Blackhawk Desires. Barbara McCauley

knew she’d lied about that. He’d looked at her file the first day she’d been hired, and he’d also ran a search on her name. He’d found nothing that came close to matching any information she’d given on her application or even anything she’d told him. Except that Rainville, Texas, was famous for its bee festival.

      He could have—should have—had her fired. Still wasn’t sure why he hadn’t. But he’d simply trusted his gut and looked the other way.

      Standing in his kitchen, holding her, he could feel her internal struggle with revealing even this small piece of truth. As badly as he wanted to, he knew if he pushed her she might disappear as quickly as she’d shown up.

      And if he knew anything at all, he knew he wanted her to stay.

      “I’m sorry I lied,” she said quietly. “But I needed this job.”

      He felt the cool slide of cotton when he ran his palms up her arms. “You’re rehired.”

      “I can’t stay, Sam.” With a sigh, she dropped her hands to her sides. “Chef Phillipe—”

      “I’ll handle Phillipe.”

      Shaking her head, she stepped away. “It’s better this way.”

      “Better?” He narrowed his eyes. “Better for whom?”

      “For everyone,” she insisted. “The restaurant, the staff, the hotel. For you.”

      He reached out and snagged her arms, pulled her close again. “Don’t tell me what’s better for me. What the hell were we doing here today?”

      Blue fire sparked in her eyes. “What are you saying, that you think I slept with you so I could keep my job?”

      “Of course not.” Hell, he didn’t know what he was saying. His hands tightened on her arms, but he could feel her slipping away. “Dammit, Kiera, if you run away every time there’s a problem—”

      “Let go of me.” The fire in her eyes turned to ice. “Now.”

      Swearing, he let go of her, watched her chin lift as she stepped back.

      “You don’t know anything about me,” she said, shaking her head. “Nothing.”

      “That’s the understatement of the century.” He hadn’t intended to sound sarcastic, but that damn stubborn streak of hers had put a crack in his hard-won patience.

      Narrowing her eyes, she turned and walked toward the bedroom.

      “Dammit, Kiera,” he yelled after her. “Where do you think you’re going?”

      “I’m leaving.” She shot him a cool glance over her shoulder. “Don’t worry, I’ll take the suite elevator down so no one will see me.”

      “Did I say I was worried?” he snapped, clenching his jaw when she disappeared into the bedroom.

      He started after her, swore, then stopped, raked a hand through his hair. Swore again.

      No woman had ever made him feel helpless like this before. Made him feel out of control or cut off at the knees. He didn’t like it.

      Not one damn bit.

      He wouldn’t chase after her. If she wanted to leave, he told himself, then fine. She could leave. If she wanted to be so damn secretive, then that was fine, too.

      He couldn’t keep her here against her will—well, actually, he probably could—but he didn’t want her that way. He wanted her to trust him. He wanted her honesty. She wasn’t willing to give him either one.

      So when she came back out of the bedroom, her head high and shoulders squared, he let her leave, made no attempt to stop her.

      Long after she was gone, the taste of her, a sweet mix of chocolate and woman, lingered in his mouth. He drowned it with a bottle of scotch and cursed the day she’d walked into his hotel.