staring at the computer when she heard a car pull up in front of the house.
Fear and anger battled within her. Anger because it might be Ian Chang, back to press his
offer of business partnership and a much more intimate relationship. Fear because she
didnt know who was out there.
With tight motions she closed Pearl Coves accounts and shut down the computer. It was
pointless to stare at the screen any more. She was so tired she was seeing double. She
hadnt slept in days, hadnt even dozed in the fifteen long hours since she had talked to
Archer Donovan. She kept hearing his voice, seeing the past....
She pushed away from the computer and headed for the living room. Before she got there, a
knock came from the front door. She froze. She knew the verandah floor near the front door
creaked, yet she hadnt heard footsteps. When she looked through one of the gauzy front
curtains, she saw the silhouette of a man. A big one. Her heart squeezed in fear.
Hannah? Its Archer Donovan.
Relief was so great it left her momentarily lightheaded. Until that instant she hadnt
realized just how much she was running on sheer nerve. Four days, five. She didnt know how
long it had been. She only knew that finally she could look at another human being and
trust him not to kill her.
And if Archers voice also made her cold with memories of the most brutal hours of her
life, she would just have to get over it. Swallowing hard, she gathered herself.
Just a moment, Hannah said.
Her voice was too hoarse, too strained, but it was the best she could do. She felt like a
doll stuffed with sand, and now the sand was running out at every seam. She fumbled with
the holt as she opened the door.
And then she could only stare. She had forgotten Archers dark male beauty, the
intelligence in his light, changeable eyes, his height and physical power, the sensual
promise of his mouth. Her husband had been a wild blond Viking. Archer was a dark angel
who made a woman want... everything.
Unnerved, she stepped back and said, Come in.
When Archer walked forward, other memories knifed through her. The controlled way he
moved, the bleak clarity of his gray eyes beneath the sharp black arch of his eyebrows,
the quickness of his hands as he shut the door all of it reminded her too vividly of the
night seven years ago when Len had almost died.
And now Len was dead anyway.
Slowly the rest of Archers appearance registered on Hannah; the fine lines at the corner
of his eyes, the shadows brought by lack of sleep, the worn jeans, the slate-gray dress
shirt with the cuffs rolled to his elbows, and what looked like coffee splattered across
the front and forgotten.
You must be exhausted, she said.
Coffee? A drink? Food?
Archer raked his fingers through his hair in a remembered gesture that sent odd echoes
through Hannah. The beard was new, as were the scattered strands of brilliant silver that
gleamed in his thick black hair. But his mouth was the same, thin and contained, always on
guard against... everything.
Coffee sounds good, he said. Food, too. Whatever you would normally have now.
But its not lunchtime where you came from. She tried to think across time zones and the
international date line. She couldnt. Is it?
White teeth gleamed in something less than a smile. No, but dont worry. Ive learned to
live wherever and whenever I am. Lunch is fine.
Hannah walked to the kitchen, aware every step of the way that a man was following her. A
big, quiet-moving man with quick hands and cold eyes. She wondered if Archer ever really
smiled. If he did, it never had happened when she was watching. But then, she had seen him
only twice before. He hadnt smiled the first time, at her wedding she wouldnt have,
either, if she had known what lay ahead. Nor had he smiled when he had arrived at her door
covered in blood and ordered her to pack.
No smiles, yet he had been everything she