Dangerous Attraction Romantic Suspense Boxed Set (9 Novels from Bestselling Authors, plus Bonus Christmas Novella from NY Times Bestselling Author Rebecca York)

by Kaylea Cross

They paid her no attention. Should she try and speak to them? But what was she going to do if they answered?

  She was about to withdraw, but she kept staring at the woman. Hadn’t she seen her before—somewhere?

  Then it dawned on her. She’d seen pictures of Jordan with his grandmother, and this was her—only a younger version of the present Mrs. Campbell.

  As though the woman finally realized someone was watching, she looked toward Hannah.

  “You came,” she said, sounding relieved.

  “Yes.”

  “I’m so grateful you accepted the job. I know you can help Jordan.”

  “Why do you think so?”

  The woman laughed. “Because we’re having this impossible conversation.” She glanced at the man beside her. “You’d better go before Tom wonders who I’m talking to.”

  “Okay.”

  She backed out of the room and closed the door, feeling the strangeness of the encounter. It couldn’t have been real. Yet it had felt very real. And very important.

  What else was she going to find in this place? Starting slowly up the hall again, she opened more doors. The rooms were similar, with paneling on the walls like what she’d seen at Campbell’s Reach. Maybe the same room with updated touches like a new sofa or chair or a new Oriental rug on the floor.

  She decided this trip wasn’t productive—until she heard holiday music again. It was coming from behind the door marked in the mid-1980s. And almost blotting out the music was the sound of a crying baby.

  Feeling a mixture of anticipation and dread, she turned the knob and pushed the door open. Now she could hear the music better. It was Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer, and the room was completely different from the others, which had all been the same living room. This was a child’s nursery, furnished in a dreamy Victorian style. There was a polished wooden crib with a brightly painted animal mobile hanging overhead. A beautifully carved dresser held a small, artificial Christmas tree. Sitting in a rocking chair was a dark-haired woman, trying to quiet the baby Hannah had heard from out in the hall.

  The mid-80s. Jordan must have been a baby then. Could she be seeing him with his mother? But how? It must be like when she’d seen his grandparents.

  The woman in the rocker looked up, made eye contact, and smiled.

  “You’re here to help Jordan,” she said.

  “Yes. Where is he?”

  She looked down at the baby. “He’s right here.”

  “I mean now—that he’s an adult.”

  “He’s lost,” she said, despair in her voice. “You have to find him and bring him back before it’s too late.”

  A door opened to her right, and a man stepped into the room.

  “What are you doing?” he asked in a hard-edged voice.

  “Jordan was crying. I’m trying to get him back to sleep.”

  “Don’t coddle him.”

  “Ralph, he’s just a baby.”

  “And he’d better learn he has to rely on himself. Put him back in his crib and come back to bed.”

  The woman looked from the baby to Hannah. “You’d better go,” she mouthed.

  Hannah backed away and closed the door. In the hallway, she dragged in a breath and let it out, frustration and fear clashing inside her. Had she really seen a vision from Jordan’s past? Talked to his mother, Susan? And seen how his father wanted to raise the boy?

  She knew Ralph Campbell was a hard-driving executive who had died of a heart attack when Jordan was in his twenties. Then Susan Campbell had died of breast cancer a few years later. The father and Jordan had never gotten along, but he’d been devastated by his mother’s death. Until then, he’d defied his father by doing badly in school, driving recklessly, and doing the minimum he needed to get by at work. When his mother had died, he’d decided to make a success of his life.

  And now that life might be over—if she didn’t help him.

  A sense of urgency sent Hannah running down the hall. She considered stopping at other doors, but she let her intuition guide her as she sped past the elevator and then down into the section that must mark the twenty-first century.

  She was breathing hard when she finally stopped at the door for the current year. Was he there? Or was she making all this up?

  She listened for a long moment. Again she heard Christmas music, carols, not one of the popular songs that had invaded the holiday.

