ll bring it to you.”
“No!”
The crack of the word sent all sorts of terrified images springing to mind.
“I won’t be there,” he said more calmly. “I have a place to go.”
“What’s wrong with you?”
“Don’t worry about it.”
Worry nothing. She was scared to death. “If you die on me, I’ll never forgive you.”
He managed a weak chuckle that ended on a cough. “Not a chance, kid.”
He wasn’t going to tell her. Her mind was busy supplying all sorts of horrible scenarios, but she tried to keep her voice steady by focusing on what he really needed.
“How will I know I have the right DVD? Is it labeled?”
“Might be now.” He paused, his voice growing more ragged with each breath.
“Never mind. If he has more than one, you’ll get a collection,” she promised. Mel could almost hear his slow smile.
“Be careful. He likes knives.”
“Gary!”
“Get the program back for me, kid, it’s the only copy I made. Of course that bastard could have made more by now.”
Her fingers pressed tightly against the plastic of the telephone.
“You didn’t back it up?”
Gary had been working on this program for well over a year now. Not being a computer person, the only thing she knew about his pet project was that it was some sort of security system he was very excited about.
“I can re-create it, Mel, that’s not the point.”
“Okay. Never mind.” He sounded so weak. “I’ll retrieve your brainchild, but you’ll owe me big,” she added fiercely, trying not to let him know how scared she was for him.
“Be careful. Boswell’s willing to kill for it. I don’t want to be an only child, either.”
Her heart plummeted to her toes, her wild imaginings reinforced. But she kept her tone light, trying not to let him hear her fear.
“Mom and Dad would be ticked,” she agreed. “Don’t worry, Gary, he’ll never feel a thing.”

Chapter One
Mel hated it when her words turned prophetic.
Carl Boswell had been past feeling anything at all when she found him. Now she clutched the slim plastic card and the keys she’d removed from his wallet an instant before she’d been discovered going through the dead man’s pockets. She continued to ignore the horrified, sick feeling in her stomach as she paused to get her bearings. She didn’t have time for sick. Not then, and especially not now.
From the elevated balcony, Mel frantically scanned the noisy crowd below, landing on a tall, imposing figure in an immaculately tailored tuxedo. The stranger moved alertly among the room’s occupants, nodding to acquaintances, but not stopping to speak to anyone. His purposeful stride was carrying him toward the exit at the far end of the ballroom.
Perfect.
As she skimmed down the stairs keeping her gaze focused on the man, she watched him pinch the bridge of his nose as though he had a headache. Understandable in this din.
He continued on his path with the sense of purpose that had first drawn her eyes—a lean, feral cat among the pigeons. People parted instinctively to let him pass.
Not a good mark. He was too alert for that. But she was desperate and his size alone might present a shield. He’d have to do. Everyone else seemed to be with someone.
She shot a glance over her shoulder. Still clear.
Mel darted amid the clusters of people while trying to keep him in sight. Her spiked heels didn’t add nearly enough height. Fortunately, the stranger was lofty enough that his perfectly groomed, thick dark hair stayed visible.
Another glance over her left shoulder confirmed the worst. Someone had figured out where she’d gone. A tall man in a perfectly fitted tuxedo appeared on the balcony near the entrance she’d just used.
He was not alone.
Mel bit back a groan of dismay. This was bad—very bad. With an imperious sweep of his arm, the man sent two burly security men scurrying into the crowd.
Looking for her.
Her throat went dry. Renewed adrenaline sent her pulse racing faster. Now she blessed her short stature as she ducked behind a man and woman who blocked the aisle. They chatted with a table full of laughing people, oblivious to the others around them. Mel managed what she hoped was a cheerful smile as she edged around the couple, aware of several startled looks from some of those seated there.
Cursing the shiny beacon of a glittery dress she wore, she kept moving. Her choices had been severely limited after Gary’s frantic call, and the borrowed dress had accomplished its original purpose. No one had questioned her right to join the noisy private party upstairs when she timed her arrival to coincide with a large, boisterous group.
Up there, the gaudy dress had been an asset. Unfortunately, most of the women down here had opted for black, which meant that any minute now one of the men pursuing her would spot the bright kelly-green color. If she could make it to the tall stranger she had a slim chance of getting away.

RODERICK LAUGHLIN DRUMMED his fingers in annoyance as he waited for the coats. His headache seemed to be growing in direct proportion to the noise. The blue haze of cigarette smoke wafting in from the balcony outside added yet another layer to his discomfort. He’d had more than enough frivolity for one evening. As soon as his companion came off the dance floor they were leaving.
Parties like this were Shereen’s forte, not his. To see and be seen was everything in a modeling career and Shereen relished every moment. Roderick, on the other hand, had never been fond of large crowds but he’d promised to bring her tonight, so he had. Still, enough was enough. In his opinion, there were better ways to start a new year.
The pain in his head lightened a bit as he pictured several alternatives. Unfortunately, Shereen wasn’t likely to want to spend the early hours of the new year in bed when she could be dancing and drinking and posing to be admired. Convincing her to leave would probably cost him a fortune for some trinket that had caught her eye. Roderick didn’t care. He wanted to go home.
The young woman manning the coatroom set aside some sort of textbook she’d been studying and returned promptly with his topcoat and the full-length sable fur that had been his Christmas present to Shereen. Shereen wasn’t interested in being politically correct and the coat had caused more than one furrier to throw up his hands in despair. She’d insisted on an exact match for her shoulder-length dark sable tresses. Now that brunettes were all the rage on the runway, the silver fox fur that had matched her hair last year was no longer adequate.
Roderick rubbed fiercely at his temple as he withdrew his wallet and generously tipped the tired-looking woman behind the counter. Anyone who could study an anatomy text in this crush deserved all the help she could get. Her face brightened in gratitude when she saw the bill’s denomination.
With her heartfelt thanks echoing in his ears, he shrugged into his coat and lifted Shereen’s. Mentally he had to admit that the garment had been worth all the effort. Shereen looked exquisite framed in fur, particularly when the coat was all she wore. But then, Shereen looked terrific in anything—and especially in nothing at all. It was her most endearing quality.
Roderick turned, deep in rumination of his new plans for ushering in the new year, and nearly bowled over the petite young woman who had sprung from nowhere to stand directly in his path.
“Darling! Thank you. Are we ready to leave now?”
In a single motion almost faster than the eye could follow, she lifted the sable from his careless fingers and disappeared inside. He only had an instant to notice the shocking bit of glittery green that posed as a dress on her provocative form before both were totally concealed in the voluminous folds of the coat.
“What the devil do you think you’re doing?”
She didn’t even look at him. Her gaze seared the crowd at his back. Instinctively, he raised his head to see what had caused the flash of fear that darkened her lively blue eyes. He was still surveying the crowd when without warning she turned back to him and stretched up on her toes. Clasping his face, she tugged it down to within inches of her own.
“Please help me.”
At least, that’s what he thought she said. Then her lips covered his, whisper-soft and tasting of champagne. Her hands delved beneath the tuxedo’s jacket and slid around his waist. Her enticingly feminine body arched boldly against him.
The unexpected kiss was urgent, lacking all trace of finesse. Reckless, almost frantic, her lips moved against his mouth. His shock and annoyance faded under the impact.
Her lips were incredibly soft.
The warm, velvety feel stirred an instant, unanticipated reaction. He took control of the kiss without making a conscious decision. Slowly he moved his mouth over hers in a gentle but insistent demand. Her lips parted in surprise. Roderick slid one broad hand beneath the threads of her long, silky hair and cupped the back of her head to deepen the kiss. She froze.
He’d meant to shock her, but he found himself strangely reluctant to let her go. He allowed himself another brief moment to trace the outline of her mouth with his tongue. Startled eyes opened in alarm. Bright crystal blue, they held his gaze as she stood rigidly in his arms. Her breath felt warm against his skin even as Roderick nibbled gently on her bottom lip. He was mildly astonished when she made no effort to pull free of his embrace.
“What are you doing?”
Her breathy words sounded puzzled rather than angry. Amusement carved a reluctant smile. “No woman’s ever had to ask me that question before.”
The expression that flitted across her features was hard to define and gone in an instant. She dropped her hands from his body.
“I wouldn’t have thought someone so practiced would need to have his ego stroked,” she said with just the slightest hitch in her voice.
Roderick raised his eyebrows letting his enjoyment show. “Ah, but they do say practice makes perfect.”
