Rogue's Revenge - By Gail MacMillan Page 0,14

to her chin and settled once more for the night. The positive aspect of the entire situation was that tomorrow she’d be rid of him.

Still, the memory of that kiss on the office floor, the sensation of his body covering hers… It sent her dreaming the moment sleep overtook her, dreaming of a tall, lean, muscular man of the jungle. Clad only in a loincloth, arms crossed on his hard, bare chest, he confronted her in the green tunnel of foliage leading to the Chance, blocking her way, making her innards come alive with what felt like the wings of a hundred frantic butterflies. Desperately she ordered him out of her path. Then she caught the gleam in his eyes.

Her heart rate raced off, the bit of reason clamped in the teeth of desire. Melting like butter on a hot muffin, she realized she was wearing rain-soaked pink flannel pajamas and oversized rubber boots. And while he seemed to be standing in dazzling sunlight, she was under a cloudburst.

Then he was moving toward her, as lithe and soundless as a panther, his gaze hot with primitive fire. Allison caught her breath and waited, understanding for the first time what true animal magnetism was.

Heart pounding, she watched as he came to her… Then, passing her, brushed her aside to embrace Candace Breckenridge, who’d apparently been standing behind her. As he was reaching to draw the eager woman into his arms, Allison jerked awake.

Cursed dream! Strike that! Damned nightmare. She raised herself up on one elbow and pummeled her pillow.

“Blast him!” she muttered. “Blast him, the miserable womanizing tramp! Tomorrow, as soon as that lawyer reads the will and Heath Oakes is in full, legal possession of his fishing rod, I’ll send him packing so fast he’ll be dizzy!”

Chapter Four

Allison woke to a spring breeze and a robin’s song wafting in her open window. Sunlight peeked under the undulating curtains to make moving patches of gleaming amber on the polished hardwood floor.

Where am I? Oh, right. At the Lodge. She yawned and stretched. It felt good to be there.

Then a thought struck her and she sat bolt upright. She hadn’t gone to sleep with the window open. He must have used his manager’s pass key to come into her room while she was asleep. What a nerve! She bounded out of bed and headed for the bathroom.

In front of the dresser mirror she paused and fluffed her hair. How did I look when he was in here? She threw up her hands. What is wrong with you, Allison Armstrong? As if it mattered. As if you cared. With a disgusted growl, she strode into the bathroom, locked the door, and shed those pajamas he’d deemed sexy.

Fifteen minutes later, dressed in jeans, sweatshirt, and sneakers, she entered the kitchen. The aroma of more of the delicious coffee she remembered from the previous evening greeted her, along with a note from Heath that informed her milk, juice, cream, croissants, and homemade strawberry jam were in the refrigerator, bacon and eggs, too, if she felt like cooking.

She didn’t. She poured coffee and juice, buttered a croissant, and carried it all into the dining room.

First she tried sitting in her grandfather’s place, but it didn’t feel right. Next she tried Heath’s chair on the right.

Definitely, no.

Then, feeling like Goldilocks in the forest home of the three bears, she moved to her grandmother’s place at the foot of the massive table. Ah, yes. With a sigh she settled to her breakfast.

When she’d finished, she put her cup, glass, and saucer in the dishwasher and headed out the back door to find Heath. They had to talk before the lawyer got here.

She paused with her hand on the knob as she saw her grandfather’s favorite sheepskin-lined rancher’s jacket hanging on a peg behind the door. Impulsively she snatched it up, pulled it on, and turned back to the breadbox on the counter near the window for a slice of bread. Every morning Gramps had taken a piece of bread out to the bold jays he called Whiskey Jacks.

When the birds saw her, they descended, silent as snowflakes. She didn’t flatter herself on the attraction. The bread had garnered their interest. When they landed about her feet, she knelt to offer each a chunk and wondered if Heath fed them, too. Had he cared enough to carry on Jack’s concern for local wildlife?

Enough! Come noon, her mother would be sole owner of the Chance, and the Armstrongs could legally