  As O Holy Night began to play, she turned the knob, pushed the door open and stepped into the room. For a moment she fought a surge of disappointment. She was in Jordan’s bedroom—back where she’d started. Or was it?

  The large four-poster was there—with a different spread. But the screen and the hospital bed were missing. And in the shadows by the fireplace, she saw a man standing very still, watching her with unnerving intensity. She dragged in a sharp breath. It was him.

  This was the moment that she had been waiting for, and a surge of relief swept through her. She’d come here to make contact with him, and finally it was happening.

  “Jordan!’”

  He tipped his head to the side, staring at her with an expression she couldn’t read. The last time she’d seen him, he’d been wearing a hospital gown. But like hers, his outfit had changed significantly. Now he was dressed in dark slacks, an open sports coat, and a white dress shirt.

  His brow wrinkled as he looked at her. “Do I know you?”

  “Did he?”

  “I’m Hannah Andrews,” she said, waiting to see if the name registered.

  Instead of showing any sign of recognition, he asked, “And what are you doing here?”

  “I’m your nurse.”

  He snorted and waved his arm impatiently. “Oh come on. I don’t need a nurse.”

  As she took a step into the room and closed the door behind her, he came out of the shadows. He looked fit and tanned, his hair mussed, the way he had looked in the pictures she’d seen—not like the man lying unconscious on the bed. But when she saw what was in his hand, she gasped.

  Chapter Six

  He was holding a gun, and he raised it, pointing it toward her.

  “Don’t,” she whispered. Could he hurt her here? She didn’t want to take the chance of finding out.

  “Who are you really?” he demanded.

  “Your nurse,” she said again.

  “Something strange is going on. Something I don’t understand, but I’m going to get to the bottom of it,” he said in a hard voice.

  Her mouth was so dry she could hardly speak, but she managed to say, “Yes, something’s going on.” She slowly raised her hand. “Please, put the gun down.”

  “Not until you answer some relevant questions. And I’ll decide whether they sent you to feed me some story.”

  “Who?”

  “Maybe Richard. Or Paula or June. Even Stephanie. I don’t know.” She heard the frustration in his voice. But at least he’d named some people who were in the house. Had they all been here before his “accident”? She wished she knew.

  “So why don’t you tell me why you’re really here?” he said.

  She swallowed hard, thinking that he wasn’t going to like the truth. And what were the chances he’d believe her? “What’s the last thing you remember?”

  His gaze turned inward. “The boat. I was out in the boat. No, I’d gone back to my office to check on…” He stopped short, looking uncertain.

  “On what?”

  His expression hardened. “On who was getting into my files.”

  “And then?” she prompted.

  He ran his free hand through his hair. “I don’t know.”

  “Someone hit you over the head and knocked you unconscious,” she supplied. “Then they dragged you down to the boat landing and left you for dead. Only Stephanie found you before the tide came in and drowned you.”

  “That’s a load of crap,” he shot back.

  “Is it? Where are you?”

  He looked around. “You can see as well as I can. In my damn bedroom.”<
br />
  “Are you sure?”

  For answer he pounded his fist against the table beside where he stood, then raised his hand, looking at the red mark.

  “You’re not sure, are you?” she asked gently.

  His expression changed. When he put the gun down on the table, she breathed out a small sigh of relief. At least he wasn’t still threatening her.

  “Tell me the truth,” he said.

  “Everything I’ve said is the truth.” She dragged in a breath and let it out. “You never woke up after the accident. You’re in a coma. And you are in your bedroom, only they moved a hospital bed in here.”

  “No,” he protested, but she caught the edge of doubt in his voice—even fear. The vulnerable expression on his face made her stomach knot.

  Slowly she walked toward him and put a hand on his arm, feeling the strong muscles under his shirt sleeve. In this dream he was in top physical condition.