She tilted her head to one side. “Uh-huh. If you find a way to market all that practice, you could be a wealthy man one day.”
He found himself wanting to tell her that he already was a wealthy man and it had nothing to do with his ability to kiss, but discretion stopped him in time. Before he could think of another suitable response, an inebriated man bumped into them. Roderick gripped her arms through the soft fur of the coat to steady her. The man muttered what was probably an apology and kept going. The fascinating young woman looked pointedly down at Roderick’s hand. Only then did he release his hold on the fur.
She took another step back and her gaze swiftly darted about the crowd before she trained those amazing eyes back on him.
“I have to leave. If it wouldn’t be too much trouble, do you think you could walk me out?”
It hit him then. She was scared. Oh, she had it under tight control, but fear nipped at the edges of her features. Tension pleated her brow as her gaze slid about the room again.
What was she afraid of? Several possibilities came to mind. Intrigued, Roderick resisted an impulse to follow her gaze.
“Could we hurry?” she demanded breathlessly.
He allowed a quick glance around even as he amazed both of them by tugging her against his side. “All right. Let’s go.”
“Thanks. I’ll give you the coat back when we get out of here.”
Who was she? What was she doing here?
With his coat thrown over one arm, he held her firmly in place and began to escort her toward the nearby exit, still sheathed in Shereen’s sable fur. Since the music was still playing, it was unlikely that Shereen would miss him for the few minutes it would take to escort this woman down to the lobby.
She was so much shorter than Shereen that the fur trailed nearly to the floor. She had to move with care to avoid tripping over the hem, but somehow the coat failed to look ludicrous on her—even though it didn’t match her lighter brown hair.
No, not brown, but not quite auburn, either. There were appealing glimpses of red and gold highlights where the overhead chandeliers created glints among the long, curling strands. Most of her hair had been pulled back from her face to cascade down her back, but several strands had escaped, giving her a delightfully tousled look. She’d pulled the sides up and back, holding the hair in place with a simple iridescent green clip. Inexpensive plastic, he noted as she dodged around a crowd that blocked the main exit.
She didn’t belong here.
What was she doing in this room full of wealthy movers and shakers? Security was supposed to be tight at the hotel, although Roderick hadn’t been impressed with what he’d seen. He’d noted several ways a person could get inside without being stopped. Obviously, this woman had used one of them.
Unless she was here as a paid companion.
He found he didn’t like that disturbing thought, but he couldn’t stop chewing on the idea. It was the dress, of course. Too bold. Too bright. Too cheap.
No one stopped them as they left the crowded room. As far as Roderick could tell, no one was paying them any attention at all.
“Amorous boyfriend?” he asked quietly.
She didn’t respond. He wasn’t sure she had heard him.
The mezzanine was filled with the overflow from the party. As the loud music faded, his nervous companion continued to dart glances at the crowd as they moved with subtle haste among the revelers. Her agitation was more palpable now. Roderick felt his own senses coming sharply alert. She moved briskly, taking two quick steps to every one of his longer strides. He sensed she was barely restraining a desire to break into a run.
“Would you like me to slow down?” he asked.
“No!”
“Stay cool,” he advised at this sharp reaction. “No one is watching us.”
She turned a fragile, heart-shaped face up to his in surprise. He had the distinct impression that on some level she’d all but dismissed his presence despite the arm he still had around her shoulders. Roderick could honestly say he wasn’t used to being dismissed by anyone, much less a woman he had just kissed. He tamped down an indignant spurt of annoyance. She’d asked for his help. The least she could do was show a little gratitude.
“Not the elevators,” she said impatiently, nudging him away from the press of people waiting before the slow-moving glass cages.
He didn’t blame her. He preferred the escalators himself, but probably not for the same reason. As he guided her through the throng, she lifted her face and offered him an unexpected smile.
“Thank you.”
Roderick inhaled sharply. She certainly wasn’t a beauty—nothing like Shereen. Her face was too narrow, her chin almost pointy, and those incredibly clear blue eyes were too wide, lending her face a quizzical look. But that smile of hers lit her features and changed everything. A man would overlook any number of flaws to see a smile like that.
“You’re welcome.”
She also had gorgeous skin. Shereen spent long hours in front of a mirror trying to achieve the natural, healthy glow that emanated from this slip of a woman. Roderick would bet half his considerable fortune that she had done nothing more to enhance her appearance than to apply lipstick and some eyeliner.
Most of the bright red lipstick had been chewed away, but a telltale hint remained. The thin line of eyeliner had smudged, adding to a waiflike appearance that was strangely appealing.
Because he found himself studying her so closely, he noticed the thin white line at her hairline. The scar was tiny, really. Easily overlooked since it disappeared into her carelessly styled long hair. Still, that jagged line of imperfection was a close match to a scar he carried. His jaw tightened as he remembered the cause of his scar and he wondered how she had come by hers.
“It isn’t every day a man has a chance to play Sir Galahad to a lady in distress,” he told her. Cynically, he had to admit he was sort of enjoying the role. But he couldn’t help wondering exactly what—or whom—he was rescuing her from.
“You’re doing a great job,” she told him, barely glancing up as her gaze continued to rove restlessly.
Roderick frowned. “Do you have a name?”
“Of course I do.”
As they stepped onto the descending escalator she hesitated, sending another quick look over her shoulder. Roderick turned back, as well. No one so much as glanced their way. As he withdrew his hand from her shoulder, he gave it a comforting pat. She raised dark sooty lashes to study him.
“Sorry. I do appreciate your help,” she told him earnestly.
Mollified, Roderick inclined his head politely, ignoring a renewed stirring of sexual interest. She wasn’t flirting or playing coy, which was just as well. She was not his type. Yet she intrigued him, and he’d have to give her high marks for her ability to think on her feet—not to mention that she didn’t seem the least bit unnerved by him or his size.
“You didn’t answer my question,” he pointed out.
“No, I didn’t.”
Obviously, she didn’t intend to identify herself or explain this desperate flight. Roderick’s gaze skated to her fingers. Like the rest of her, her hand was small and well shaped. The nails were cropped unfashionably short and were adorned by brilliant scarlet nail polish. He found the color annoyed him the same way his brief glimpse of her daring dress had done. Somehow, neither one belonged on her.
He could only see her right hand, because the other one was lost in the folds of the coat pulled so tightly around her. To conceal the bright color of her dress, he decided. She wore no jewelry other than a pair of inexpensive crystal earrings. Once again he wondered what she had been doing there. The tickets had been pricey by any standards. Was she a paid escort?
He didn’t like the idea, but it wouldn’t go away. She didn’t have the hardened, jaded look he would have expected from a professional, but then, what did he know? He’d never had the need to hire a companion.
“Am I in danger of being accosted by an angry husband?”
Those soft lips curved with humor. “Worried?”
“Not particularly,” he replied, affronted. “I was curious.”
He was rewarded by the flash of that dazzling smile again.
“No husband.”
As they moved carefully onto the next set of moving stairs he told himself her situation was really none of his business. He didn’t want or need to be involved in her problem, but her caginess was becoming annoying.
She teetered a bit, shifting her stance carefully as she tugged at the trailing coat. For the first time Roderick noticed the height of the glittery green shoes she wore. He was pretty sure the bold color matched her dress.
“You’re going to break your neck in those things if you aren’t careful,” he warned. The heels were slender needles of stupidity. Why she didn’t simply teeter out of them was beyond his comprehension.
Once again her ready smile flickered to life. “You could be right. They certainly pinch like the devil.”
He suppressed an answering smile and added spunk to her other attributes. “Why don’t you take them off?”
“My feet would get cold,” she said reasonably. “Besides, I’d trip over the hem of this coat. Your lady must be a giant.”
His lips tightened at the reminder of Shereen. If by some chance she had returned to the table and missed him, she would not be in the best of moods when he made it back upstairs. On the other hand, she wouldn’t lack for a partner to take her back out on the dance floor.
“On the contrary,” he told the woman. “Shereen’s the perfect size for a model.”
“Ah, that explains it.”
“Explains what?” he asked, curious despite himself.
She gave him another of those disarming smiles and shook her head without responding.
Sanity belatedly surfaced. He knew nothing about this puff of a woman. She could be running from the police for all he knew.
“You weren’t an invited guest, were you?”
She tipped back her head to regard him, humor glinting in her eyes.
“What gave me away, the lack of diamonds?”
“Among other things.”
“Maybe I find all that flash and dazzle boringly overdone.”
“You’re a woman,” he told her flatly. “Don’t pretend to be so cynical.”
