Nash Wilder stood still in the darkness and listened to the sounds the bumbling intruder was making downstairs. Instinct—and everything he was—pushed him forward, into the confrontation. He pulled back instead, until he reached Ally Whitman's bedroom door at the end of the hall in the east wing of her Pennsylvania mansion.
The antique copper handle turned easily under his hand; the door didn't creak. He stepped in, onto the plush carpet, without making a sound.
She woke anyway,more >>