No Risk Refused. Cara Summers

one? Settling on a sizable stoneware pitcher, she grabbed the handle and crept softly into the hallway.

      At the top of the stairs she paused, listening again.

      Nothing.

      There was half a flight of stairs to a landing where tall stained glass windows filtered the moonlight. Once she reached it, she would be visible to anyone below in the foyer. She had to chance it. Taking a deep breath, she moved quickly down the stairs, rounded the curve of the banister, then slipped into the shadows and flattened her back against the wall.

      She made herself take slow, silent breaths—in and out—while she counted to one hundred again. And listened. Nothing moved in the large, open foyer below. Nothing made a sound.

      As seconds ticked by, she began to question whether or not she’d imagined the noise she’d heard earlier. It was an old house, she reminded herself.

      She was ready to go back to her bedroom again when she heard something. A definite creak this time, as if someone had stepped on a board.

      Seconds later, she heard it again.

      Her heart thudded against her rib cage and she tightened her grip on the handle of the pitcher.

      Security system or not, she was not alone in the house. She scanned the foyer again but the shadows didn’t budge. Step by step she started down the stairs. Slow and easy, she told herself. At the bottom she paused and listened again. To her right was a door that opened into the dining room, and an archway that led to the west wing that housed the library and the kitchen. To her left was a door that led to the main parlor.

      Wood scraped against wood, and this time the creak was loud and familiar. Adrenaline spiked and her heart thudded even harder as she pinpointed the sound. The main parlor. And she knew exactly what was making it.

      Someone was breaking into Angus One’s secret cupboard where she and Aunt Vi had put the earring. Temper surged through her, pushing fear aside. She was not going to let anyone steal that earring.

      She moved quietly toward the door to the parlor and saw that it was ajar. The crack wasn’t wide enough to see inside the room. For a couple of seconds she debated what to do. If she called out, asked who it was, she’d alert them.

      Not her best move.

      The creaking sound came again, then the scrape of wood against wood. Then nothing.

      Except for the footsteps. The carpeting muffled them, but they were getting closer. No time to debate her best move. She climbed onto the seat of a chair flanking the door and raised the pitcher over her head.

      The opening in the door slowly widened. She stopped breathing. When the figure stepped into the foyer, she brought the pitcher down hard on his head.

      He fell like a tree and the pitcher clattered and rolled across the wooden floor until it thudded into a wall.

      He wasn’t moving a muscle. And he was big. The foyer was a good twelve feet wide and the man’s body filled a great deal of it.

      Was he dead? Had she killed him? Her knees went so weak she nearly tumbled as she climbed down from the chair.

      He moaned.

      Relief had her sitting down hard in the chair. Not dead. She drew in a deep breath and the burn in her lungs told her she needed the oxygen.

      The figure on the floor moaned again, then his hand snaked out, grabbed her ankle and jerked. She fell hard, the impact singing through her as he rolled on top of her and crushed her beneath him.

      He was even bigger than she’d first thought. Still she fought. She went for his face but he blocked the move and pinned her hands over her head. His chest was like a slab of rock. So were his thighs. When she tried to kick he scissored his legs, trapping hers. Finally she screamed, but the only sound she mustered was a squeak.

      “Princess?” Releasing her hands he levered himself up, taking some of his weight off her.

      Shock was her first response. It was dark in the foyer but she knew that voice. And there was only one person who called her that. “Cam?”

      For a moment neither of them moved. Adair felt as if her mind had become a clean slate, and something was happening to her body. All the fight had gone out of it and it was softening, sort of molding itself to his. Flames ignited at every contact point.

      His body seemed to be growing even harder. She was intensely aware of every plane and angle, and the thrill of lying there beneath him was so much better than she’d ever imagined in her fantasies. His mouth was close, too. She could feel the warmth of his breath on her lips.

      Panic spurted. She had to do something. Push him away. But her muscles seemed paralyzed. And her brain wasn’t doing much better.

      She was going to have to rely on her mouth. “Get off of me.”

      When he rolled away and rose to his feet, Adair realized that she’d never said anything more contrary to her desire. She’d wanted him to continue to lie on top of her; she’d wanted his mouth on hers. She’d wanted him to touch her the way he had in the dream she’d had a few hours ago. She’d wanted …

      Stop, she said to herself.

      Get back down here, she wanted to say to him.

      “I’m going to have a hell of a headache in the morning, Princess. Are you all right?”

      The easiness of his tone and his use of the nickname he’d given her helped her to gather her thoughts. So did the fact that he’d backed a few steps away and didn’t offer her his hand as she stood up. If he had …

      Don’t go there.

      “I’m just fine.” That was a total lie. She still couldn’t feel her legs, but she managed to fist her hands on her hips. “I’ll be a lot better once you answer some questions. First, what are you doing breaking into the castle in the middle of the night and into Angus’s secret cupboard? Second, how did you even know about that cupboard? It’s a MacPherson secret. Last, but not least, where is the earring?”

      The barrage of questions made Cam smile. Even in the dimness he could see the flash of fire in her eyes. The heat they’d generated together a few seconds ago threatened to erupt again. He’d been right about the hair-trigger effect she’d have on his senses. It had taken all of his control to get up when she’d told him to. Every cell in his body had been focused on kissing her. And he’d have wanted to do a lot more than that. He still did. He was a man who trusted his impulses, went with them. In two quick strides, he could …

      As if she sensed his intentions, she took a quick step back. “Are you going to answer my questions or not?”

      She was close to the stairs and if his memory was correct, she was fast. If she ran she might get away. He might be able to let her.

      It took a wise man to know when his first impulse wasn’t his best one.

      “Well?” She tapped her foot.

      He held up a hand. “It’s taking me a few seconds to process all of the questions. If you ever decide to give up the wedding destination gig, the CIA will hire you. They can always use a good interrogator.”

      “I could use some answers.”

      “I’m here because your dad and my mom called Reid. They thought that one of us should check out the earring and the security system. I made much better time than I expected to, and I didn’t want to wake you.”

      “So you broke in?”

      “I decided to check out the security system and the earring without bothering you and your aunt Vi. The system is pretty good. It would take a pro or someone with a buddy on the inside to get through it. And since your dad mentioned that you’d put the earring in Angus’s secret cupboard, I just wanted to check and see if it was still there. It was.”

      “How did you know about the secret cupboard?”

      “My