“Chauvinist. I wouldn’t dream of it. You’ve already perfected that role.”
Stunned, he watched her step onto the last leg of the escalator. The heavy coat nearly tripped her this time. Roderick steadied her. She nodded her thanks as a subtle awareness hovered between them. He didn’t want to admit it, but she fascinated him.
“I hope you and your lady weren’t in a terrible hurry to get home. I’d hate to think I delayed you.”
“No. Shereen’s apartment isn’t far from here.”
“That’s good. Thank you, again.”
She wasn’t ignoring him now, but wariness had crept in around the edges of her expression. Roderick released the coat and her arm, unsettled by his reluctance to do so.
“You’re welcome, again. I’ll drive you home.”
He wasn’t sure who was more surprised, the woman, or himself. Shereen was probably fuming by now. Or, he conceded more honestly, still dancing with one of her many conquests. They were with a large, boisterous group of acquaintances after all. Still, he couldn’t drive off and leave her there. He needed to go back up and fetch her. First, he’d have the valet bring his car around so his mystery woman could wait inside safely. Shereen would be furious, of course, but even she would see that they couldn’t just leave her at this hour of the night.
Where was her coat? Still upstairs? He could bring it down with Shereen. But before he could voice these thoughts, the two of them reached the expansive lobby. The woman stepped forward briskly, turned and slid out of the heavy fur. Lifting up on tiptoes, she placed a chaste kiss on his chin.
Once more, she’d caught him unprepared. Roderick wasn’t used to being surprised. Things generally went as he planned them. At least they had until she’d waltzed into his life. As she drew away he realized there was no artificial odor of perfume or other fragrance on her skin.
“Thanks again, hero. I’m not what you think I am, but I did need rescuing. Happy New Year.”
“Wait!”
But she didn’t wait. She dropped the heavy coat and stepped away. Automatically, Roderick caught the fur before it hit the ground. She hurried off without a backward glance, heels clattering against the marbled floor.
Roderick had every intention of pursuing her, but stunned, he found his brain still focused on the absurd bit of material she called a dress. There wasn’t much fabric involved. The high mandarin collar and long sleeves were the garment’s deceptive concession to modesty. The key-hole effect in front was so low she looked in immediate danger of disaster.
And she was built perfectly for disaster. For such a petite woman, she was incredibly full and lush. The bodice snugged her body like a layer of glittery green skin before it flared out from her waist to swirl about slender, well-shaped calves. It appeared she wasn’t wearing a thing under that dress because in back, the fabric was missing clear down to her coccyx.
“I’m not what you think I am.”
He wasn’t sure what he thought she was, but the word stripper boldly came to mind. Certainly that clingy, sparkly material begged to be stripped from her enticing form.
Roderick was irritated to find himself aroused. He curbed the impulse to chase after her and demand answers. The lady was a mass of contradictions. That sweetly innocent smile did not go with that dress.
But the body did.
He muttered a low oath. One hand returned to massage his temple as he watched her step outside. He’d managed to forget his headache while he’d been with her, but now it returned with a vengeance. Beyond the plate-glass windows of the lobby, snow billowed in the wind. It wasn’t merely snowing, it was snowing hard. And all he could think was that there was very little of anything covering all that soft bare skin.
With a curse, he strode after her. He reached the double glass doors just in time to see the bellman shut the door of a taxicab.
Roderick paused. The cab would have a heater. She wouldn’t freeze. Obviously she had somewhere to go—someplace private, no doubt—and he did not want to think about watching her strip away that clingy bit of fabric.
Roderick shook his head at the disquieting train of thought. Who cared what the woman did with her nights? Hooker, stripper, paid companion…there were plenty of lost souls in Washington, D.C.
With a growl, he started back across the concourse to the escalator. He wasn’t sure why he was angry, or why her departure left him feeling so dejected. It made no difference who she was running away from. He had problems of his own, not the least of which was getting Shereen to agree to leave the party before midnight so he could go home and relax.
Going up the escalator, he attempted to push the stranger from his thoughts. The unsettling imp would have to fend for herself. She’d already demonstrated an uncanny ability to do just that. There was no reason for concern to jab at him. Nevertheless, he couldn’t help comparing the past few minutes to the ridiculous fairy tale his sister had been so fond of as a child.
So this was how the prince had felt when the clock had struck twelve. And while Roderick would hardly consider himself a prince, the only thing missing had been the glass slipper.

Chapter Two
Melanie Andrews waited for the driver to repeat the address in heavily accented English before she settled back against the seat of the smelly cab with a hard shiver. The vehicle would have been plenty warm if she’d been wearing a coat, or even decent clothing, but she wasn’t. She thought longingly of her warm cloth coat, still inside the luxury suite on the top floor of the hotel. The coat was old, but still serviceable. Too bad she’d never see it again.
She met the driver’s expression in the rearview mirror. He smiled broadly and winked. She narrowed her eyes and gave him a hostile glare. If he had any perverted ideas about taking her someplace besides the address she’d just given him, he’d find out exactly how valuable these stiletto heels could be. He needed to pay closer attention to the worsening road conditions.
No doubt he thought she was a hooker. That’s probably what her rescuer had thought, too. This dress was enough to give anyone that impression. It was exactly the impression she’d been trying to create.
Mel sighed. She looked down at the objects in her hand and a jolt of panic tingled down her spine. She’d shoved the dead man’s keys and plastic card in the deep pocket of the fur coat, but she’d only been able to palm the card before she dropped the fur because she’d also had her rescuer’s wallet and keys in her hand. She was going to need those keys.
She stared at the garish club card and tried to fight the panic clawing at her. She’d taken the wrong bit of plastic. This was not the key card she’d removed from the dead man’s wallet. The card to get into his office building must be still inside the fur coat. Her prints were all over that bit of plastic.
Mel forced her breathing to steady. Panic was the fast road to disaster. Her prints weren’t on file anywhere and the model wouldn’t know what the card was or where it had come from when she did discover the thing. She’d probably toss it out without a second thought. Besides, there was nothing Mel could do about the situation at the moment. She didn’t even have a last name for the woman her rescuer had called Shereen.
Ignoring the driver’s covert glances at the front of her dress, Mel opened the well-tooled leather wallet she’d palmed. Her fingers shook, and not from the cold. She hated that she’d repaid his kindness by lifting his wallet, but she’d needed to pay for the cab ride somehow. It was galling to realize that she hadn’t planned as well as she should have. She should have pinned money inside her dress, or at least grabbed her purse when she fled. Not that there had been time for that. Getting away had been far more important than searching for her purse on the bed filled with coats and a dead man.
Mel knew her thoughts were darting about in a ridiculous manner, but thinking of other things was better than thinking about that horrible dead body and the fact that the D.C. police would soon be scouring the city for her.
She shook her head and stared at the driver’s license in her hands. Roderick Anthony Laughlin III. There was a mouthful, yet somehow the stuffy name suited him, even if it was at odds with that kiss.
She touched a finger lightly to her lips, remembering the hot press of his mouth and the answering heat that had stirred within her. The man had almost swept her off her spiked heels. For a split second Mel had lost track of everything. That had never happened to her before. It unsettled her.
Who was Roderick Laughlin?
The picture on his driver’s license didn’t do him justice. His wasn’t a handsome face. The shape was too angular, the features too boldly intense. Yet even in the picture, the sense of controlled power and self-assurance came through. From the balcony, she’d singled him out as much for his height as for his apparent destination. Yet according to his driver’s license, Roderick Laughlin was only six feet tall. He’d seemed taller. Larger.
Safe.
How crazy was that? Claire was right. She needed to get out more. Meeting interesting men was not easy when one was stuck in a kitchen day after day.
Of course, it would be even harder to do from inside a jail cell.
Mel sighed. Roderick Laughlin’s leanness had been deceptive. There had been undeniable strength in the rippled muscles she’d felt beneath that perfectly fitted tuxedo jacket. Why was it men always looked so appealing in a tuxedo?
Mel shook aside that thought. Her slight frame tended to give some men the mistaken belief she needed to be shielded and protected. She was willing to use that impression when it suited her purposes, like tonight, but mostly coddling annoyed her. Roderick Laughlin hadn’t annoyed her. Instead he’d made her sharply aware of her femininity.
That had been some kiss.
Mel yanked her thoughts from that path, too, and flipped to the compartment holding his money. The unanticipated wad of bills made her bite her lower lip to stifle a gasp of dismay. Didn’t the man believe in banks and credit cards?
