The Danforths: Wesley, Ian & Imogene. Brenda Jackson

irritated.

      “Interested in politics, Mr. Brooks?” she asked curtly. The one thing she immediately noted was the fact that he seemed taller to her today. Taller, more overwhelming and just as sexy.

      He crossed his arms over his chest and stared at her. “No, but I am interested in you. I hope you’ve been staying out of trouble.”

      She narrowed her eyes and lifted her chin, and encountered the same ruthless glint in his gaze that had been there the night before. “My job is to report the news. That’s what I’m doing and what I’ve always done.”

      “Oh? And that includes going through someone’s trash?”

      Jasmine lifted her gaze up to the ceiling. “You have social status in this community, Mr. Brooks. Surely someone has invaded your privacy before. Do you want me to believe you’ve never been hounded by the paparazzi? What about that time last year when it was rumored that you were seeing that well-known professional model?”

      He shrugged. “That was different.”

      She lifted a dark brow. “In what way?”

      “It was different because I decided to tolerate it then, and because it was about me. You going through my garbage wasn’t about me. It was about your efforts to start a smear campaign against someone I care deeply about and respect. But I guess you probably don’t know much about care and respect.”

      She was taken aback by his assumption. “For your information I care for and respect my father deeply.”

      “Your father?”

      She couldn’t help but smile. “Yes, my father. Didn’t you think I had one?”

      He glared. “When it comes to you, I really didn’t know what to think. When I first saw you, I thought you were a homeless person.”

      She nodded, remembering how he had offered her money and food. She felt bad about that. She snapped her laptop shut and began walking. He automatically began walking beside her. “Well,” she said, trying to ignore him, “as you can see I am not homeless.”

      He raked his gaze over her. “Yeah, tell me about it.”

      She stopped walking and glanced up at him and said, “Look, I’m really sorry about that.”

      He looked into her eyes. “Are you?”

      She felt the need to clarify. “Not for going through your garbage but for you thinking I needed a handout. It was kind of you to offer me money and food.”

      “I’m usually a kind person,” he said in a low voice right beside her.

      Until he feels someone is trying to use him or is hurting someone he cares about, she thought as she began walking again. He walked silently beside her until they reached her car. She noticed he had parked next to her. He turned and looked at her. “So where to now, Ms. Carmody?”

      She shook her head. “Don’t you think you’re taking this a little too far?”

      “No further than you took things when you went through my trash,” he said leaning against his car.

      She was about to say something but at that particular moment her mobile phone rang. “Yes?”

      Her eyes widened. “When?”

      She then sighed deeply. “All right. Thanks for letting me know.” She slipped her mobile phone back into her purse and looked at him. “I just heard something that might interest you, Mr. Brooks.”

      He lifted a brow. “What?”

      “That was my boss. A definite identification has been made on the body that was found in the attic at Crofthaven.”

      Wesley straightened. “Who was it?” he inquired quietly.

      Jasmine cleared her throat. She knew how much this information meant to him. “The body was identified as Martha Jones.”

      Wesley inhaled deeply. Martha Jones had been the troubled and sickly daughter of Joyce Jones, the Danforths’ long-time housekeeper. His heart went out to Joyce.

      He met Jasmine’s gaze. “And I bet you’re determined to find Joyce Jones to get the scoop.”

      She frowned. “Yes, I’d definitely like to talk to her.”

      Wesley narrowed his gaze at her. “Don’t you ever let up? The last thing Joyce needs right now is a nosey newspaper reporter asking her questions. She probably needs this time alone.”

      Jasmine scowled. “I’m not an insensitive person.”

      He glared. “Really? You had me fooled. Only an insensitive person would have hassled Larissa about the identify of her baby’s father.”

      She placed her hands on her hips. “It’s my job to report any news-breaking stories. And I considered that news breaking. Anything that goes on in the Danforths’ household is newsworthy. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a job to do.”

      Wesley sighed. The woman was wearing on his last nerve and he forced himself to stay calm in the wake of his rising anger. He moved aside when she got into her car. He had meant what he said, he intended to be her shadow and somehow he would get through it. She would be a challenge but he’d overcome challenges before. Jasmine Carmody was nothing compared to others he’d faced. As a kid, being carted from one foster home to another had been a challenge, as well as a pain…literally.

      He had to keep his head on straight and remember that she was just a woman and he’d known plenty. But then there was something that made her stand out, something distinctively different. As he got into his car to follow her to her next destination—which he knew would be Crofthaven—the only thing he could think about was that a woman like Jasmine could mess with a man’s mind.

      His mind he could control. He hoped and prayed he could control the rest of his body.

      Although she wanted to appear cool on the outside, Jasmine was in turmoil on the inside. The more she thought about Wesley Brooks, the angrier she became. And she didn’t understand how she could be attracted to a man like him. It was disgusting.

      By the time she arrived at Crofthaven, several television news crews were there to set up for a press conference. The huge estate on the outskirts of Savannah housed a large Georgian-style mansion. The house was considered a historical landmark as it was built over one hundred years ago. The grounds surrounding Crofthaven were lush and lovely, and no doubt tended by a whole army of gardeners, Jasmine thought. Magnificent moss-covered oak trees lined the drive to the main house. The land stretched all the way to the Atlantic and Jasmine picked up the potent scent of the ocean.

      She quickly parked her car and got out, determined to find out as much information as she could. She glanced around and saw another reporter from the Savannah Morning News and waved. Brad Cabot answered her greeting with a full-fledge boyish grin. Fresh out of college, he had only been working for the paper a year and she had found him to be good company during the times they had gone out on assignments together.

      “What’s going on?” she asked the minute he walked up.

      “Not much. The family plans to make a statement in a few minutes so you got here just in time.”

      Jasmine nodded at the same time she glanced around and saw Wesley’s car pull up. Her eyes narrowed and a frown touched her lips as she watched him get out of his car. Reporters rushed over to him, wanting a statement, a comment, just about any information he could provide. Without responding to the vast number of questions being thrown at him, he steadily moved up the steps of the huge mansion toward the front door.

      Jasmine watched him, and as if he felt the heat of her gaze, he turned and looked at her. Her eyes immediately went to the strong lines of his face, especially the darkness of his eyes, the fullness of his lips and the firmness of his chin. She drew in a quick, shaky breath and her heart thumped crazily in her chest as their gazes met and held. He frowned and she felt his