“Wow. Your brother and his girlfriend must be pretty successful,” Evie said as she glanced around the airy, open common areas of the house.
With its high ceilings, tiled floors, upscale furniture, and a wall of windows looking down on the city and the Hollywood sign, the place was pretty impressive.
But Rowan wasn’t into fancy furniture that was uncomfortable as hell to sit on. Nor, as he’d said, was he a big fan of heights; he rarely went out on the patio to enjoy the view. Whenever he came to visit and sat out on the patio with his brothers to smoke a cigar or drink a scotch, Rowan always chose a chair closest to the house. He didn’t like looking over and seeing nothing but empty air and huge rocks below. Especially now that he knew firsthand what a body hitting those rocks really looked like.
Cecil B had finally noticed they had a visitor and went over to check out Evie. She stood calmly and quietly, letting him sniff her to determine if she was friend or foe. A lick of her hand soon gave the answer. That wasn’t surprising considering golden retrievers in general—and Cecil B in particular—loved everyone. Standoffish, snooty Jagger would be the better guard dog…if he was a dog and could bark or growl. He did have a wicked hiss, though.
As if knowing he was being thought about and wanted to prove he was both omniscient and bipolar, the black cat leapt down from shelf onto an end table. He rubbed against Rowan’s side, meowing loudly.
“Jagger, I presume?”
He stroked the cat behind the ears, not sure if he’d get a purr or a scratch. Jagger must be happy to have him home, or sick of having just a dog for company, because he wound around Rowan’s hand, his body rumbling in satisfaction.
“You said he was a monster cat,” Evie said, her tone accusing.
To make Rowan look like more of a liar, Jagger sauntered over to their guest and rubbed against Evie’s arm, demanding attention.
“Crazy feline,” Rowan muttered.
“He’s a sweetheart,” she insisted, bending over and scratching the animal’s back. When Jagger grew restless, his fur hackling a bit, Evie dropped her hand and stepped away, realizing he’d had enough attention.
Good with animals. Something else to add to the why-I-want-her list.
He quickly fed the dog and the cat, and then led Evie to the guest room where she’d be sleeping tonight. Pushing open the door and flicking on the light, he waited until she went in and then told her where to find the bathroom.
“How many bedrooms are there?”
“Three.”
“Then why do you have to go home?” She turned around to face him. “Seriously, you don’t have to drive all the way back to your apartment. I was assuming you offered because the place was a one bedroom.”
“Aren’t you uncomfortable sharing a house with a strange man? Especially after what happened downtown?”
“You’d think that, wouldn’t you?” She slowly shook her head. “But for some reason, I don’t think of you as a stranger. And I trust you, especially given the way you saved me more than once tonight.” She ticked off her fingers, one by one. “You stopped my attacker, you carried me out of that stairwell, you got rid of the paparazzi, you enabled me to avoid going home, and you are giving me a place to spend the night.”
All five fingers spread, she lifted her other hand and ticked off one more point. “And those animals really like you, definitely a point in your favor.”
“They like you too.”
“So I guess that’s a point in mine?”
“Yeah,” he said, smiling down at her.
Here in the bright interior light, he got a better look at her perfectly shaped face, her full lips…and the bruise on her jaw that was darkening by the second.
He put his fingertips on the bottom of her chin and lifted her face to examine it more closely. He held her gently, not wanting to add any more fingerprint-shaped marks to her beautiful skin, like the ones that marred her neck and throat.
“I should’ve broken his hands,” he muttered.
She stared up at him, those big eyes bluer than the Pacific on a calm day, and licked her lips. A hint of color flushed her cheeks, and her mouth opened a tiny bit as her breaths deepened. They stood close together, her soft body brushing against his in a few places. Not intimate places…but the touch was intimate just the same.
It was a cool night, but heat suddenly spiked through him, as if he’d been blasted by an open furnace. Rowan had noticed how attractive she was right away. Now, however, he was slammed in the chest by pure sexual need.