Wryly, she wondered what she had expected. A bash like the one at that fancy hotel catered only to the rich and famous. Apparently, Roderick Laughlin was rich. How unfortunate that he chose to carry around enough cash to send her to jail for grand theft if she was caught.
She nearly laughed out loud. Grand theft was the least of her worries. The police would be far more interested in tagging her for murder than a simple lift.
“Blast!”
“You say something lady?” the driver asked.
“No!”
His stare was just this side of a leer as they stopped for a traffic light. Mel met his gaze coldly in the rearview mirror until he lowered his eyes.
Good. She did not need another problem tonight.
The evening had not gone well. At first she’d stayed close to the group she’d come in with. Then she’d spotted Harold DiAngelis across the room. She was sure she’d seen a flash of startled recognition in his eyes before she’d moved away in search of her quarry.
Except he shouldn’t have known who she was.
DiAngelis worked with Gary, but her brother didn’t like the older man. The two had never socialized. Heck, they barely spoke, from what she gathered. There was no way Gary would have mentioned her to DiAngelis.
There hadn’t been time to wonder about that then, but she was fretting over it now. DiAngelis was bound to identify her to the police. His presence at the hotel at that particular party couldn’t be coincidence. Was DiAngelis somehow involved in the theft of her brother’s program? Maybe he was even the person who had killed Carl Boswell and taken the DVD!
The taxi slid on the slick pavement as they rounded a corner. The driver swore fluently. He barely avoided a collision with a stretch of parked cars. He offered her a wink and a wide grin as he straightened out and double-parked in front of a tired-looking redbrick building.
Mel handed him the money she’d pulled from the wallet in anticipation.
“Want company?” the driver asked, his leer firmly in place.
Mel inclined her head toward the lighted window of the apartment three stories up. Even from inside the cab the sounds of a party in full swing were unmistakable.
“I’ve already got plenty of company,” she said as she handed him the money.
The man nodded acceptance, but he waited, watching her climb the stone steps to the entrance before he roared off to disappear into the swirling snowflakes. As soon as the cab was out of sight, Mel went back down and hurried along the sidewalk as fast as her borrowed too-high heels would allow.
Snow peppered her skin. In minutes she was liberally coated from her hair to the pinching points of her shoes where her frozen toes begged for mercy. She was so cold she wasn’t sure how she made it to the Metro parking lot where she’d left her car earlier.
The police would trace the cab, of course, but the building would bring them to a dead end. Now, if only she could get her reluctant engine to start! Her twelve-year-old car did not like the cold any more than she did, and the transmission was going.
Curbing her frantic need to get away from the area, Mel finally coaxed the engine to life while shivers wracked her. Nothing resembling heat came from the vents even after she pulled out of the subway parking lot. The streets were growing more treacherous by the minute. Mel didn’t have to turn on the radio to know a snow emergency ban would be in effect. That meant she’d have to find a parking place near her apartment building on one of the side streets that wasn’t deemed an emergency route. Too bad she couldn’t afford the monthly fee to park in the parking garage a block over.
By the time she reached the foyer of her apartment building, two horrifically long blocks from where she’d had to park, the new year was several minutes old and she could no longer feel the finger that pressed Claire Bradshaw’s apartment buzzer.
“Yes?” the tinny voice questioned over the speaker.
“Claire, it’s Mel. Let me in.”
The buzzer answered her plea. Teeth chattering uncontrollably, she grasped the door handle and pushed eagerly into the warmth of the foyer. Her skin burned with returning circulation as she climbed the three flights and tried to ignore the icy rivulets of water melting against her skin.
“Good Lord’a’mighty have mercy,” Claire exclaimed as Mel reached her floor, huffing between fierce shivers. “What on earth were you doing running around outside dressed like that?”
“Tempting frostbite,” she managed.
Claire tsk-tsked as she ushered Mel inside. “Where’s your coat? Never mind. Get inside before you drop.”
Her elderly neighbor ushered her into a cozy warm room. Mel heard her suck in another gasp as she got a good view of Mel’s backside.
“Good Lord,” Claire whispered. “Didn’t I tell you that dress was overkill?”
Another time, Mel might have laughed. Claire had told her as much, even though she’d only seen the dress on the hanger until now.
“I didn’t have a lot of choice. Sue has flamboyant taste.” A serious understatement. Sue had been Mel’s next-door neighbor when she first moved to D.C. Outgoing and courageous, the pretty redhead had made it impossible for Mel not to be friends with her despite how little they had in common. But her friend was exactly her size right down to the shoe size. There hadn’t been time to go shopping for something more suitable after Gary called so she’d stopped at her friend’s apartment to borrow an outfit for the party.
Fortunately, Claire hadn’t lived some seventy-odd years without learning when to give in to shock and when to get on with what needed doing.
“Into the shower,” she ordered. “You’ll have pneumonia if we don’t get you warmed up.”
“No time.”
Claire Bradshaw scowled. Without bothering to argue she went to the closet and plucked out a heavy cardigan sweater and helped Mel into the thick wool. Forcing her down into the nearest chair, her friend quickly wrapped the afghan from the couch around her legs.
Lethargy pulled at her. Mel shut her eyes and allowed herself a minute to huddle in the chair, absorbing warmth into her chilled, damp body. When Claire set a steaming cup of hot chocolate on the end table at her elbow, Mel forced her eyes open again.
“Drink every drop,” Claire ordered. “Hot chocolate warms a body faster than anything else.”
Mel tried to pick up the mug, but her hands shook too much to hold the heavy stoneware. Claire’s wrinkled face added new creases as she lifted the mug so Mel could take a sip. The liquid was hot but not scalding, and Mel drank greedily. The next time she told her hands to reach for the cup, they closed around the blessed warmth and she shuddered gratefully.
A moment later Claire produced a fluffy warm towel. She must have taken it from the small clothes dryer in her kitchen because the terry cloth was soothingly warm and smelled of fabric softener.
“Use this on your hair.”
Mel sank her hands into the thick towel with a sigh of pleasure.
“I don’t have much time,” she told her friend as she toweled her sodden hair.
“The police?” Claire asked quietly.
Mel grimaced. “I’m afraid so.”
“Did you get the disk?” Claire asked with a nod at the wallet and key case Mel had dropped on the end table.
Mel shook her head, feeling the bitter weight of defeat. “It’s a DVD, not a disk, and no. Someone beat me to it.”
“Oh, dear. What can I do?”
“I need the spare key to get inside my apartment. My key is in my coat pocket and I had to leave it behind. I have to disappear for a few days.”
“The wallet?”
Used to her friend’s verbal shorthand, Mel had no trouble understanding that question. “That isn’t the reason. The wallet didn’t come from that party.”
“You went to another party?”
“Not by choice.”
She picked up the supple leather, allowing her fingertips to stroke the soft, expensive-looking material. Claire raised questioning eyebrows and Mel lifted her shoulders trying not to think about the handsome stranger who had helped her escape.
“Carl Boswell was murdered before I got there.”
“Oh, my.”
“It gets worse. The program was gone and someone Gary works with was at the party. Harold DiAngelis. I’m pretty sure he recognized me. I caught him staring at me.”
Claire snorted and looked meaningfully down at her dress.
Mel managed a weak smile. “I wish it had been the dress, but I’m not even sure he noticed what I was wearing.”
Claire raised expressive eyebrows.
“Really. It’s no coincidence he was there, Claire. I’m betting he killed Boswell and took the program.”
“Large assumption.”
“Maybe, but you know how Gary feels about DiAngelis.”
“How would he know about Gary’s program?”
“How did he know who I am?” Reluctantly, she pushed aside the blanket and unwound the towel from her head. “I’d better go. DiAngelis is sure to put the police on to me.”
“Where’s your purse?”
“I dropped it on the bed when I searched Boswell.”
“You searched him?”
Mel shivered at the memory. At the time, she hadn’t let herself think about what she was doing. She didn’t want to think about it now, either.
“Where’s your coat?”
“I had to leave it and Sue’s purse behind.”
“Mel!”
“I wasn’t carrying ID, not that it matters now. But I do owe Sue a new purse. I need to go.”
“You’d be safe here,” Claire protested.
“I don’t think so. If DiAngelis recognized me, there’s no telling what he knows about the people connected to Gary. He may know about you, as well. Pull the shades, turn out the lights, and don’t answer the door or the phone, whatever you do.”
