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"What are you doing here?" Eyes narrowed, he advanced on her. "Using your feminine charms to get what you want?"
He lunged forward with the speed of a striking snake, and grabbed a fist full of her shirt. The fabric tore, and two buttons bounced loudly on the hardwood floor. She jerked out of his grasp and backed away, keeping a careful watch on him. The man was crazed. She wasn't letting him close enough to touch her again, but she didn't want sudden movements to provoke him.
"Rebecca, Philippe, I see you've met." Desmond's voice came from behind her, and she spun to face him, anticipating another attack. "I was about to go down and see you."
"I thought you'd have come to your senses by now," Philippe said. "Didn't you listen to anything I said?"
"Did you listen to me?"
"I heard you say you'd do anything. I didn't think you were that desperate."
Desmond glanced her way. His eyes narrowed as she gathered the fabric of her gaping shirt together. No other gesture or expression betrayed his feelings, but the emerald fury blazing in his eyes was so fierce, Rebecca took an instinctive step back.
He turned from her and locked his attention on Philippe, his voice soft with unspoken menace. "Is that your opinion of me? After all these years?"
"You were upset." Philippe spread his hands. His lips twitched in a nervous smile as he backed toward the door. Desmond glided forward, each precisely placed step moving him relentlessly closer to Philippe. The madman was backing away now, but if Desmond cornered him, he might put up a fight. She sensed that neither man would pull his punches, if they ever came to blows, and she didn't want to be an innocent bystander caught in their crossfire. For once, a sense of self preservation overrode her curiosity, and she started edging toward her room.
"Last night I was upset. But now?" Desmond's hand curled into a fist. "You thought I broke my vow."
"No. Of course not." Philippe's lips quivered, shaking his smile. "She's a reporter."
"And thus without morals or rights to be used as I see fit, without regard to her consent?"
Rebecca froze, chilled by Desmond's words. They were too close to her own fears for her to leave without hearing the rest of this argument.
"A woman's body is a useful tool, one she might be willing to use to learn your secrets." Philippe scowled at her, his gaze pure venom. She'd just made a very powerful enemy.
"You overstep your bounds, brother."
Brother! As the two men glared at each other, Rebecca tried to spot a familial resemblance between them. They were the same height and basic build, although Desmond's frame was solidly
muscled, while Philippe was too thin. Instead of Desmond's striking combination of black hair and pale skin, Philippe's brown hair and darker skin made him appear muddy. But Philippe's brown eyes shone just as vividly as Desmond's green ones, and they both projected the same air of controlled force. In Philippe's case, however, the control had definitely slipped.
The tension between the two silent, staring men was so intense, Rebecca's stomach clenched in sympathetic anxiety. A child's cry broke the tableau.
"Daddy!"
Desmond jerked like a sleepwalker coming awake.
"Philippe, you're no longer welcome here. Get out."
"Daddy!"
Desmond hurried to his daughter, leaving Rebecca alone with Philippe. She edged toward the nominal safety of her room. Philippe glared at her, his lips curling back in a snarl.
"This is all your fault."
"What? I'm not— " Wait. Weren't you supposed to agree with crazy people? It might at least keep him quiet until she reached her room. "Yes. It's entirely my fault. I'm sorry."
"Sorry? No, you're not. Not yet. But you will be," he threatened. Black hatred coiled in the depths of his eyes, trying to draw her into his madness.
She turned and ran the last few feet to her room. Once inside, she slammed the door shut, and shoved the chair under the door knob. Hunched in the far corner of the bed, she clutched a pillow to her chest and watched the door.
Oh, God, she wanted out of this nut house. Yesterday. She wouldn't say a word about any of it to anyone.
The front door slammed, and she slumped down. Then her muscles started to shake. First hypnotized. Then electrocuted. Now attacked by a madman. What next?
In the living room, Desmond soothed his daughter. Although Rebecca couldn't hear his words, the reassuring timbre of his voice carried clearly. She relaxed and let the calming tone carry away her fears, hungry for the same reassurance. He would protect her and keep her safe. No one would hurt her while he was here. She had nothing to fear.