The peach-pie fragrance of her shampoo filled his head every time he inhaled. Color rose in her cheeks, and her throat trembled as she swallowed hard. He suspected she was just as affected by the sudden heat rising between them.
The urge to catch that soft mouth and kiss her until all her dark memories of tonight were obliterated nearly overpowered him.
So much for the hero.
Rowan dropped his hand, gritting his teeth to keep himself from cursing for being weak enough to even consider kissing her.
Evie Fleming had been attacked a few short hours ago. She was a victim in need of safety and security. Not a come-on from a guy she barely knew.
He stepped back and swiped a hand through his hair.
Evie swayed a little, as if her legs had grown a bit unsteady.
“Uh, you probably want a shower or a bath—”
Jesus, don’t think about her naked, wet, pink, and so goddamned soft.
He jerked a thumb toward a closed door. “The master bedroom’s right there. There’s a big sunken tub with jets. Feel free to take advantage of it.”
“Isn’t that your room?”
He shook his head quickly. “No, I’ve been staying in the other guest room. Speaking of which, I oughta grab my stuff.”
To leave. To go home. To remove himself from temptation.
“You’re sure, Detective?”
Sure? Hell yes he was sure.
Hell no he wasn’t sure.
His brain and his body just couldn’t seem to come together to make that call.
One thing was certain, though: If he was this wound up about a stranger—a woman he was supposed to just be protecting—he needed to get out more. His recent assignment had played hell with his sex life, and it had obviously been far too long since he’d been laid.
Yeah, that was it. Being near any attractive woman would cause the same churning low in his gut and the tension shooting in waves throughout his body.
You are so full of shit.
His inner voice was both amused and disgusted. Maybe if he kept telling himself he was just an average guy who hadn’t had sex in a few months—pretending it didn’t have anything to do with her big blue eyes, that ashy-blond hair, the angel’s face, and the curvy body—he’d start to believe it.
“You really can stay here, you know.” She gazed up at him, visibly trusting, still seeing a nice cop and not recognizing the horny wolf in sheep’s clothing.
Decent guys do not take advantage of crime victims.
Right. Time to go.
“Thanks but now I’m looking forward to a night in my own bed.”
Don’t think about beds, Jesus, man.
“I’ll pick you up in the morning and take you back to your car.”
“I hate to put you to more trouble. I’ve been nothing but trouble to you.”
He shook his head. “I’m glad I was there, Evie.”
“So am I,” she whispered, stepping closer to him. “Very glad.”
Her tongue swept out to moisten her lips, and just like that, with that miniscule movement, he knew he wasn’t going to be able to sleep again until he’d tasted that mouth. It made no sense, it wasn’t wise or particularly noble, but that mouth had been driving him nuts for hours, and he just had to kiss her.
So he did.
He didn’t think about it, didn’t really plan it, didn’t worry about what would come afterward. He simply touched her chin again, lifting her face, and then brushed his l
ips against hers. Soft, slow, and easy. A kiss that wasn’t really going anywhere—couldn’t go anywhere, not if he ever wanted to think of himself as a decent guy again. No, it had no particular destination, but was a hell of a nice way to get there.
If she’d flinched, if she’d reacted with any lingering fear because of what had happened to her earlier tonight, he would immediately have stepped back. But she didn’t. It was as she’d said—she already trusted him.
She sighed and her lips parted, her tongue sliding out to delicately touch his. Every movement was molasses slow, no thrusts and frenzy, all soft and sultry. She tasted sweet, almost like those peaches he smelled in her hair.
Knowing he could get lost in that kiss, which would be a very bad idea right now, he slowly ended it. Their mouths parting, they stared at each other for a long moment, close enough to share each breath, strangers to each other mere hours ago, but now connected by a moment as tender as it was delicious.
He cleared his throat. “Uh, that was unplanned.”