Mel rose to her feet, feeling woozy and more tired than she would have liked. She was still chilled and damp but her instincts were screaming at her to get moving. Claire bustled back to the kitchen and returned with Mel’s spare key.
“Where will you go?” she asked.
Once again, Mel rubbed the supple leather of the wallet. “I have a bolt-hole in mind. Don’t worry.”
“At my age, worrying is an art form.”
Mel smiled and started to remove the sweater. The older woman shook her gray curls.
“Later. Do what you have to, Mel. I’m here if I can help.”
“You already have.”
Mel hugged her friend. For just a second, she let herself inhale the older woman’s familiar powdery scent. Claire had once been her grandmother’s best friend. Now she was Mel’s.
“I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
Claire issued another ladylike snort. “You’d manage. You’re like your parents.”
“Not Grandma?”
Claire smiled. “She’d be proud of you.”
“Not after tonight’s debacle,” Mel said ruefully, “but thanks again, Claire. Oh, and happy New Year.”
“Stay safe.”
“That’s the plan.”
Mel was still smiling as she let herself inside the dark apartment across the hall. Without light, she crossed to the bedroom and began collecting what she needed. She pulled a pair of sweatpants from the dresser drawer and tugged them on over the dress. She couldn’t afford to leave the dress behind and she didn’t want to waste time removing it. Moving fast, despite the shivers plaguing her, Mel struggled into a baggy black sweatshirt that barely fit over the cumbersome sweater. The result was restrictive, but seductively warm.
She found heavy cotton socks by touch in another drawer before she reached for the shoe tree to feel for her black sneakers. Snatching underwear at random, she fumbled for the old scuffed duffel bag shoved in the back of her closet and stuffed it with the rest of the essential items.
Because she’d been listening hard the whole time, the anticipated sound of a car pulling up outside sent her rushing across the room to peer down at the sidewalk. Two men exited a long sedan that had pulled to the curb. They peered up at the building through the hurling snowflakes.
Mel knew they couldn’t see her, but she remained perfectly still anyhow until they looked away and mounted the steps. She was out of time.
Tossing the tennis shoes on top, she closed the bag, jammed her feet into black steel-toed work boots, grabbed her only other jacket and raced for the door. Claire’s buzzer shrilled. Hers a moment later. No doubt they were buzzing at random in hopes someone would let them inside. Sooner or later someone would.
Mel took time to lace her boots and relock her front door before sprinting down the hall to the laundry room at the far end. It took muscle, but she finally got the frozen window open. Tossing her coat and the bag to the ground, she climbed onto the narrow snow-covered ledge that circled the third floor. She maneuvered the window down until it snapped closed and wished she’d taken the time to pull the gloves from her coat pocket. Her fingers cooperated despite feeling numb as she worked her way along the ledge to the drainpipe. Testing the give, she found it still anchored securely. Using the pipe she worked her way down the side of the building.
A foot from the bottom, she kicked free and dropped. The wind had picked up, so snow would cover her tracks quickly. She scooped up her belongings and melted into the shadows of the neighboring building.

RODERICK WAS NOT in a good mood when he returned to the main ballroom. Shereen stood near the dance floor in animated conversation with Roderick’s most powerful competitor and that rarest of species—a wealthy, eligible bachelor like himself.
“Roderick!” Shereen greeted him when she spotted him. “Just look at my dress! It’s completely ruined! Some clumsy drunk dumped an entire glass of burgundy all over me! I don’t know what I’m going to do. I tried wiping the stains off in the bathroom, but I’m sure my dry cleaner will never be able to get them out completely.”
“Then it’s a good thing I brought your coat,” he told her.
Her perfectly plucked eyebrows arched. “You want to leave? Now?”
“It isn’t even midnight yet,” Larry Wilhelm protested.
“Wilhelm,” Roderick acknowledged the other man grudgingly.
“Don’t mind Roderick, he has a headache,” Shereen said with asperity. “I suggested he go take another aspirin or have another drink, but Roderick isn’t fond of parties, are you darling?”
“No,” he said tersely.
Deliberately, Wilhelm ran a knuckle down Shereen’s bare upper arm. “You know what they say about all business and no play, Laughlin.”
Shereen offered him a teasing smile. Roderick didn’t bother to conceal his annoyance with the pair. “I prefer to do my playing in private.”
Wilhelm raised his eyebrows mockingly. “Sorry, Laughlin, I didn’t realize I was treading on private property.”
The heck he didn’t.
“I am hardly anyone’s property,” Shereen stated archly.
Looking at the haughty arrogance in every line of her elegant body, Roderick realized how little he actually liked the woman underneath those superficial charms. Shereen was decorative and intelligent and extremely talented in the bedroom, but the world was filled with women like her. While they had suited each other for a surprising number of months now, he realized the relationship was no longer worth the effort.
Had he come to that realization because of Shereen’s apparent interest in Wilhelm, or because of a small, pointy face and two large eyes that had lit with an inner glow whenever that brilliant smile appeared?
It was an understatement to say the young woman he’d just helped wasn’t his type. She was short rather than statuesque, and far from model thin. And heaven knew she had no sense of style. Still, she intrigued him, and Roderick had always enjoyed a good puzzle.
“That was rather rude, darling,” Shereen told him as he led her away. “Larry was simply being nice by keeping me company while I waited for you.”
He didn’t have a chance to voice his opinion on that because just then the mayor and his wife flagged them down. Being rude to Wilhelm was one thing, but Roderick genuinely liked the young mayor and the group of people they were with. Shereen drifted away, leaving him sorely tempted to let her find her own way home. Good manners prevailed and they stayed until midnight after all. By the time he got Shereen out of the ballroom and onto the escalator, his headache was creeping close to migraine territory.
“…and I don’t know why we couldn’t take the elevator,” Shereen was complaining. “Escalators are so dirty.”
“Too crowded,” he told her shortly.
“This aversion you have for elevators is really quite annoying at times, you know that?”
He paused to regard her before crossing to the next set of moving steps. “If you want to take the elevator, Shereen, feel free,” he told her brusquely and turned away.
“You really are in a mood, aren’t you?” Shereen said waspishly as she hurried after him. “You’re still miffed because I was talking to Larry earlier. You know, just because you and Larry often find yourselves rivals at times, it wouldn’t have hurt you to make nice. Larry does move in all the right circles, you know. He was just telling me how his company got a juicy new contract working with Homeland Security. Instead of acting so rudely, you’d do well to encourage a relationship with him.”
Roderick didn’t look at her. “I’ll leave that to you.”
She inhaled audibly.
“Don’t tell me you were jealous, darling,” she purred after a moment.
“I won’t.”
He stepped off the escalator and moved across the tiled foyer ahead of her to hand the valet his parking ticket. Outside, snow had coated the roads, continuing its downward spiral with growing speed.
“I didn’t realize,” Shereen said in her most conciliatory tone of voice. “You were probably bidding on the same contract.”
Roderick didn’t bother to respond. She’d realized. They’d even discussed his plans. When RAL had bid on the contract and lost, he’d simply chalked it up to part of doing business. The loss had nothing to do with his instinctive dislike of the man.
Shereen fell silent beside him as they waited for the Mercedes to be brought around. Roderick barely noticed her. He was busy planning the phone call he would make first thing tomorrow morning to begin his search for the mystery woman. Anticipation had his thoughts moving briskly as the dark green sedan rolled to a stop. Roderick reached for his billfold.
And came up empty.
“Is something wrong?” Shereen asked.
“My wallet seems to be missing.” He checked the other pocket. Empty, as well. Not just his wallet, his keys were gone, as well.
Shereen frowned. “Maybe it fell out in your car,” she suggested. “When did you have it last?”
Roderick knew exactly when he’d had it last. He’d tipped the cloakroom attendant and replaced the wallet in his inner pocket. Then the mystery woman in the sparkly green dress had slid her arms around him—beneath the tuxedo jacket.
He swore out loud. The little witch had lifted his wallet and his keys and he’d never felt a thing. He couldn’t believe he’d been suckered by a pro.
“You could have dropped it upstairs. Maybe you left it at the table. We could go back up and have a look around.”
For someone who hadn’t wanted to leave a minute ago, she didn’t sound enthusiastic at the prospect of going back upstairs.
“I didn’t lose it upstairs,” he said tersely. Well, he had, but not in the way she meant. No wonder the little imp had been looking around so frantically. He wondered how many other men in the ballroom were going to find their faces red this evening.
“Are you going to call security?”
