Anne Stuart's Out-of-Print Gems by Anne Stuart Page A

Carey whatever drug she desires and check the climate control of the turret room. She seems to be feeling a bit feverish. And give her the key so that she can lock herself in.”
    â€œAt least I don’t have to worry about you bothering me,” she snapped.
    â€œWhy ever not?” He sounded genuinely curious.
    â€œThere’s no way a wheelchair could make it up those long steps, and I know construction well enough to know there’s no elevator in that tower.”
    â€œTrue enough. Your sexual fantasies will have to wait to be fulfilled.” Again that gurgle of sound.
    â€œI’ll jump out of the tower first.” She wouldn’t do any such thing, but in her dazed condition, it sounded reasonably dramatic.
    â€œThere are bars on the windows, Megan,” he said very gently. “Don’t worry about it. I’ve told you, you’re safe.”
    She headed out the door without bothering to say another word, almost faint with relief at leaving him. Until she heard his soft, rich voice follow her into the dimly lit hallway.
    â€œYou’re safe,” he said again. “For now.”
    Â 
    E THAN W INSLOWE SAT VERY still, watching Megan stumble away behind Salvatore’s hulking figure, and his eyes were narrowed in his beloved darkness, filled with a rare feeling of compunction. She was right. Who the hell was he to play God, to sit in judgment? Particularly since he was lying to her. He had no intention of sparing her father, not if she presented herself to him wrapped in nothing more than a satin ribbon.
    He found himself smiling wryly at that enticing image. And then he moved, bringing his glass of whiskey and water to his mouth and draining the final drops, the faint watery sound carrying in the darkness. He’d sat and drank and watched her, his night-attuned eyes able to see far more clearly than hers could. He could see the whiteness of her face, the slightly desperate softness around her mouth, the anger in her eyes. She was strong and tough, willing to fight him on every level. He was looking forward to it, to keeping her fully busy and involved with him while he brought her father to his knees.
    She hadn’t looked well, but he assumed it was simply nerves and exhaustion. However, she didn’t look the nervous type, and he’d known from his steady, unblinking perusal of the monitor that she’d slept away most of the afternoon and evening.
    And the room was, if anything, cool, not the hothouse she accused it of being. He certainly didn’t fancy having a sick female on his hands. She wouldn’t be nearly as entertaining.
    The door opened and Salvatore filled it. “She’s settled for the night, Ethan. But she doesn’t look well.”
    Ethan turned to the bank of monitors, switching them on. Meg Carey had collapsed across the high bed, kicking off her shoes but leaving her clothes on. Her eyes were shut, her breathing seemed labored, and even on the black-and-white monitor, he could see the flush mantling her cheeks. “Hell and damnation,” Ethan said, staring. “She does look sick. How inconvenient.”
    â€œThen why don’t you let her go? You certainly aren’t going to let her father off the hook, are you?”
    Ethan stared at him. “How long have you known me?”
    Salvatore nodded. “Point taken. So I’ll ask you again. Why don’t you let her go?”
    â€œBecause I don’t feel like it.” With an abrupt motion, Ethan rose, towering over Salvatore’s impressive bulk. “Any more questions?”
    â€œWhat if she needs a doctor?”
    â€œThen we get good Dr. Bailey out here. He should be able to manage without killing her. In the meantime, you can get me another drink.”
    He could feel Salvatore watching him in the darkness. He’d grown so accustomed to the shadows, he felt more comfortable there, but Sal’s compassionate eyes didn’t bother him. It