“Don’t say you’re sorry,” she warned. “I needed that…needed something good to think about.”
Good? He sensed they could be great. Their chemistry screamed it.
But he just wasn’t wired to take advantage of someone in his debt or in his power. Right now, tonight, they were on unequal footing. She probably felt like she owed him something, and he wasn’t about to go any further while she felt that way.
She might be strong enough to pretend she was okay now, but he doubted she really was. Just like when her emotions had slammed into her in the stairwell, he suspected she would be hit by delayed reactions for some time to come.
Rowan wasn’t a game player, wasn’t a seducer, didn’t plan five steps ahead before taking step one. His twin was the king of the long scene, a storyboard always playing in his mind. Rowan tended to live moment by moment, but always by his own personal code. That code said it was time for him to go.
After that kiss, though, he knew one thing. Their coffee date couldn’t come soon enough.
“Okay, I have to leave.”
“You really don’t have to,” she said, the tiniest tremble in her voice. “I mean, I trust you.”
“Maybe you shouldn’t,” he admitted in a gruff whisper.
“You don’t fool me. I know a good guy when I see one.”
Maybe. But tonight he wanted her bad.
“I’ll see you in the morning.”
She huffed a breath, obviously realizing he wasn’t going to change his mind. “I really do hate that you have to go home and then turn around and come right back in eight hours.”
“It’s fine. I’ll need to bring Jagger back anyway. He might not like being stuck with a dog all day, but he likes being alone even less. I have the scratched-up furniture to prove it.”
“All right, Detective…You know,” she said with a soft laugh, “I just realized I don’t even know your first name. You rescued me, took me in, and I am still calling you by your official title.”
He smiled. “It’s Rowan.”
One of her delicate brows shot up. “Rowan?”
“I know, I know,” he said with a sigh, used to people reacting to his unusual name. He was pretty sure his mom had picked it out of an Irish history book.
Her eyes twinkled. “That sounds more like a stage name than a cop’s one.”
“I get that a lot.”
As if her words had sent an arrow of realization into her brain, she immediately gasped and jerked away from the wall to stand straight.
“Oh my God. Rowan Winchester.”
He hid a frown.
“One of the Winchester brothers.”
Yeah. And no matter how many cases he closed or how many bad guys he brought to justice, people would still immediately associate him with fast-food commercials and guest spots on Law & Order and Home Improvement.
Shit, maybe he should just go back to being George Winchester. Nobody would mistake a George for being a part of a Hollywood dynasty.
Tell that to Clooney, dumbass.
Well, that he couldn’t do. Clooney wasn’t in his circle—despite the two-episode arc Rowan had done on ER as a dying kid. Nowadays, though, mingling with the top-tier movie star set was Reece’s gig, not his. Oh, and Raine’s, considering their kid brother ran a bodyguard company specializing in protecting famous child actors.
But Rowan? Shit. He was far more comfortable staking out a gang banger in south LA or downing a few beers with his brothers in blue at a popular cop bar. If not for the fact that every surviving family member he had lived here, and he liked his job, Rowan would have gone back East years ago.
“Rowan Winchester, I just can’t believe it.” Evie stepped past him, returning to the living room, but then quickly spun around. “Oh my God, is this your brother Reece’s place? Of course it is. He’s your twin, right? He’s the one you called from the car!”
Following her, Rowan crossed his arms and leaned a shoulder against the wall. He would not have pictured Evie Fleming as the starstruck, go-gaga-over-a-movie-star type. Especially not since the movie star in question was his own damn brother. Damn it all.
Rowan and Reece didn’t really compete over women. Rowan was fully capable of getting just about any woman he wanted, all on his own. But his brother had the fame, money, and reputation to win nearly any battle. So they rarely engaged in competition, though they often joked about it.
When it came to Evie, though, he was not laughing.
If she decided to sleep in the master bedroom in an effort to get up close and personal with the famous actor’s bedsheets, he might just have to punch a hole in one of the walls of this house.