“No,” he said absently. “I know exactly what happened to it.” And he was generally such an excellent judge of character. “Would you mind tipping the man for me?”
Roderick was more annoyed than embarrassed to admit that he’d been suckered. He should have known better, of course, but she was a pro—and not the sort he’d thought. Well, hadn’t she told him she wasn’t what he’d thought?
The irony wasn’t lost on him. Roderick thought about calling the police, but he knew he wouldn’t and not just because he’d look foolish. He preferred to deal with the little pickpocket himself. Someone else might report her, of course, but it was a chance he was willing to take. She didn’t know it, but she’d handed him the perfect excuse to find her. And he would. She’d made it easy by taking a taxi. Taxi’s kept records.
“You’re in a perfectly foul mood this evening, you know that?” Shereen asked as he pulled carefully out into traffic.
“I suppose I am.”
Wisely, she fell silent, leaving him to concentrate on the road. His thoughts were busy conjuring up mock conversations with the imp when he located her. His imagination was enjoying the exercise when Shereen turned toward him again.
“I am sorry, darling,” she offered, laying a long-fingered hand on his thigh. “I didn’t appreciate how severe your headache must be. I guess you had a beastly night. I’ll make it up to you when we get to my place.”
“Save it, Shereen. You made your point earlier. Consider it taken. Right now I need to concentrate.”
She stiffened and withdrew. He could feel her amber eyes studying him in the glow of the dash lights, but he kept his focus on the road. The windshield wipers struggled to keep up with the falling snow.
They drove in tense silence until they reached her apartment complex. Instead of pulling into the parking garage as usual, he drove to the front of the building and stopped.
“Darling, I realize you’re annoyed with me and I’m sorry. I wasn’t really flirting with your archenemy, you know. Why don’t you come in and let me make it up to you? It’s far too treacherous to drive all the way into Virginia tonight.”
Her hand moved to his thigh and stroked upward.
“Goodbye, Shereen.”
The hand stopped moving and she frowned. “Pouting is most unbecoming.”
“So is using sex to get your own way.”
She recoiled instantly.
“Happy New Year,” he added sarcastically.
The flash of anger in her expression came and went so fast he barely had time to notice. She laid a placating hand on his sleeve, her frown of concern so patently phony he had to force his arm to be still.
“We’ll talk in the morning when you’re feeling better.”
“Don’t plan on it, Shereen.”
Her eyes widened as she studied his features. “You’re dumping me? You are! Why you arrogant bastard!”
Without another word, she exited the car. The slamming of the door shook loose a clump of snow from the roof. Manfully, the wipers struggled to cope as it cascaded over the windshield.
Roderick pulled away without a backward glance. He generally used more finesse when breaking off relationships, but he suspected subtlety would have been wasted on Shereen. He also suspected at least some of her anger was more for show than anything else. If he wasn’t mistaken, Shereen had already selected his replacement. Wilhelm’s pockets better be as deep as reported if he was planning to be the next in line to woo the beautiful model. Shereen didn’t come cheap.
The snowplows and salt trucks were operating with almost negligible results. The drive to her apartment had taken longer than it did in rush hour, and what was normally a fifteen-to twenty-minute trip to his place took nearly two nerve-wrenching hours as the weather continued to worsen. His headache was truly wicked by the time he pulled into his garage.
Roderick used the spare house key concealed there to let himself into the town house. As he switched the security panel back on for the night, he gave himself a mental reminder to change the code and have the door locks re-keyed. Shereen had both and could let herself in at any time. Fortunately, he didn’t have to worry about that tonight.
His headache was reaching migraine proportions by the time he kicked off his dress shoes and crossed to the stairs. He was tired. All he wanted was a hot shower and a soft bed.
He had nearly reached the upstairs hall when a sudden prickle traveled up his back to lodge at the base of his skull. Roderick stopped moving.
There was no sound out of place. No trace of smoke. The only thing he smelled was the lingering scent of nail polish remover and the bath salts Shereen favored.
Yet something was wrong.
Adrenaline replaced his headache and exhaustion. At thirty-two, he knew better than to ignore his instincts. He backed down the steps quietly.
One touch of the button on the control panel would bring the police and a security team, but he’d feel worse than a fool if he brought anyone out on a night like this and the house was empty. His security system was state-of-the-art technology. By checking the panel he could see at a glance if the system had been breached. It should have alerted him if that had been the case, even if his sister had stopped by for some reason, but it hadn’t.
Was it possible that he was suddenly developing an imagination?
Not hardly. The thief had taken his house keys along with his identification. No doubt that had raised subconscious alarms. She couldn’t use the keys to get inside without tripping the alarm, yet the sense of wrongness persisted.
Roderick made his way to the softly glowing panel and ran a diagnostic check. The system recorded no entry prior to his, but it did show a momentary interrupt in power a couple of hours ago. A power surge or a flicker in the house current? It hadn’t lasted long enough to trip his pager and alert him, yet his unease remained.
The only sound inside the house was the ticking of the huge grandfather clock in the living room. He checked the doors and windows. All secure. His senses weren’t placated.
Roderick abhorred guns, and a knife wasn’t a particularly efficient form of defense against an unknown assailant, but he wanted something in his hand before he went upstairs again. Moving to the kitchen, he crossed the tiles in his stocking feet and quietly removed a heavy skillet. Hefting it, he tested its weight. He was tired and irritable and feeling oddly theatric, but this was his home. If someone had gotten past the system somehow, they were going to regret the action.
He strode to the staircase and promptly stumbled over the shoes he’d left at the bottom. He kept himself from falling, but he’d just lost the element of surprise if someone else was inside.
Jaw set, pan swinging, Roderick mounted the steps by twos. At the top he hit the wall switch. A stream of slightly yellow illumination cast shadows on the walls. Nothing else moved. There was no sound.
He turned toward the master bedroom. The double doors yawned wide-open the way he’d left them, yet he entered cautiously. At first glance nothing appeared disturbed. He moved toward the closet and froze. Heart-pounding adrenaline shot through his system. If he hadn’t taken off his shoes downstairs he would never have felt the dampness.
Someone had walked across the carpeting with wet feet.
He gripped the pan firmly while his heart tried to drill through his chest. His palms slicked with sweat. He gazed about slowly. The bedroom was empty. So was the spacious walk-in closet.
He crossed to the master bath. The large room was a hedonistic delight. The tub sprawled on a raised dais, twice as wide and half again as long and deep as a normal tub. Jets were built into the sides so it could be operated as a whirlpool. A sinfully appealing skylight loomed overhead and there was a separate, oversized shower with multiple heads so that water could run freely over a person from both sides—or two people could share as he and Shereen had done on more than one occasion.
An enormous double vanity filled the far wall with mirrored glass. The glass was partially fogged. His blurred image stared back at him.
Running a quick finger over the inside of the tub he discovered it had been wiped but was still damp. The unmistakable scent of Shereen’s favorite bath oil mingled in the air along with the odor of nail polish remover. That was what his subconscious had tried to alert him to when he started up the stairs. Those odors shouldn’t have been there. Shereen hadn’t used the large bathroom in more than a week.
He strode back to the bedroom. This time when he surveyed the room, he did so slowly, taking in small details. His muscles contracted the moment he spotted his wallet and key case on the tall dresser. Roderick didn’t need to open the expensive leather. It seemed inevitable that his money would all be inside.
He lowered the pan. Red-stained tissues were clumped in his wastebasket. Ridiculously, he was glad. The nail color had been all wrong on her. But how had the little thief gotten past his unbeatable security system?
His legs carried him to the large guest room. He slapped the wall switch. Nothing happened. The lamp on the nightstand must have been turned off at the base. It didn’t matter. The light from the hall was adequate.
The first thing he saw was the sparkly green material lying in a heap on the floor.
The second thing he saw was the body on the bed.

Chapter Three
Mel awoke from a dreamless sleep to adrenaline-pumping fear. A large shadowy shape loomed over her. With a startled cry, she rolled away from the threat, off the other side of the bed to land on her feet. She crouched there poised to fight or flee while her brain attempted to assimilate what was happening.
A startled masculine oath ripped from the shadow’s throat. He half raised an object in his hand defensively at her cry and Mel came all the way to consciousness as memory clicked into place. She was in the guest bedroom in the town house belonging to Roderick Laughlin III. The shadow could be no one else but her host.
Actually, as her heart continued to thud a staccato beat, she wasn’t sure which of them was the more startled by the situation. She’d been taught that taking the offensive was always the best policy so she gave vent to the panic that had clawed the back of her throat.