  “Let’s be logical. If I’m in a coma, what are you doing here? I mean how can I be talking to you?” he asked, and she knew he was clutching for a lifeline. “Unless I made you up. Is that it? I wanted a woman in my bed, and I imagined you here?”

  “No.”

  “Then what? And why should I believe anything you say?”

  Feeling trapped by his mistrust, she fumbled for the right words. “Frank Decorah sent me here because I … have the ability to contact you. I guess to get into this dream with you.”

  “Who is Frank Decorah?”

  “A private detective who was hired by your grandmother.”

  “Grandma? What’s she got to do with this?”

  “She’s worried about you. You were e-mailing her.”

  His gaze turned inward.

  “You remember that?”

  “Yes. I just needed someone to talk to about it. I didn’t expect her to get involved.”

  “Frank Decorah knew about my special talent—to contact people who are unconscious. He asked me to get a job at Campbell’s Reach, on the nursing staff.”

  At least Jordan looked like he was listening.

  “I need to help you wake up.”

  “How?”

  Her hand tightened on his arm. “I’m not sure.”

  “That’s just great,” he said in a grating voice and turned away. Walking to the window, he swept the curtains aside and stood looking out at the ocean. She came up beside him and saw swells in the gray water and waves crashing at the base of the cliff.

  With a sigh, she pressed her face to his shoulder. “Let me help you,” she said again.

  “How?”

  “I want to know what you’re aware of. Like, a little while ago, do you remember Richard was in your room?”

  “No.”

  “You said something to me after that.”

  “How could I, if I’m in a coma?”

  “Well, you didn’t say it aloud. You said it in my mind.”

  “Oh sure.”

  “You said he was a bastard.”

  He laughed mirthlessly. “Yeah, he is.” He turned to face her, standing so close that their bodies touched, and the thought she’d had earlier came back to her. Could she wake him by forming an intimate bond with him? Or was that just an excuse to do what she’d been thinking about for days?

  Raising her face, she stared into his dark eyes. For a charged moment, neither of them moved. Before she could change her mind, she cupped the back of his head, lowered his face, and touched her lips to his.

  At first he didn’t respond. Then he accepted the contact and moved his mouth against hers before settling and pressing. She returned the pressure. When his tongue stroked the seam of her lips, she parted them.

  As she did, she felt a surge of heat as his breath mingled with hers. His tongue dipped into her mouth, playing with the inside of her lips, then the line of her teeth. She had wondered what kind of lover he would be. Now she knew he was good at kissing.

  And what other talents did he have?

  Her breath caught as his hands glided down her back and cupped her bottom.

  When he spoke, it was against her lips. “Don’t lie to me. You came to my bedroom in that provocative outfit to make love with me.”

  “No.”

  “Then what?”

  “What I said. To wake you.”

  He laughed, but the sound wasn’t nearly as harsh as when they’d been discussing Richard. “You’re waking me all right.” To emphasize the point, he pressed his hips against her, and she felt the erection straining at the front of his slacks.

  “We’re both wearing too much,” he muttered.

  Her breath caught as Jordan began to unfasten the row of buttons down the front of her gown.

  “Don’t.”

  “Why not?”

  “We shouldn’t.”

  “As I said before, then why are you in my bedroom? Did Richard think it would be fun to send you here?”

  She understood his logic, yet she still protested. Maybe because she thought she should.

  When she started to pull away, he clasped his fingers around her upper arm.

  “You responded to me.”

  “Yes,” she whispered. Emotions warred inside her.

  Sensing that he had won the argument, even if she hadn’t answered in words, he gathered her closer. “Don’t lie to me—or to yourself.”

  He had been confused and hostile when she came in. Now he had taken charge of this encounter, and she understood that this was the real Jordan Campbell, a man who never let a situation spin out of control.

