Page 49 of Mr. Risky

But what the hell was I supposed to do? I guess the show must go on.

I had been so tired these last few days that I’d overslept, and now I was so late there was no one else in the changing room. Wishing the smell of coffee didn’t make me want to puke, I shucked my shorts and T-shirt off as quickly as I could.

The room was so quiet that my little grunts as I tried to pull on a white gown seemed extra loud.

Damn, I knew I wasn’t showing yet, but these dresses were tight as hell.

Still in my panties and bra, I flicked rapidly through the other dresses on the line.

There was very little variety, everything was designed to either fit tight or super-tight.

I would have to take off this bra, and hope I could fit into the gown.

Once again, I had such a strong sense of being watched, the tips of my nipples tingling as the cool of the changing room hit them.

“Granger?” I demanded to the walls. “I know you’re there, Granger.”

But there was no response.

I was sick of this feeling.

Usually as soon as I got out, I played in a loop all around the tables, but this time I went directly over to where Granger was smoking against the side of the house.

“Have you been creeping at me while I’m in changing room?” I demanded.

He narrowed those deadly gorgeous blue eyes at me.

“No, sweetheart. When I see your tits, you know it. Why do you think someone’s watching you?”

“Just a feeling I have,” I said. “I can’t shake the feeling that there’s someone watching me in there.”

For a moment he was stock-still, staring at me. Then, without another word, he grabbed my chin and yanked me forward, kissing me thoroughly.

“Clever girl.”

“What? What did I do?”

“I bet you’re right, my sweet songbird.”

“Right about what?”

“Mind your business. Now go out there and play until I tell you otherwise.”

Then he didn’t appear at the show at all.

The audience was buzzing with frenetic, barely-suppressed excitement, and a few of the other Sirens suggested stopping, the women pointing out the storm, the chill, the possibility of the roads getting washed out as the choppy waves hit them.

“No!” Mr. Hollingsworth insisted. “No stopping, Sirens. Play on. No storm has ever dared hit Hollingsworth House, and no storm ever will.”

Was it my imagination or was Pippa acting even more suspiciously toward me? She seemed to watch my every movement with hawk’s eyes, although Hayden was as solicitous and kind as ever.

Did she suspect the truth?

That the pregnancy test had been mine? That his baby was in my belly?

I played on as salt soaked into my hair, as the wind made eerie, wild sounds.

I played on until I heard his voice.