“You idiot! You scared the heck out of me!”
He lowered the object slowly. “What?”
“You could have given me a heart attack! You should have called out or something. Don’t you know you should never startle someone awake? I thought you were an intruder.”
Speechless, he remained unmoving.
As her vision penetrated the darkened room, his shocked expression drained the remainder of her fear. She had no idea what time it was, but it felt very late, or very early, depending on the point of view. The house was dark and Roderick Laughlin still wore his tuxedo—right down to the perfectly knotted tie at his throat. Mostly backlit by the hall light, he stood there gripping what looked like a frying pan. The image was so ludicrous, Mel couldn’t help it, she giggled.
“Sorry,” she apologized quickly. “But you look ridiculous holding that skillet. Were you going to bean me over the head or did you come to offer me breakfast? Because if you’re cooking, I’m eating.”
His eyes blinked shut for a moment. “Oh, hell. You’re a fruitcake.”
“I most certainly am not!” She aimed a finger at his chest. “Listen, buddy, I’m not the one dressed in a tuxedo holding a frying pan in my guest room in the middle of the night. It is still the middle of the night, isn’t it? What time is it? And what are you doing here, anyway? Shouldn’t you and the model be ringing in the new year at her place all night?”
He shook his head like a fighter who’d taken one punch too many.
“How did you get in here?” he growled.
Uh-oh. Dangerous territory.
“Like any normal person. Through the front door. I, uh, sort of borrowed your keys.”
This time when he shook his head, she realized he’d recovered. He’d moved beyond shock to a deadly calm.
“How did you get past my security system?”
“Oh, that,” she stalled.
“Yes, that.”
When no suitable answer came to mind, Mel gave what she hoped was a negligent shrug and started moving around the bed. “You need a better system.”
He tensed.
“There is no better system,” he gritted out. “Who the devil are you?”
“Really?” she asked dubiously even though she knew darn well what he’d said was true. She’d never come across an alarm system quite like his before. Even her father would be impressed. The dratted thing had nearly defeated her.
“Look, if it makes you feel any better, it did take me several minutes to disconnect and reconnect without tripping the interrupt circuit.”
“That’s impossible,” he stated flatly.
Shrugging, she offered him a saucy grin. “If I were you, I’d make the company refund your money.”
His voice dropped another octave. “I own the company that created that system.”
“Oops.” And didn’t that just figure. Maybe she should try inserting her other foot. “Better send your people back to the drawing board.”
He closed his mouth with a snap. His gaze swept her with a force that was nearly tangible. She wouldn’t have thought it possible, but abruptly he tensed even further.
“Are you wearing my shirt?”
Mel pushed self-consciously at a flopping sleeve and glanced down at the white linen, thankful to see the material was draped decently to midthigh. Everything was properly covered so she tried for a wry smile.
“Sorry. I couldn’t find any pajamas.”
As though afraid he might be tempted to use it, he set the frying pan on the rumpled bed with exaggerated care.
“I don’t wear pajamas,” he said starkly.
“Yeah, that’s what I figured when I couldn’t find any. Normally I sleep nude, too, but I didn’t feel right doing that here…you know, being a guest in your house and all.”
“You are not a guest,” he enunciated carefully. “You are a common thief.”
And that raised her Irish once more. “I may be a lot of things, pal, but I am in no way common. And I haven’t stolen a thing from you,” she fired back. “I even replaced the ninety bucks I borrowed for cab fare.”
“Ninety dollars! What did you do, take a tour?”
“Hey! In case you’ve forgotten, it’s New Year’s Eve.”
Besides, she’d taken a series of cab rides because her car had refused to start again, but there was no point mentioning that little fact. Or how incredibly lucky she’d been to find even one cab let alone several still operating as the weather worsened.
She spread her hands. “So I was gouged, sue me. Between the holiday and the snow, I was hardly in any position to argue prices. I know I shouldn’t have borrowed your wallet and your keys, but I did return them, so no harm done.”
“And my shirt?”
“Oh, for crying out loud. It’s the middle of the night! You want it back? Fine.”
As she reached for the top button she wondered if he’d really make her take it off. Surely not. This guy was all but starched rigid. Still, the unwanted memory of their shared kiss made her usually agile fingers shake unacceptably. What if she wasn’t reading him as well as she thought?
One button.
Two.
“Stop!”
Thank heavens! One more button and she’d be wishing for a belly-button ring to distract him. She waited while he muttered something under his breath and ran a hand through his hair.
“I don’t believe this.”
“I know what you mean,” she agreed, redoing the buttons with a lot more speed than she’d managed to undo them.
Wearily, he rubbed his face. Mel noted his exhaustion and sympathized. Her own eyes felt gritty. Casting a quick glance around the room she picked up the dress that had fallen to the floor and then spotted her black sweatpants on the chair where she’d tossed them earlier.
She strode over and tugged the pants up under the shirt with faked nonchalance, conscious of his dark gaze following her every move. Given the situation, it was funny she didn’t feel more threatened.
“This has been quite a night, wouldn’t you say? What time is it, anyhow?”
“Past time for you to do some explaining.”
Mel could hardly miss the silky threat in his quiet tone even if she hadn’t noticed that the hands he’d dropped to his sides were fisted tightly.
“Who are you?” he demanded.
“That’s right, we never did get around to introductions, did we? I’m Mel.” Nervously she rerolled the long sleeve that kept falling down to cover her hand.
“Mel.”
His lack of inflection was a rattle of warning. He regarded her with an unblinking stare as he repeated her name.
“Well, Mel, what are you doing in my house at…”
He glanced down at the expensive gold watch on his wrist she’d noticed earlier. If she’d been inclined toward a life of crime that would have made a tempting target.
“…three twenty-seven in the morning? Or is it too much for me to expect a reasonable answer to that question?”
All things considered, he was taking the situation very well. He hadn’t hit her with the frying pan and he wasn’t reaching for the telephone to call the police.
Yet.
Mel knew it was more than she deserved. Although she was scared, she knew better than to let him see her fear.
“How come you aren’t calling the police?”
“An excellent question. Should I?”
“Not on my account.”
He didn’t crack a smile. She watched as one of his hands went back to his forehead to rub absently. Apparently he still had a headache. Heck, she could feel the early twinges of one herself.
“Look, I really am sorry.” She shrugged helplessly. “The truth is, I didn’t have anywhere else to go. I was hoping you and your model would spend the night at the hotel, or at least go back to her place. I figured I could return your wallet and keys and be out of here before you showed up in the morning. I didn’t expect you to come here so soon. Not in this weather.”
“Why?”
“Why didn’t I think you’d come back so soon?” She raised her eyebrows pointedly. “Or do you mean why didn’t I have anywhere else to go?”
He started to say something, shook his head and stopped.
“Why me?” he asked flatly.
She didn’t pretend to misunderstand. “You were tall and you were heading toward the exit.”
He waited, but she didn’t dare add anything else.
“Of course. That makes perfect sense,” he said mockingly after an interminable minute had passed.
“Has anyone ever told you, you do sarcasm quite well? Look, it’s late and neither of us is thinking straight right now. Why don’t you go take something for your headache? I’ll make us a cup of hot chocolate to help us sleep. We can finish playing twenty questions in the morning.”
She moved to brush past him even though she’d known it wasn’t going to be that simple. He stopped her in her tracks simply by snagging her arm. The man had a powerful grip, but she was relieved to find he knew exactly how much pressure to exert to hold her still without hurting.
“Where do you think you’re going?”
Mel froze and her heart pulsed a rapid staccato. Could he see through her brave talk? Did he know how badly she was quaking inside? She was totally in the wrong here and she knew it. He had every right to call the police and have her arrested. She had to keep reminding herself that any show of fear was a weakness that might just send his hand reaching for the nearest telephone. Best to keep him off base—if she could. “To your kitchen. I could use a pain reliever myself and I can’t take them on an empty stomach.”
This close to him again she realized that his tuxedo still held the faintest trace of cigarette smoke and a much stronger floral perfume odor that she wasn’t familiar with. The last wasn’t terribly surprising since it had probably come from the girlfriend and was bound to cost more than Mel would think of spending even if she wore perfume.
Dark, tired eyes stared down at her. They mirrored his headache and exhaustion, but once again she was reminded that this was no mark. Roderick Laughlin III was a formidable adversary.
“Look, trust me,” she told him, making no effort to pull away. “I’m not going anywhere dressed like this. We both need sleep.”
