Men Of Honour. Lori Foster

not?”

      “Well …” Again she looked at both men. “Okay, call me vain, but I don’t really want you to see all the bad stuff said about me or my books.”

      Chris couldn’t help but grin. “Think we’ll get the wrong impression?”

      “Of course you will.” She left her seat to rush after Dare. “Seriously. There’s no point—”

      They both stopped next to Chris. Dare touched her chin, lifting her face up and silencing her at the same time. “You promised to trust me and to do as I said.”

      “Sure. But you don’t know anything about this industry.”

      “No, but I understand you, and you’re worried that I’ll feel sorry for you.”

      She drew back, surprised.

      Chris wasn’t. In most instances, Dare was damned astute. But in this case, things were pretty obvious. Molly didn’t want sympathy after the ordeal she’d suffered, so of course she wouldn’t want it over a few internet slights.

      “Look,” Chris said, “if you said it’s routine to get slammed on occasion, I buy it. What section of the entertainment industry doesn’t get hammered on a regular basis? And besides, you have a book being made into a friggin’ movie. How awesome is that? You’re a star, and regardless of what a few reviews might say—”

      “Over three hundred reviews.”

      Dare lifted both brows. “Seriously?”

      Chris blew it off. “Whatever. You’re still a resounding success.” Rather than drag out the suspense for her, he turned back to the computer. An internet search of her name brought up plenty of hits. “Bingo. Found some sites.”

      Molly went rigid. “Fine, you two want to see all the gory details, go ahead. But you can do it without me. I’m going to bed.”

      She was almost through the kitchen doorway when Dare said, “Molly?”

      Shoulders still stiff, she paused. “What?”

      “If you need anything during the night, my room is across the hall, next to the great room.” He stared at her back. “Anything at all.”

      “Thanks.” And with that squeaky reply, Ms. Molly Alexander fled the room.

      CHAPTER EIGHT

      MOLLY LAY IN THE BED well past 2:00 a.m., trying to go to sleep and failing. At one point she got up and opened the French doors to look out at the beckoning lake. She loved water, being near it, on it or just listening to it.

      With the night so quiet, she could hear the water lapping gently at the shoreline. Crickets sang, leaves rustled and the world seemed at peace.

      Yet a strange turbulence boiled inside her. Fear, anxiety, insecurity and a sort of conspicuous yearning all left her too unsettled to sleep.

      As she went back to the bed and burrowed under the soft, warm quilts, she promised herself that tomorrow she would investigate the area. This time of year the air was crisp and everything newly green. Maybe Dare had a boat and they could go out for a ride.

      She wanted—needed—to find some perspective, to grasp some normalcy, even if short-lived.

      Once they returned to her home, what would happen? If Dare found nothing amiss, would he be … done? Would he consider it safe for her to remain there while he looked for the culprits alone?

      Shudders went over her, as much from the chill breeze blowing in as deep-boned fear.

      Finally, with her thoughts churning and an expanding uneasiness creeping in, she pushed the quilts aside and left the bed. She tried turning on the lights, but that just made her feel foolish. Pacing, she tried to figure out what to do, how to get settled—but being alone in the room kept her skin crawling.

      That awful hysteria built until she bolted from the room and, barefoot, rushed down the curving stairs. She held tightly to the railing so that she wouldn’t fall, and was grateful for the bright moonlight pouring through the windows, as well as for the tiny, glowing green security lights on monitors and alarms.

      She wanted to go to Dare’s room, but what would she say? I’m scared? No, never.

      Instead, she veered into the kitchen and decided on a glass of juice to help her calm down. And maybe she could find a cookie or two. A small snack—that’s all she needed.

      Remembering where Chris had gotten the glasses before, she went to the cabinet. The tile floor froze her feet and, maybe because of that, she trembled. Badly. Deep breathing didn’t really help.

      She found a thick mug and decided it would do; no reason to keep rummaging around, breaching Dare’s privacy. After her snack she’d sneak back to the room and stay there.

      She had just opened the refrigerator when she heard movement from behind her.

      Pure, illogical terror imploded. As she turned with a silent scream stuck in her throat, the mug dropped from her hand and broke into large chunks. Every sound seemed amplified, echoing again and again inside her thoughts.

      Vision closing in on her, she stared straight ahead—and saw Tai, the older of Dare’s two dogs, sitting on her haunches, staring back at Molly. Beside her, Sargie waited for any sign of welcome.

      Oh, dear God.

      The haze faded—and mortification leached in.

      Going weak, Molly sank down onto her knees. With tears stinging her eyes, she stared at the dogs. “You girls scared me half to death.”

      Her whisper must have sounded like an invitation, because both dogs surged forward.

      “No,” Molly hissed, holding up her hands and trying to see past the tears that kept welling. Though the broken glass from the mug hadn’t splintered too much, she didn’t want to take any chances. “Stay. Please.” She’d die if either of Dare’s pets got cut because of her ridiculous reaction.

      The overhead lights came on, blinding Molly.

      She shielded her eyes and found Dare standing there in the doorway. Hair rumpled and eyes heavy with sleep, he took her measure, looking at her there on the floor and then at the broken mug near her. His gaze came back to lock on hers.

      He wore only boxers, and he had his big bare feet braced apart.

      Molly’s heart launched into a wild, frantic rhythm. “I’m sorry,” she whispered.

      He released her from the snare of his bright blue eyes and instead called the dogs over to him. He petted them both. “You girls want to go out?”

      When both dogs enthusiastically agreed, Dare said to Molly, “Don’t move. I’ll be right back.”

      There was no emotion in his tone, no censure or surprise or … anything. She didn’t know what to make of that.

      He strode past her across the kitchen and into the family room to a back door. Frozen, humiliation choking her, Molly stayed right there on the floor. She wasn’t sure she could move.

      When he returned, she heard herself say, “Go back to bed, please,” when that was the very last thing she wanted him to do. “I’ll clean this up and—”

      “Shush, Molly.”

      That was the gentlest tone she’d ever heard from him, and it made even more tears well up and spill over. Molly pressed her fists to her damp eyes, trying to stop the flow of emotion, but all that did was choke her up more.

      She was not a weak woman. She was not a woman who sat in the middle of a kitchen floor all but begging for … what? Comfort? Company? She hated it, and at that moment, she hated herself.

      Still with her eyes covered, she sensed Dare’s movement near her, heard the clink of glass, then the closing of a cabinet.