He stepped back so suddenly then that she fell right into his arms. She jumped back.
She thought she heard him sigh, but she wasn’t sure. He turned and walked back to the bed. She kept her eyes glued to him, aware of how wobbly her legs were.
“What’s your name?”
He was picking up his things from the bed.
“Sharisse Hammond.”
“How long have you known my brother?”
“Not long.” She wanted desperately for him to leave. “Perhaps Lucas can satisfy your curiosity, Mr. Holt.”
“Do I make you that nervous?”
“Yes, you do.”
He laughed. “All right, I’m going.” But he stopped at the door, turning to pierce her once more with those bright green eyes. “I’ll stick around until Luke gets back.” Then he added softly, ominously, “It’s not finished, beautiful. Give me time. You’ll find I will do as well as Luke. Before I leave here, I’m going to prove it to you.”
The door closed, but Sharisse remained rooted where she stood until she heard him close the door to Lucas’s room. Then she ran and locked her own door.
Sixteen
Sharisse crawled out of bed at dawn, slipped on her silk robe, started the coffee, then went back to bed. That was the most she would do for Lucas’s brother. She wasn’t about to cook for him, and the less she saw of him the better.
The second time she awoke it was late morning. She decided to treat the day as any other, to ignore the fact of there being an unwelcome guest prowling the ranch.
The door to Lucas’s bedroom was open, but there was no evidence that Slade had slept there last night. The bed was made. She hoped he’d slept in the barn.
There was no sign that he had been in the kitchen, either, not even a dirty coffee cup. But the pot was nearly empty, so she couldn’t hope that he had left the ranch during the night.
She put fresh water on to weaken the coffee for herself. But before she could pour it, a pair of hands slipped round her waist, pulling her back against a hard body. A smooth chin nuzzled her neck. She nearly jumped out of her skin, she was startled so. She hadn’t heard a single sound. But a hasty glance to the side revealed that smoothly shaven face, and she sighed with relief.
“Oh, Lucas, you scared the life out of me. I thought you were—”
He laughed wickedly. “I told you it wouldn’t make any difference, beautiful. You don’t even have to close your eyes to imagine I’m him.”
She gasped and pushed him away from her. “You! You may look like him, but you’re nothing like him. You’re offensive, unscrupulous, ruthless—”
“I know, a real meanhombre,” he said smoothly. “So I guess you should learn better than to rile me.”
“You do not frighten me, Mr. Holt,” she replied haughtily.
“Well, I’ll be damned.” He whistled. “You’ve got some spunk after all.”
He pulled a chair away from the table and straddled it, facing her. Cleaned and shaved, he bore an uncanny resemblance to Lucas. They were truly identical, even to the bronze tint of their skin. But Slade didn’t have Lucas’s boyish grin or exasperating charm, which made a great deal of difference. This was a cold man, sardonic, perhaps even cruel, certainly unprincipled. Yet…she had seen this man in Lucas in a way. There were times when Lucas looked just as cold and unfeeling. Still, Lucas was human. Slade didn’t seem to be.
She turned her back on him and finished pouring her coffee.
“I bother you, don’t I?” he ventured softly.
“Yes.”
“You’ll get used to me.”
“I very much doubt that, Mr. Holt.”
“You might as well call me Slade, since you’ll be marrying into the family.”
