Page 19 of The Playboy Meets His Match
An arm snaked around her waist, and she was yanked back against a rock-hard, lean body. He tossed her over his shoulder again and strode back to her room, kicking the door closed and locking it.
Crossing the room to the bed, he dumped her on it unceremoniously and stepped to one side, out of kicking range.
“You’re not going anywhere without me.”
She was breathing hard, angry and still shocked that he had found her. There was no way to be forceful with the man when she was flat on her back and he was standing over her. She struggled to her feet.
“This is my room and you get out.”
“You have the same choice tonight you had last night. You’re coming with me or you’re going to jail. And judging from the way you’re dressed,” he drawled, studying her as if she were a bug under a microscope, “you’ve been up to something.”
Her heart lurched again. She didn’t want to go to jail. She didn’t want Jason around when the news came out about Dorian.
“Call the sheriff. I’m not going with you anywhere,” she snapped, trying to give herself a minute to think and to get out from under Jason’s blue-green gaze.
“Suit yourself,” Jason drawled and strolled to the telephone, punching the number for an outside line, then punching more numbers.
“Is Sheriff Escobar in?” he asked.
Merry’s heart thudded as she dashed across the room and broke the connection. Better Jason Windover’s ranch than a cell. And she didn’t want to be sitting in jail when they got word about Dorian eating a dinner laced with chili peppers.
“I’ll go to your ranch.”
“Fine.” he said, replacing the receiver. He stood too close and his gaze was too intense.
He touched her blond wig. “This is interesting,” he said, carefully removing her wig and tossing it on a desk. He removed the fake glasses. “Blond wig, fake glasses, makeup that isn’t like you at all.” He ran his fingers through her hair and tingles shot through her in the wake of his strokes.
“And this,” he said, holding her shoulders and stepping back to look her over. His finger punched her waist, but she felt nothing because he was poking the padding she was wearing.
“My, my. No one would look twice at you, would they? It’s a pretty good disguise. Did it work?”
“I don’t have to answer you.”
“No, you don’t. You’ve been up to something. You’ve done something to Dorian. Am I going to read about it in the papers?”
As her cheeks burned, she moved away from him.
“Pack your stuff. You’re moving to my ranch.”
Glaring at him, she watched him move to the chair and sit down as if he had no cares in the world. How could the man look so relaxed and then move so fast?
“I want to shower.”
“Go right ahead. I’m in no hurry. There aren’t any windows in the bathroom and the air vent is too tiny for even you to wiggle through.”
She gave him another glare and began gathering up her things.
“If I am going to read about Dorian in the paper—or worse—hear about him on the late television news, you might be better off to tell me.”
“I don’t have one thing to tell you.”
He shrugged, and she continued gathering her clothes, too aware of flimsy lace underwear in her fist. She hurried to the bathroom and locked the door, thankful to escape his watchful eyes. How had he found her?
Annoyed and worried, she showered, washed her hair and took her time. She dressed in jeans and a blue T-shirt and when she finally emerged from the bathroom, he was reading a magazine.
Her suitcase lay open on a bed. Wordlessly, she flung her things into it as he watched every move she made.
“I had a new alarm installed today. You won’t get past this one.”
