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Denim and leather adorned his powerful frame, emphasizing long limbs and wide shoulders. He moved with the grace of an animal—a predator—and she held her breath as his gaze swung toward her.
Was she safe? Could he see her?
His face was in shadow, but the square jaw was visible.
He reeked of power; even in her weakened state she was able to sense the enormity of it, and a sliver of fear bled through her determination.
Something awful and tragic had happened in her Nana’s home. Had this man been involved? If so, what was the extent of his involvement and what did he want? Why had he come back?
He took a step forward into the light and her mouth went dry. A day’s worth of beard shadowed his chin. Dirty blond hair as thick as sable framed a face that was, without a doubt, the most devastatingly handsome one she’d ever seen. Ever. Hollywood had nothing on this guy.
Classic features aligned perfectly to create a face that was as arresting as the entire length of him. He was tall and brooding, with intense eyes an unusual shade of piercing gold.
Rowan knew she couldn’t take him. There was no way in hell. The man was well over six feet in height—A) she’d just tossed her heels and at five-foot-six, she didn’t even reach his chin, and B) the power that clung to him was incredibly strong. It cast a fractured light around his frame, one bled through with gold and black.
She’d never seen anything like it.
The stereo erupted once more, and Patsy’s mournful soprano sliced through the quiet. Rowan’s heart took off, banging out of control, and she tried to swallow her fear as the stranger turned fully in her direction. Sweet Mother of God, could he see her?
For one second she thought she heard her Nana’s voice whisper to her. Always keep them off kilter. Do the unexpected.
A shot of courage rolled through her and pushed Rowan into action. She fell from shadow and stepped forward. “Who the hell are you and where is my grandmother?”
Surprise flickered across his face, though it quickly disappeared. She swallowed tightly as the stranger’s eyes narrowed into twin strips of black oil. There was no trace of gold left in their depths, that ray of sunshine fled instantly. He raised his hand, and her fingers clutched the iron poker so tightly, they cramped.
She flinched as he flicked his wrist—a subtle motion—and the music silenced.
He arched a brow. “Granddaughter?”
His eyes glittered, a strange shimmer deep within their depths. His voice was low, and she detected a slight accent when he spoke. She couldn’t place it.
“I won’t ask again.” Rowan straightened, glad her voice was firm, no matter that her insides were mush. “Who are you and why is there”—she took a moment—“blood in the kitchen?” A small tremor caressed the end of her sentence, but it couldn’t be helped.
She was freaking out, scared as hell, and there was a mountain of muscle between her and freedom.
The stranger cursed. “No one mentioned a granddaughter.”
“Listen—”
His hand silenced her—an arrogant shut up, as he cocked his head to the side and frowned. “We’ve got company.”
He crossed to the window and yanked the drapes into place in one quick motion. At the same time the glow from the night-light was extinguished.
Rowan didn’t know what to think, but she was starting to get pissed off.
“This is crazy. Where is my Nana?” She took a step forward.
“Cara is … ” His voice trailed into silence, and he scowled as the windows began to shake, the panes rattling against a fresh onslaught of wind and rain that hit the glass like bullets against steel.
“She’s what?” Rowan’s eyes were huge as she stared into a face devoid of emotion. There was a coldness there that was unsettling.
“I’m sorry,” he said abruptly. “She’s dead.”
The iron poker slipped from her fingers as she stared up at the stranger. She heard the words, but her brain wasn’t translating them. Rowan shook her head, “I don’t … that can’t be, I’d know …” She couldn’t articulate the words in her mind. None of this made sense. Her eyes fell to the book on the bed, the reading glasses at its side, and she felt something inside her break.
Nana.
In that moment she knew the truth, felt the pain and the guilt. It’s my fault. The whisper slid through her mind. I never should have left.
