Sandra Brown - Demon Rumm

Table of Contents

PRAISE FOR SANDRA BROWN

Romance fans will want to curl up with this one.

Boston Herald

A very fast-paced, quick read. Delightful.

Philadelphia Inquirer

Read with a hanky close by.

The Tampa Tribune

A novelist who cant write fast enough.

San Antonio Express-News

Author Sandra Brown proves herself top-notch.

Associated Press

Nobody in the 90s has had more hits.... Browns storytelling gift [is] surprisingly rare, even among crowd-pleasers.

Toronto Sun

She knows how to keep the tension high and the plot twisting and turning.

Fresno Bee

Dear Reader,

You have my wholehearted thanks for the interest andenthusiasm youve shown for my Loveswept romances overthe past decade. Im enormously pleased that the enjoyment I derived from writing them was contagious. Obviouslyyou share my fondness for love stories that always end happily and leave us with a warm inner glow.

Nothing quite equals the excitement one experienceswhen falling in love. In each romance, I tried to capturethat excitement. The settings and characters and plotschanged, but that was the recurring theme.

Something in all of us delights in lovers and their uneven pursuit of fulfillment and happiness. Indeed, the pursuit is half the fun! I became deeply involved with eachpair of lovers and their unique story. As though paying avisit to old friends for whom I played matchmaker, I oftenreread their stories myself.

I hope you enjoy this encore edition of one of my personal favorites.

SANDRA BROWN

One

I let myself in.

He hadnt known she wore eyeglasses until her head snapped up at the unexpected sound of his voice. She whipped them off and dropped them on the stack of manuscript pages lying on the Queen Anne desk in front of her. Her red pen, too, fell from her fingers onto the manuscript. One hand momentarily covered her left breast as though to still a pounding heart.

You startled me, Mr. North.

Sorry. Actually Im perfectly harmless. Compared to the bright, pristine room, he figured he looked like something that had suckled at the tattooed breast of one of Hells Angels. Her haughty expression told him he didnt belong here. Smiling covertly, he set his canvas duffel bag down near his feet and slid off his sunglasses. I knocked on the front door, but no one answered.

Maybe you should have tried the bell.

She was miffed all right, he thought. One hundred pounds... and that was a generous guess... of irritated female. Prickly broad, wasnt she? Were these first few moments going to set the tone for the next several weeks? Not if he had anything to do with it.

One of his knees unlocked, throwing his body slightly off center and into that thigh-melting, mouth-drying, heart-stopping stance that had beaten Farrah Fawcetts poster as the all-time bestseller.

Should I try another entrance? He curved his sullen mouth into the suggestive smile that was as famous as his arrogant stance. Obviously my timing was off on this one.

She didnt return his smile. Why bother? Youre in.

Right.

She stood up and walked around the desk. Not until she had taken a few steps across the terrazzo tile floor did he notice that she was barefoot. She caught him looking at her bare feet, but she didnt apologize for them or go through any of those flustered motions and babbling apologies that women usually do when caught in dishabille.

Her small face was set in an expression that strongly suggested, If you dont like my bare feet, thats just too damn bad.

What she was better off not knowing was that he liked her bare feet. A lot. So far, he liked everything he saw, from the top of her glossy, dark hair to those ten, tempting toes. She was wearing white jeans, which fitted her a tad too well. In contrast, her white shirt was at least three sizes too large for her, somehow far sexier than a skin-hugging T-shirt would have been. The wide sleeves had been rolled back almost to her elbows, and the hem was brushing her thighs. It looked like a hand-me-down mans dress shirt. He wondered if it might have belonged to her late husband.

In any event, she was adorable.

Did I catch you at work? he asked.

Yes, you did.

On the book?

Thats right.

Forgive the interruption. I know how hard it is to pick up a thought once its interrupted.

Impatiently, she pushed her fringe of bangs off her forehead. My housekeeper went to the market, so Ill show you to your room. Wheres your luggage?

Thats it.

He nodded at the ugly duffel bag. One split seam had been haphazardly repaired with silver duct tape. Scuffed, scarred, and stained, it looked like the sole survivor of a baggage handlers training convention.

I left my Louis Vuitton at home, he drawled sardonically. This is all I can carry on my bike.

Your bike?

Uh-huh.

She gazed at him and his duffel bag with repugnance. He wanted to laugh, but didnt dare. Instead he let his attention wander to the glass wall that provided a panoramic view of the beach far below and, beyond it, the Pacific Ocean.

You came by motorcycle from L.A. ? she asked. You didnt fly?

Depends on how you define fly. The California Highway Patrol might have called it flying. He grinned at her over his shoulder and slid his hands, palms out, into the holey, threadbare back pockets of his jeans. They had seen better days. Better years. Terrific view.

Thank you. The view was one of the reasons Charlie and I bought the house.

Pivoting on the heels of boots which no self-respecting cowboy, not even one down on his luck, would have been caught dead in, he faced her again. Charlie? You didnt call him Demon?

Hardly.

Why not?

He was my husband, not my idol.

His expressive hazel eyes, bridged by sleek black eyebrows whose arches were pointed at the apexes, focused on her. Most people thought that Rylan Norths incisive stare was a trick of camera angles and expert lighting, possibly a device the actor used to convey his vast range of emotions. But it was a natural, unaffected characteristicone eyebrow a fraction of an inch higher than the other; thick, short, black lashes; unmoving, brown-speckled hazel irises.

Rylan didnt deliberately subject her to that unsettling stare. He was only trying to gauge if there was a hidden meaning behind Mrs. Rumms words. Perhaps there wasnt. But perhaps there was. He was there to find out. He watched her nervously wet her lips and decided that the odds were in favor of his intuition being right on target.

If youll get your bag, she said in a breathy voice, Ill show you to your room.

I like this room. He wasnt ready to be shuttled off into a back room like a disobedient child. He wanted to look at her some more.

Im working in here, Mr. North, and youre a distraction.

Oh, really?

He learned something then. She didnt like being teased. Her lips formed a pucker of disapproval. How far could he push before she lost the rigid control she imposed on herself? He was itching to know, but now wasnt the time to test it, not when hed just arrived. Okay, Ill leave you to your work while I soak up some scenery outside. Is that all right?