  He eased far enough away to move his hand between them, touching her breasts through the silky fabric of her gown. She must not be wearing a bra, because she felt his fingers through the silk, making her nipples poke out against the material. Heat surged through her as he circled the crests with his index finger. His knowing touch was turning her brain to mush, but in some deep recess of logic, she knew she couldn’t let this continue.

  The ethics of her profession warred with the ethics of this encounter. What if this really was the way to bring him back to the real world?

  “You like that.” It was a statement, not a question. A smug statement.

  While she was deciding what to do about that, the sound of footsteps invaded the scene, and Hannah stiffened. Someone else was in the room with them. Well, maybe not this room.

  “Do you hear that?” she asked.

  “No,” he answered, yet his hand dropped back to his side as though he’d been caught snitching a Christmas cookie from a plate on the sideboard.

  Chapter Seven

  Hannah took a quick step away, reaching for the buttons at the front of her gown. But all at once she was back in the bedroom. The real bedroom, not the fantasy place where Jordan had kissed and caressed her.

  She had just lurched up and gotten to her feet when someone walked toward her from the other side of the screen. Snatching up the blood pressure cuff, Hannah reached toward Jordan, whose eyes were closed. A moment ago she’d been talking to him, kissing him. Now he was the unresponsive patient in the bed again.

  Glancing at the clock, she was astonished to see that it was already seven in the morning. Obviously the trip through the hotel had taken some time.

  Rounding the screen, Stephanie scrutinized her through narrowed eyes, then swept toward the bed. Looking down at her brother, she demanded, “What did you do to Jordan?”

  “What … what do you mean?” Hannah asked, struggling to keep her voice steady. Was there some evidence of what they’d been doing only moments ago?

  “He looks better.”

  She breathed out a little sigh. “I gave him a shave earlier. Then I checked his vital signs,” she said, wishing she could process what had happened. “And I’ve been talking to him,” she added, leaving out the rest. Her mind had joined with Jordan’s. She’d stepped into his dream. She’d done that before with other patients, but never with quite the same degree of intimacy.

  “I came to invite you to breakfast,” S
tephanie said.

  Hannah blinked, disconcerted. “Thanks, but I really shouldn’t leave my patient.”

  “Mrs. Fahrenhold will be here soon. She’ll take over.”

  Hannah nodded. She wanted to stay with Jordan and connect with him again, but she couldn’t be on shift 24-7.

  Just then, the other nurse bustled in and gave Hannah a long look. “How is he?”

  “I didn’t get a chance to make any notes. But he seems a little better.”

  “How?”

  “His color’s better.” She glanced at Jordan, wanting to determine if their encounter had made him more responsive, but she couldn’t do that now.

  And Stephanie was speaking to her again. “Take a few minutes to freshen up. Then come down to the dining room.”

  It was more like an order than an invitation.

  Hannah followed her around the screen and glanced toward the table by the fireplace. It was empty. The gun Jordan had put there had existed only in the dream. Or was it around here somewhere?

  As she stepped into the hall, she stopped short. “Uh, I haven’t seen my room yet. Where is it?”

  “Right. Come with me.”

  She followed the other woman down the hall to a room about fifty feet from Jordan’s. It was also nicely furnished, and her bags were sitting on luggage racks along one wall. The chest that the handyman had dropped in the hall was between the windows and looked out of place, like it had been stuck there as an afterthought.

  Stephanie eyed it with curiosity. “What’s that doing here?”

  “A man named Carl Padilla brought it.”

  “I thought you said you hadn’t been here earlier.”

  “I hadn’t. Mr. Padilla dropped the chest in the hall when he was delivering it. I heard him and came out to see what had happened.”

  Stephanie stared at her as though she were crazy. “You don’t need new furniture in your bedroom. It’s already fully furnished.”

  “I’m sorry. It wasn’t my idea. I have no idea who wanted it moved there.”

  “All right.” Stephanie turned and left, closing the door behind her.

  When Hannah was alone, she opened her suitcase and started shuffling through her clothing. She stopped short when she found something was missing.