Of course she was coming. He’d reminded himself of that half a dozen times over the last hour. The way it had been between them the night before, she had to be just as eager for a repeat performance. She’d have thought of him during the day, countless times, the way he’d thought of her.

The way he would have sworn he’d smelled her every time he took a breath. The way he’d caught himself going off into some brainless trance because he could see her face in his head, or hear her voice, or . . .

Want her. Just want her.

When had he ever wanted anything like this? Once he’d wanted escape, and he’d gotten it. He’d wanted danger and risk and reckless adventure. And he’d gotten that, too. And when he’d wanted peace, a life he could look at with some measure of pride, he’d gone out and gotten that as well.

But did he have Laura? Was she going to slip silkily through his fingers before he’d gotten a good grip, or before he’d figured out what the hell to do with her? About her.

She was out of his league, and knowing it pissed him off. Made him determined to drag her to equal ground. Sex was a great equalizer, and he had her there. For now.

Furious with himself for niggling at what shouldn’t have been a problem, he poured a glass of the wine. He sniffed it, shrugged, downed it.

“When in Rome, Fury.”

But he set the glass aside and began to pace again, prowling back and forth across the length of the room like a cat prowling the confines of a cage.

He’d caught a glimpse of Ann that afternoon, when he supervised the transfer of the colt. From the bullets she shot out of her eyes, he had the feeling that Laura hadn’t managed to get past her that morning.

It made him grin to think of it, the elegant lady of the house sneaking in at dawn in a baggy shirt and jeans, caught by the ever-present, cold-eyed housekeeper.

Maybe Sullivan had locked Laura in. His grin vanished as the idea popped into his head. Maybe she had Laura trapped inside, refusing to let her out. Maybe she was . . .

And maybe he should get a grip on himself, he decided.

The hell with it. He headed for the door. He was going after her.

When he yanked it open, Laura jumped back a full step, pressed a hand to her throat. “You scared the life out of me.”

“Sorry. I was about to rescue you from the dungeon.”

“Oh?” She smiled, puzzled. “Were you?”

“But you seemed to have managed it on your own.”