He wasn’t jealous of his twin. Not ever. Reece’s life hadn’t exactly been easy, despite his fame, success, and money.
Right now, though, hearing a woman to whom he was incredibly attracted gush about his famous brother, he could picture himself punching Reece in his perfect jaw, but making do with the cream-painted plaster instead.
“I’m right, aren’t I? That was Reece on the phone earlier? He lives here?”
“Yeah. Him and his girlfriend,” he muttered, already looking out for the spunky redhead who Rowan already considered his sister.
“I can’t believe this. A Winchester brother came to my rescue tonight.”
“I’m just a cop now. Reece is the movie star,” he bit out, hoping his tone sounded normal, not that he was, at this moment, jealous and pissed off.
Evie turned to face him, her blue eyes gleaming. For the first time, he realized her excitement wasn’t a product of starstruck awe, but something else. Something he couldn’t quite identify…until he did identify it.
It was determination. Narrow-eyed, laser-focused, totally serious, she looked like a woman on a quest.
“I know that, of course, I should have recognized you sooner. I was aware you joined the LAPD, Raine is a bodyguard, and Reece is in the movie business.”
Damn. This was going from bad to worse. He’d never have pegged her for a tabloid-trash follower either, but it sure sounded like she had an interest in his family. And she’d said she was a writer, hadn’t she? A nonfiction one.
God, had he brought a Hollywood trash-talking tell-all scandal-mongerer right into his brother’s house?
“Look, Reece is very private,” he said, seeing what he’d put in motion here. He’d brought an enemy spy right into the home camp.
If Rowan hadn’t stumbled across Evie being assaulted, he’d almost wonder if the whole thing had been a setup. But it wasn’t. The cuts on her face, the bruise on her jaw, and, oh Christ, her terror and near-hysteria when she’d finally broken down, confirmed that. This one just had to be chalked off to shitty luck and worse coincidence.
“I hope I don’t have to even ask you to respect that privacy and not take any pictures or anything,” he said.
She flinched. “I’m not a member of the paparazzi, you know.”
“You said yourself that you’re a nonficti
on writer. It sounds like you, uh, have an interest in my brother’s career. You can’t blame me for being on edge.”
“Actually, I have an interest in your whole family.”
He stiffened.
Licking her lips and clasping her hands together in front of her, Evie looked like she was preparing herself to say something he wasn’t going to like. Rowan couldn’t figure out what that might be.
Until she opened her mouth.
“I’d hoped to get to speak to one of you. You see, the current book I’m writing is about infamous Hollywood murders.”
Oh shit.
“And your family is certainly connected to a fascinating mystery.”
No, no, no. Not this. “My sister is off-limits.”
She gasped and stepped closer, lifting a supplicating hand. “Oh no, of course I wasn’t talking about your personal family tragedy.” Her head tilting in confusion, she added, “And her death, well, it was classified as—”
“Don’t,” he snapped.
Don’t say suicide. Don’t say accident.
Because nobody knew for sure. No one knew precisely how the beautiful teenage starlet had ended up on the ground far below that hotel suite in Atlanta. Nobody except the two people who had been out on the balcony that night, both of whom were long dead. Rachel Winchester and Harry Baker.
As for the third person who’d been in the hotel suite that night, his kid brother Raine, well, his childhood memories were hazy and he’d been in the bedroom when it happened. He honestly didn’t know if Rachel had jumped, if she’d fallen…or if she’d been pushed.
They would never know.
“I’m so sorry,” she said, dropping her hand and standing respectfully a few feet away. “Of course I would not intrude on a private family matter like that.”
“Then what do you want?” he asked, knowing another shoe was about to drop. What would otherwise explain her excitement at finding out who he was?
“I want to know about your former manager.”
His heart skipped a beat.
“My new book will include unsolved murders. Harry Baker worked with your family for several years, correct? And there are rumors…”
Wanting You Page 5
