TWICE A HERO By Susan Krinard

“As you wish. And when I find Sinclair?”

Liam stared blindly into the garden. “He’s my problem. I’ll deal with him.”

“He’s a dangerous man, Mr. O’Shea.”

“So am I, Bauer. So am I.”

Bauer had the good sense to leave then, melting away without so much as the crunch of a footstep on the gravel path. The chill in Liam’s belly remained long after Bauer was gone, long after Liam retrieved the phaeton from the Gresham groom and drove out the gates.

He knew, now, where he needed to go. He’d done all he could for Caroline, but he had a second responsibility. One he’d never asked for. A woman who’d been in danger three times for his sake, whom he had to make safe in spite of her conniving ways and dubious motives.

He drove into the Grand Court of the Palace and his icy numbness washed away on the fierce tide of an emotion he understood.

It was impossible to be numb in Mac’s presence, impossible to forget he was alive. She flouted him, defied him, forced him to fight. And it was a fight he wanted now, a fight to make his blood beat hard and his wits regain their edge.

Not by a single shift in his expression did he reveal his purpose as he left his team in the care of hotel staff and went in search of the concierge. A quiet word and a sum of coin earned assurances of discretion and privacy.

Then he was taking the stairs two at a time, refusing the sluggish dignity of the elevator, and standing before Mac’s door.

It was locked. He thought better of breaking it down and confined himself to an ordinary knock.

Mac opened the door, took one look at his face, and started to shut it again. He wedged his foot in the door and pushed through. She retreated a few steps and then held her ground, braced like a matador waiting for the charge of a particularly nasty bull.

Liam closed the door behind him and turned the key in the lock. He looked her up and down, taking in the lacy muslin chemise that was her sole garment. His body instantly tightened. He shrugged out of his coat and tossed it over a chair.

“Well, Mac,” he said softly. “I see you’re dressed to welcome me.”

And if her gaze, brilliant and dark, was anything but welcoming, he knew that was about to change.

Chapter Nineteen

And the best of all ways

To lengthen our days

Is to steal a few hours

from the night, my dear.

—Thomas Moore

MAC KNEW SHE was in trouble. Her mind knew it, anyway; her body had an entirely different opinion.

She’d been expecting this sooner or later, but somehow Liam had still managed to take her by surprise. Here she was, wearing practically nothing and confronting around two hundred pounds of angry male.

Mac backed up toward the bed and felt behind her for the muslin wrapper she’d left there. She tugged it on without haste. He watched every move she made with a dark hunger—hunger made more potent by barely suppressed anger. Heat coiled and pooled low in her body.

“I guess you came here to… to talk about yesterday,” she said.

“Talk, Mac? Is that what you think I want?” He grabbed his tie and loosened it with a yank that spoke volumes.

Okay, Mac. You can handle this. She moved to the other side of the bed. “I don’t suppose it’ll do much good to tell you that I didn’t expect Caroline to walk in on us last night.”

“No.” He hurled his tie to the floor and began to work on the buttons of his shirt. “But we do have some unfinished business.”

Mac watched his undressing with unwilling fascination. “All I wanted was… um… to distract you—”

“You succeeded.” He unfastened his left shirt cuff.

Only too well, it seemed. Perry had set things up very carefully. Without telling Mac the full extent of his plans.

“I’m sorry it happened that way,” she said. “Whether or not you can accept it.”

He continued undressing with slow, jerky motions. “Did you know about the wine?”