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Authors: Lori Foster

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STANDING IN THE SHADOWS
by Shannon McKenna.
Available right now from Brava.
“Hi, Erin.”
That low voice sent a shock of intense awareness through her body. She stumbled back against the door.
Connor McCloud was standing right there, staring at her.
He was slouched against an ancient, battered beige Cadillac, parked in a tow zone. The stub of a glowing cigarette was pinched between his thumb and forefinger. He sank into a crouch and stubbed it out. His face was hard, and grim with what looked like controlled anger. He straightened up, looming over her. She'd forgotten how tall he was. Six foot three, or something ridiculous like that.
Her hand was pressed hard against her open mouth. She forced herself to drop it.
Head up, shoulders back, don't lock your knees,
she told herself silently. “Why are you lurking in front of my building?”
His dark brows twitched together. “I'm not lurking,” he said. “I was just having a smoke before I rang your bell.”
His tawny hair was longer and wilder than it had been at Crystal Mountain. His chiseled, angular face was even leaner. His green eyes were so brilliant against the smudges of weariness beneath them. Wind ruffled his hair around his broad shoulders. It blew across his face, and he brushed it back with his hand. The one with the brutal burn scar.
He could be a barbarian Celtic warrior heading into battle, with that hard, implacable look on his face. Stiffen his hair with lime, give him a bronze helm, a torque of twisted gold around his neck, chain mail—except that most Iron Age Celtic warriors had disdained armor to show their contempt for danger, the fussy scholar inside her reminded. They'd run naked into battle, screaming with rage and challenge.
Oh, please. Back off. Don't go there.
She didn't want that image in her head, but it was too late. She was already picturing Connor's big, hard, sinewy body. Stark naked.
Her eyes dropped, flustered. She focused on the cigarette butts that littered the ground beside his battered boots. Three of them.
She glanced up. “Three cigarettes? Looks like lurking to me.”
His face tightened. “I was just working up my nerve.”
“To ring my doorbell?” She couldn't keep the sarcasm out of her voice. “Oh, please. I'm not that scary.”
His lips twitched. “Believe me, you are. For me, you are.”
“Hmm. I'm glad I have that affect on somebody, because the rest of the world doesn't seem too impressed with me these days,” she said.
His eyes were so unwavering that the urge to babble was coming over her. “Why do you need to work up the nerve to talk to me?”
“Your last words to me were less than cordial,” he said wryly. “Something along the lines of ‘get away from me, you sick bastard.' ”
She bit her lip. “Oh, dear. Did I really say that to you?”
“It was a bad scene,” he conceded. “You were upset.”
“I'm sorry,” she said. “For the record, you didn't deserve it.”
His eyes were so intensely bright. How could such a cool color give out such an impression of heat? It scorched her face, made something clench up low and hot and tight in her body. She wrapped her arms around herself. “There were extenuating circumstances.”
“Yeah, there sure as hell were. Are you OK, Erin?”
Wind gusted around them, setting his long canvas coat flapping around his knees. She shivered and clutched her thin denim jacket tightly around her. No one had asked that question in a long time; she'd forgotten how to answer it. “Is that what you waited three whole cigarettes outside my building to ask?” she hedged.
A quick, hard shake of his head was her answer. “So . . . what, then?”
“I asked my question first,” he said.
She looked down, away, around, anywhere else, but his gaze was like a magnet, pulling her eyes back and dragging the truth right out of her. Dad used to say that McCloud was a goddamn psychic. It had made Dad nervous. Rightly so, as it happened.
“Never mind,” Connor said. “Shouldn't have asked. I need to talk to you, Erin. Can I come up to your place?”
The thought of his potent male presence filling her dingy little apartment sent shivers all down her spine. She backed up, and bumped into the wrought iron railing. “I'm, uh, on my way to visit Mom, and I'm in kind of a hurry, because the bus is about to come, so I—”
“I'll give you a ride to your mom's house. We can talk in the car.”
Oh, great. That would be even worse. Stuck all alone in a car with a huge barbarian warrior. She couldn't bear his burning scrutiny when she felt so weepy and shaky and vulnerable. She shook her head and backed away from him, toward the bus stop. “No. Sorry. Please, Connor. Just . . . stay away from me.” She turned, and fled.
“Erin.” His arms closed around her from behind. “Listen to me.”
His solid heat pressed against her body nudged her shaky nerves toward what felt like panic. “Don't touch me,” she warned. “I'll scream.”
His arms tightened around her ruthlessly. “Please. Don't,” he said. “Listen to me, Erin. Novak's broken out of prison.”
RENEE AND JAY
ZEBRA BOOKS are published by
 
Kensington Publishing Corp.
850 Third Avenue
New York, NY 10022
 
Copyright © 2003 by Lori Foster
 
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the Publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.
 
If you purchased this book without a cover you should be aware that this book is stolen property. It was reported as “unsold and destroyed” to the Publisher and neither the Author nor the Publisher has received any payment for this “stripped book.”
 
Zebra and the Z logo Reg. U.S. Pat. & TM Off.
ISBN: 978-0-8217-7512-7

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