Zoya Hart has been eluding her gold-digging stepmother for the last few years. Knowing that this woman will do anything to gain control of her and her late father's company, Zoya finds herself hiding out on a farm. Now, with a PI on her trail, Zoya'...
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Zoya recognized Roman DeRoux from the stack of pictures Miss Charamel kept in a leather box on the mantle. But he looked different in the flesh.
A little south of six feet, he wore faded jeans, topped with a fleece-lined jacket. Days worth of stubble surrounded full lips. Dark brown hair curled beneath the edge of a knit beanie while cold brown eyes stared back.
Zoya rose from the water, reached for the towel hanging on the rack next to him, and wrapped herself, tucking in the corner to secure it.
"Did you escape?"
He blinked like it was a stupid question, but it wasn't. Newspaper clippings she'd read said he'd been denied parole twice because he wouldn't admit guilt.
He clenched his teeth. "I'm asking the questions. Who are you?"
"Zoya Hart."
He half-grinned as if the name was a punchline, then snarled. "Zoya? I don't think so."
"Well, I don't care what you think. That's my name and I live here because Miss Charamel said I could."
"New owner. New rules. Get your shit and get out."
His lips barely moved, and she thought of all the villains she'd seen on The Catch, but despite his demeanor, he didn't scare her.
She dried off, folded the towel and laid it on the commode, then pushed past him into the bedroom where she took panties from the dresser and stepped into them. Next, she pulled a Madonna tee-shirt over her head. "No."
"This is my house and you're trespassing."
His voice was low-pitched, and when she faced him, his mouth clamped into a thin line. A muscle in his jaw worked. She reminded herself this was a man just out of prison, yet she still didn't feel threatened. She folded her arms under her breasts. "It's almost one o'clock. I have work tomorrow. We can talk about this in the morning."
At first, he said nothing, just scanned the full length of her body, sizing her up, and she felt more naked than she'd been minutes ago. He locked his eyes on hers, and his gaze darkened. "I'm twice your size. You know I can throw your scrawny ass out the front door and you won't be able to do anything about it."
"I know. But you won't." Turning back the covers, she crawled into bed.
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