“Trust you?”
His lips curled cynically and his eyes bored into hers.
“Interesting concept…Mel. Tell me why I should trust a pickpocket who dresses like a whore and enters my house illegally in the dead of the night.”
Her body went rigid under the lash of his words. Before she could formulate a reply, he released her arm to rub at his eyes with the heels of his palms.
“Forget it. You’ve had plenty of time to strip the place bare if that was your intention. You’re right. I need sleep. I do not intend to stand here talking to a crazy person at this hour of the morning.”
“You know, a lesser person might take umbrage with that statement. I, however, will let it pass.” She reached down to lift the frying pan from the bed. “Have you eaten recently? I’m thinking maybe a light omelet and some hot chocolate.”
Mel started for the hall. She didn’t bother to turn around to see if he was following her. The answer was not in question.
His kitchen was a dream for someone who loved to cook. Real cocoa, whole milk, even marshmallows were available in his well-stocked pantry. She started warming the milk and returned to the refrigerator.
“Oh, my. I do love a man with a well-stocked larder. Leftover ham!”
“Mel.”
“And look at all these exotic cheeses! You even have fresh mushrooms and a green pepper. I may have to marry you. This is fantastic!”
“Mel,” he said again from the doorway. “I’m not hungry. It’s late—or rather, very early in the morning. I don’t want breakfast.”
“That’s okay. You’ll change your mind after you taste one of my omelets. I haven’t eaten since—you know, I don’t remember when I ate last. That means it’s been far too long. That canapé I snatched earlier doesn’t count as food. Nothing more than warmed cardboard with anchovies. You’d think a five-star hotel would hire better chefs. Not my problem, but it is annoying. Anyhow, we’ll sleep better if we eat, trus—honest. The omelet will only take a minute and the food will help your headache. Unless…you don’t suffer from migraines, do you?”
He looked affronted.
“Not normally,” he said pointedly.
She tossed him a saucy grin and removed the hot milk from the burner. “Here. Stir in the cocoa while I get the omelet started.”
For a minute, she thought she’d pushed him too far. Then, without a word, he took the pan from her, lifted the tin of cocoa and set about precisely measuring the powdery mix. Relieved to have passed that hurdle, Mel continued putting ingredients together.
As Roderick mixed the cocoa he wondered when he’d lost control of the situation. Then he wondered why he wasn’t more upset. He should be phoning the police, not standing here watching her move about his kitchen as though she owned the place. What was wrong with him? But even as he asked the question, he knew why he wasn’t reaching for the telephone. She fascinated him. He’d never met anyone remotely like her before. She’d roused his curiosity to fever pitch. Well, it would be fever pitch if he wasn’t so tired. And he couldn’t bring himself to believe she was any sort of threat to him. Undoubtedly foolish, but a risk he was willing to take to get to the bottom of the enigma called Mel. He set her mug of steaming chocolate on the island and leaned back against the far counter to sip from his own mug as he watched her work. Wringing her slender neck definitely held some appeal, but he found himself alternately bemused and mesmerized by the small dynamo moving so efficiently about his kitchen as if she’d been doing so for years.
Roderick took pride in the fact that he always maintained control. He was used to being in charge, used to issuing orders and used to being obeyed. His sister often claimed he was part robot. Too bad Pansy couldn’t see him trying to deal with this slip of a woman.
“What sort of a name is that for a woman anyhow?”
“Mel? It’s short for Melanie,” she told him sweetly.
He watched her lift the pan from the burner and flip the egg concoction with a deft flick of her wrist. The eggs rose several inches, turned over and settled back down again as neatly as anything he’d ever seen. Roderick was impressed despite himself.
“Have a seat,” she told him.
“I told you I wasn’t hungry.” But he carried his mug over to the table anyhow.
“Fine, then you can watch me eat your share, too.”
Moments later she set half of a fluffy omelet in front of him along with a slice of lightly buttered toast. She settled on the chair across from him with her share.
Roderick Laughlin, wealthy, decisive chairman of the board of several dozen firms, picked up his fork and dutifully cut into the eggs. Cheese oozed from the center. It looked and smelled wonderful, he conceded. It tasted even better. Neither of them spoke until they had cleaned their plates.
“That was excellent,” he admitted. “Where did you learn to cook like that?”
“My grandmother taught me. Finish your chocolate while I clean up.”
“Leave it. My housekeeper will get the dishes in the morning.”
“Absolutely not. I clean up my own messes.”
Interesting. And telling, if true.
“Besides, if it keeps snowing like this, your housekeeper isn’t going to make it here in the morning. Don’t you give your help holidays off? Never mind. You just sit there,” she continued, hopping to her feet.
He’d forgotten Sal wouldn’t be in tomorrow, which only went to show how tired he was. But Melanie’s order to sit caused Roderick to raise an eyebrow in warning. “Has anyone ever told you you’re bossy?”
“Yep.” She lifted his plate and carried it to the sink.
“Is that why you aren’t married?”
Mel whirled, startled. “What?”
Absurdly pleased to have her on the defensive for a change, he watched her turn back to recover the fork she’d dropped into the sink.
“I’m wondering why a woman who can cook like this isn’t married.”
“Don’t ruin your image by telling me you’re some backward-thinking male chauvinist,” she said, bending to place the fork and the plate in the dishwasher.
“I won’t,” he promised, waiting to see what she’d do.
She tucked her loose hair back behind her ear and began scrubbing out the pan as he rose and sauntered over to join her at the sink.
“Why would any sane person choose to get married in this day and age?” she demanded.
He watched her scrub the helpless pan faster as her temper rose.
“Marriage is nothing more than a meaningless scrap of paper that everyone ignores until they decide to have it abolished. Then the only happy people are the lawyers.”
Rinsing the pan, she slapped it into the dishwasher with noisy force.
“The lawyers make big bucks tearing up the paper right along with people’s lives.”
She scowled, daring him to contradict her.
“Not fond of lawyers, either, I take it,” he taunted her.
“I’d rather be single,” she stated belligerently.
“So you prefer to settle for lovers?”
Her glare was meant to intimidate. Since he agreed with her in principle, he was surprised to discover her adamancy disturbed him. He wondered if her parents had been divorced and how old she’d been when it happened or if her own divorce had brought out such strong emotion.
“You’re just spoiling for a fight, aren’t you? What happened, Roddy, you strike out with the girlfriend tonight?”
He tensed as her barb struck home. “Let’s leave Shereen out of this discussion.”
“Fine with me. You’re the one who brought up the love-life scenario.”
She was good at deflecting questions, but he was better. “Who were you running from tonight, Melanie?”
“The big bad wolf.”
“After seeing you in that dress, I’m not surprised.”
She lifted the whisk she’d used to stir the omelet and aimed it at him as her chin came up defiantly.
“What’s wrong with my dress?”
“Well, for one thing, it’s missing a lot of material, in case you hadn’t noticed.”
To his shock, she suddenly giggled then turned away to rinse off the whisk. She had the most amazing giggle.
“Actually I did notice. I nearly froze to death in that dress.”
The woman knew how to lead his thoughts astray, but now was not the time to be thinking how sexy she had looked in that tempting bit of green. He forced his mind back to business.
“What were you doing there, Melanie?”
“I prefer Mel and it’s none of your business.”
“You made it my business when you lifted my wallet and elected to come here tonight.”
She turned away and began to wipe off the counters.
“Think what you like.”
She shrugged and he watched her generous, unbound breasts rise and fall beneath his shirt. Roderick had no idea what to make of this perplexing woman, but he knew he wanted to know a lot more about her.
“What do you do for a living when you aren’t out picking pockets?”
She yawned hugely, rinsed out the cloth she’d been using and draped it neatly over the sink.
“I’m a short-order cook.”
He shook his head as she turned around to face him. “If you’d said you were a chef I might believe you after that omelet but…”
“Chefs require fancy degrees these days. Cooks can get jobs anywhere. How’s your head?”
He stayed the hand that automatically started toward his temple. The headache that had plagued him all evening was now a negligible throb.
“Better.”
He heard the wonder in his voice. She smiled smugly.
“You’ll be fine after some sleep. I know I’ll feel better. Do you mind if I stay?”
“You are the most extraordinary person.”
“Thank you.”
Obviously she took that for permission because she turned and preceded him to the stairs. Roderick paused long enough to check that the burner was off, turn out the light and collect his dress shoes before following her up the stairs. At the top, she paused to wish him good-night before heading to the guest room.

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