Blackhawk Desires: Blackhawk's Betrayal. Barbara McCauley

moved to the window and stared down at the pool. “Working at the Four Winds, being here day in and day out, it’s just like a small town. We all get to know each other very well. Maybe a little too well.”

      Here it comes … Kiera held her breath.

      “It’s not easy when everyone knows your business,” Clair said. “Sometimes even before you know it.”

      How well Kiera understood—and agreed with—that. But she simply nodded.

      “I realize this is an imposition.” Biting her lip, Clair turned. A mixture of fear and hope lit her eyes. “But I need to ask a favor of you.”

       Five

      Sam sat in his car and stared at the Shangri-La’s brilliant pink neon sign. Like the beat of a song, the last two letters flickered steadily, blinking in and out … La … La … La … grating on his nerves. He tapped impatiently on his steering wheel.

      Where the hell was she?

      It was seven-fifteen, for God’s sake. He knew her lunch shift had ended almost two hours ago. On the hotel security monitor, he’d watched her walk to her white sedan in the employee garage and drive away. Even with a traffic jam—which was virtually nonexistent in Wolf River—it wouldn’t have taken her more than five minutes to drive here.

      Dammit.

      Heat lingered from the blistering day and radiated off the asphalt parking lot, cutting a sharper edge on his foul mood. You’ve gotten soft, Prescott, he told himself irritably. When he’d been in the Army, he’d run reconnaissance in a South American jungle, where mosquitoes were big enough to throw a saddle on and the humidity was so thick you could drink it. He’d lain patiently in bug-infested swamps for hours, even dodged a few bullets.

      If he could, he’d take those swamps and bullets over sitting here in this damn car, in this damn parking lot, any day.

      He swiped at the sweat on his brow, thankful he’d at least changed into a T-shirt and jeans before he’d driven over here. Even after eight years in the hotel business, he’d never completely got used to the daily suit-and-tie routine. But, like the Army, he knew it was the uniform for the job so he dealt with it.

      He glanced at his wristwatch again, was annoyed that only two minutes had passed since the last time he’d looked.

       La … La … La …

      He tapped harder, gritted his teeth, then looked up when he heard the crunch of gravel under tires. A white sedan had pulled into the motel driveway. About damn time. He reached for his keys, swore when he saw the driver of the car. Male, balding, thick glasses. Big nose.

      Wrong white sedan.

      With a heavy sigh, he settled back again, seriously considered leaving, going back to the motel and having a good stiff drink at the bar. Forget that today had ever happened.

      Right. Nothing short of death or complete amnesia could make him forget he’d kissed Kiera.

      It infuriated him he’d lost control like that. Stepped over—hell, jumped over—all boundaries. He’d been so damn careful to stay away from her the past few days. Had made a point not to speak to her, or even look in her direction, for that matter. And then in the blink of an eye, he’d blown his hard-won restraint to smithereens.

      What the hell was he supposed to do when she’d looked up at him with those sexy blue eyes? When she’d softly parted those enticing lips? When she’d swayed toward him. Walk away?

      Hell, yes.

      That’s exactly what he should have done.

      Frowning, he raked his fingers over his scalp. In spite of what some people thought, he was human.

      And stupid, he thought darkly. Not only because he’d kissed her, but because—of all places—he’d kissed her in Clair’s office.

      Clair hadn’t said word to suggest she’d seen, or suspected anything had happened between Kiera and him. But during their meeting with the Four Winds architect, when they’d been studying the blueprints for the new tower, Sam had caught Clair—more than once—staring blankly across the table. As if her mind were somewhere far away.

      Sam knew his lack of protocol could potentially put Clair and the hotel’s reputation in an awkward situation. Sexual harassment claims and lawsuits were hardly good for business. Because he’d never stepped over that boundary before, it had never been an issue for him.

      Until Kiera.

      He wished he knew what it was about the woman that intrigued him to the point of distraction. She was pretty—beautiful, even. And sexy, for damn sure. He wished the attraction were as simple as that. If it were, it would pass quickly enough. But something, some little, annoying itch between his shoulder blades, told him it was more than that. Much more.

      He sighed, sank down farther in his seat. Maybe it was the mystery surrounding her, he thought. Maybe when he’d seen that black eye, some primal need to protect had been awakened. Or maybe he’d simply been without female companionship longer than he was accustomed to. Of all the reasons, he preferred that one. It was the easiest to rectify.

      He straightened suddenly, spotted her across the parking lot, getting out of her car, her arms loaded with brown grocery bags. She’d driven right past him and he hadn’t even seen her!

      So much for his reconnaissance expertise.

      By the time he came up behind her, she had her key in her hand and was juggling the bags in her arms while she reached to unlock her door.

      “I’ll get it.”

      With a gasp, she jerked her head up and stared wide-eyed at him. “Sam!”

      He took the bags from her, nodded at the door when she just stood there, staring at him. “You going to open it?”

      “What? Oh, yes.” It took her a moment to fit the key into the lock. When she opened the door, she turned and blocked the doorway, reached for the bags. “This really isn’t a good time, maybe you can—”

      “I’m coming in, Kiera.”

      She hesitated, then stepped to the side.

      The room was spacious, with a small kitchenette, chrome dining table, box-shaped tweed sofa and a rust-colored armchair. Over the sofa, a large, framed print of a sunny, palm tree–lined beach attempted—unsuccessfully—to brighten up the drab room. An open door to the right of the sofa led to the bedroom.

      He jerked his gaze away. The last thing he wanted to think about right now was the bedroom.

      He set the groceries on the Formica kitchen counter, caught the scent of fresh herbs wafting from one of the bags, noticed two wine bottles in another. “Are you expecting company?”

      She stood by the still-open door, white-knuckling the doorknob. “Why do you ask?”

      “Why are you answering a question with a question?”

      At the sound of a car pulling into a parking space close by, Kiera quickly glanced outside, then shut the door. “Just because I’m cooking doesn’t mean I’m expecting anyone.”

      Again, she hadn’t answered his question. “You have two bottles of wine.”

      She arched an eyebrow. “Are you the wine police?”

      When he frowned at her, she sighed, then moved into the kitchen and lifted a bottle of cheap Bordeaux out of the bag.

      “One’s for drinking, one’s for cooking.” She plucked a corkscrew out of a drawer. “Why don’t you just tell me why you’re here.”

      “All right.” He watched her effortlessly open the bottle. The dark, tangy scent of the red wine drifted across the counter. “I want to know if you’d