at three in the morning, but that was his problem. In fact, he deserved it after what he had done to her. She was not going to forgive him readily for participating in the family conspiracy to marry her off to Owen Sutherland. Even if he had thought it was in her best interests.
Her brother could be as overbearing and paternalistic toward her as everyone else in the clan but Angie knew from past experience that he would level with her if she asked a point-blank question. And she intended to do exactly that tonight.
She let herself into the hall and closed the door gently behind her. Hurriedly she slipped into her coral-colored robe and slippers. Then she stood still for a moment, allowing her eyes to adjust to the darkness. There was a faint light glowing at the top of the stairs. Someone had obviously seen the wisdom of illuminating such a treacherous area at night. The soft glow would guide her.
Angie trailed silently along the hall then started cautiously down the stairs. She moved slowly, testing each carpeted tread for squeaks before putting her full weight on it.
At the foot of the stairs she paused again, orienting herself. She recalled seeing a phone in the kitchen and another in the study Owen said he occasionally used as an office. There were probably others but she did not want to traipse through the big house searching for them. Owen’s study was closer than the kitchen. Angie turned toward it.
The door was closed but it opened easily when she tried the knob. Angie let herself into the dark room and went to the desk. The moonlight provided enough illumination for her to see a microcomputer on the desk. A telephone sat next to it.
Angie withdrew a tiny flashlight from the pocket of her robe. She held it in one hand while she picked up the receiver and began to punch out her brother’s number.
She was still on the Tucson area code when a man’s hand came out of the darkness behind Angie, cut the connection and calmly removed the phone from her fingers.
"Owen!"
"What’s the matter, Angie?" He calmly replaced the receiver in its cradle. "Couldn’t sleep?"
Angie struggled for composure. Adrenaline pumped through her, causing her to tremble violently.
"Good grief, Owen. You scared the daylights out of me."
"Did I?" He leaned negligently against the desk, his arms folded. He studied her intently in the moonlight. He had put on a pair of jeans before following her downstairs, but he was wearing nothing else. He looked menacing–and thoroughly male.
"Yes, you did and you have absolutely no right to intimidate me like this."
"Who were you calling, Angie?"
"None of your business."
"Your brother?"
She glowered at him. "I said, it’s none of your business. But, as it happens, you’re right. I was going to call Harry. He owes me some answers."
"Why don’t you try asking me the questions?" Owen suggested softly.
She lifted her chin. "Because I can’t be certain I’ll get truthful answers. Who knows what you’ll tell me? For my own good, of course."
Owen’s face hardened. "Damn it, Angie, you make it sound like you’re the victim of a conspiracy."
"That’s precisely how I feel."
"Do you have to be so melodramatic about the whole thing?"
Angie took a deep breath. "I feel I can’t trust anyone in this house. You’ve made it clear I’m virtually a prisoner here for the next three weeks. It’s plain none of your family wants me here. And it’s very obvious they all wish you had never married me. I do believe they actually have the nerve to think you married beneath yourself."
"Angie, honey–"
"I’m nervous and I’m angry and I just wanted to talk to someone from my own family. What’s wrong with that? How would you feel if you were in my position?"
Owen groaned. He reached out to hold her. He eased her stiff, resisting body gently against his hard frame. "Angie, I’m sorry things turned out this way. I never wanted it to be like this."
"Then let me go," she mumbled into his bare
Her brother could be as overbearing and paternalistic toward her as everyone else in the clan but Angie knew from past experience that he would level with her if she asked a point-blank question. And she intended to do exactly that tonight.
She let herself into the hall and closed the door gently behind her. Hurriedly she slipped into her coral-colored robe and slippers. Then she stood still for a moment, allowing her eyes to adjust to the darkness. There was a faint light glowing at the top of the stairs. Someone had obviously seen the wisdom of illuminating such a treacherous area at night. The soft glow would guide her.
Angie trailed silently along the hall then started cautiously down the stairs. She moved slowly, testing each carpeted tread for squeaks before putting her full weight on it.
At the foot of the stairs she paused again, orienting herself. She recalled seeing a phone in the kitchen and another in the study Owen said he occasionally used as an office. There were probably others but she did not want to traipse through the big house searching for them. Owen’s study was closer than the kitchen. Angie turned toward it.
The door was closed but it opened easily when she tried the knob. Angie let herself into the dark room and went to the desk. The moonlight provided enough illumination for her to see a microcomputer on the desk. A telephone sat next to it.
Angie withdrew a tiny flashlight from the pocket of her robe. She held it in one hand while she picked up the receiver and began to punch out her brother’s number.
She was still on the Tucson area code when a man’s hand came out of the darkness behind Angie, cut the connection and calmly removed the phone from her fingers.
"Owen!"
"What’s the matter, Angie?" He calmly replaced the receiver in its cradle. "Couldn’t sleep?"
Angie struggled for composure. Adrenaline pumped through her, causing her to tremble violently.
"Good grief, Owen. You scared the daylights out of me."
"Did I?" He leaned negligently against the desk, his arms folded. He studied her intently in the moonlight. He had put on a pair of jeans before following her downstairs, but he was wearing nothing else. He looked menacing–and thoroughly male.
"Yes, you did and you have absolutely no right to intimidate me like this."
"Who were you calling, Angie?"
"None of your business."
"Your brother?"
She glowered at him. "I said, it’s none of your business. But, as it happens, you’re right. I was going to call Harry. He owes me some answers."
"Why don’t you try asking me the questions?" Owen suggested softly.
She lifted her chin. "Because I can’t be certain I’ll get truthful answers. Who knows what you’ll tell me? For my own good, of course."
Owen’s face hardened. "Damn it, Angie, you make it sound like you’re the victim of a conspiracy."
"That’s precisely how I feel."
"Do you have to be so melodramatic about the whole thing?"
Angie took a deep breath. "I feel I can’t trust anyone in this house. You’ve made it clear I’m virtually a prisoner here for the next three weeks. It’s plain none of your family wants me here. And it’s very obvious they all wish you had never married me. I do believe they actually have the nerve to think you married beneath yourself."
"Angie, honey–"
"I’m nervous and I’m angry and I just wanted to talk to someone from my own family. What’s wrong with that? How would you feel if you were in my position?"
Owen groaned. He reached out to hold her. He eased her stiff, resisting body gently against his hard frame. "Angie, I’m sorry things turned out this way. I never wanted it to be like this."
"Then let me go," she mumbled into his bare
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