Unexpected Temptation. Samantha Hunter

from her shoulder. He wanted to kiss her again but shut down the impulse. She put her hand to her mouth.

      “Oh, no!” she said, seeing the taxi leave.

      His eyes traveled to a small spot on her chest, and he saw a cluster of freckles decorating the creamy skin above her left breast. Birthmark.

      Nicky had no moles, no imperfections. No birthmarks. She never would have allowed them.

      Vanessa bit her nails. Not terribly, but enough so that she didn’t have Nicky’s neatly manicured hands. It looked like a habit she’d had for a while. Luke had missed that in the jail cell.

      This wasn’t her. It really wasn’t Nicky.

      Shame and guilt gutted him as he looked at her. Luke started to speak, but she smothered some strangled sound and fled.

      He couldn’t blame her, but neither could he let her go.

      “Vanessa, wait,” he called after her.

      He had to make sure that she was okay after what he’d done. She hailed another cab, running out into traffic to do so, and Luke didn’t catch her before she slammed the door shut and the car raced away.

      He didn’t plan to let her off the hook yet. While she might not be Nicky—a realization that he was still dealing with—there was something going on. She was connected to Nicky somehow. That the two women looked so much alike couldn’t be sheer coincidence.

      Luke hailed the next cab and paid the guy extra to step on it. Apparently, he wasn’t the only one who thought that Vanessa Grant was really Nicole Brooks, and whoever else was after her wanted her dead. He owed it to her not to let that happen.

      * * *

      VANESSA WALKED into the hotel room and breathed a sigh of relief. It was pretty nice, and it even had a view of the Gulf of Mexico. Luckily, it was midsummer, which was not tourist season in Florida, so the hotels were not full and the rates were low. In the cab, she’d made some phone calls and verified with her insurance that they would cover an apartment or room rental for her until her house was assessed and rebuilt. Until then, this would do.

      She’d also called the detective who said her car would now be caught up in evidence for a while, so she had to rent one through the hotel. Hopefully, she could get her car back sooner than later.

      She’d picked up some inexpensive clothes at a store close to the hotel and had treated herself to her favorite seafood takeout.

      She was starving.

      A shower and getting dressed would have to wait—she still had some time before she had to be at the school. Digging into the delectable fried shrimp, potatoes and a side salad, Vanessa nearly moaned at how good it all tasted. Maybe it was true—a near-death experience made everything sweeter and more intense.

      Like that kiss with Luke Berringer?

      That had been intense. Strange, unexpected, a bit scary and the best kiss she’d ever had. Too bad it was with a crazy stalker man.

      Not that she’d had tons of kisses, but she did her share of dating, and that man kissed like his life depended on it. Vanessa had responded simply because it felt so good. It shouldn’t have, but it did.

      Still, what decent, sane man kissed a woman he didn’t know in the middle of a parking lot?

      It was a keen reminder that this man, no matter what his credentials were, was not okay. Something was very wrong there, whether he had anything to do with the bombing or not. She wondered if she shouldn’t call the detective back and let him know what happened.

      Though it would be hard to explain why she’d let him kiss her until things started getting too heated. Was there such a thing as post-traumatic kissing?

      No, she’d keep it to herself, unless he came around again. If that happened, she would have to report him and hopefully the police would listen this time.

      Finishing off her dinner, she headed for the shower, emerging refreshed and more energized. Until she looked in the mirror. Several small scratches covered her skin on her face and neck, and she had a dark bruise on her left shoulder and a smaller one on her chin. Her eye was lightly purple at the edge. How was she going to explain that?

      After she was dressed, she stood at the table by the window to pick up her bag. She paused as something moved in the corner of her vision.

      Looking down through a crack in the curtain, she saw him—or at least, she saw something. Someone. Was someone down there, watching her?

      Shivers ran over her skin, and she yanked the curtains shut, suddenly afraid to leave the room. What if it was Luke Berringer, following her? How could he have? What if it was the person who tried to blow her up?

      Or what, her sanity challenged, if it was simply an employee or guest of the hotel out for a smoke?

      Forcing herself to breathe more normally, she gathered up her things and left. The clerk had the rental keys and told her where her car was parked. No one was in the lot except for a valet who had no customers, so he was sweeping the front entrance. Nothing to fear.

      She relaxed slightly, determined to leave the events of the day behind her temporarily. She would have to tell the school, of course, and let them know what was going on, her new address and so forth. But for a few hours, she could return to her normal life. She craved that more than anything.

      As soon as she arrived at the school, Vanessa realized it was not going to happen. The second she entered the lot, a news reporter approached the car and a camera flashed in her eyes.

      “What—what are you doing?”

      “Ms. Grant, can you tell us why there was an attempt on your life? Do you think you should be here? Aren’t you endangering the children here at the school?”

      Vanessa gaped in the face of the questions, shocked and wordless. Two of her teacher friends, Donna and Juanita, hurried her into the school, leaving the reporters behind.

      “Oh, honey, we’ve been so worried!” Donna said, pulling her into a hug and no sooner did she let go than Juanita did the same.

      “Where have you been? We’ve been calling and calling,” Juanita asked.

      “I—I guess you know then...what happened.”

      The two women looked at her as if she were crazy.

      “Vanessa, what happened today is the biggest story in the local news. Everyone knows. It might even have gone national. It’s not every day a person’s house gets blown up and they barely escape it,” Donna said, putting a calming hand on her arm. “Someone taped it on their phone, and it showed a guy pushing you out of the way—who was he? He was hot.”

      Vanessa shook her head.

      “Of course it would be news. I guess I wasn’t thinking.”

      “You’re confused. You should be at the hospital or protected by the police. Who would do this? Is it that creep you dated last fall, do you think?” Juanita asked.

      Vanessa’s head swam. “I don’t know, but no, I don’t think it was Kevin.”

      Kevin was a high school–basketball coach who turned out to be married, much to Vanessa’s surprise. But he was a phys-ed guy, not an explosives expert.

      “So who was that man who saved you?”

      Vanessa took a deep breath, settling her frazzled nerves as much as possible. “I don’t know. I mean, I know now, but he was a stranger.”

      She wasn’t about to get into her interactions with Luke Berringer.

      “If he’d saved my life, I’d make sure he wasn’t a stranger for long,” Donna said with a humorous snort.

      “Listen, you guys, I don’t mean to be standoffish, but it’s been a difficult day. We can talk about this later. Right now, I want to work. To do something normal. See my kids, talk about