The sound of his voice rolled over her like silk sliding against her bare skin. Claire could hardly make sense of his words, could only stare at his well-carved lips as they moved, imagining them dragging across her flesh. Stepping back, she bumped into her car, stopping her from total retreat. “You’re disturbed. Truly. You need help.”

His eyes glinted angrily. Even in the dim light, she could count those flecks of gold in his pale green gaze. “Maybe a little,” he allowed. “Guess I have to be for trying to help a stubborn fool who doesn’t want my help.”

She ignored his dig and strove for a mild tone, trying not to annoy him further. “I’m going now.” She had to step forward to open her car door. Her shoulder grazed his chest and her breath escaped in a hiss. She tossed her bags onto the passenger seat, her movements slow, measured, as if she didn’t want to startle the strange animal beside her. “Good-bye.” She forced a ring of finality into the farewell.

“Think about what I told you. Time off would be smart. You need to—”

She closed her car door, signaling her disinterest in his words. As discreetly as possible, she pressed the lock button.

He smiled grimly and leaned back against his Jeep, arms crossed over his chest like a man completely relaxed and content with himself and all his paranoid delusions.

Rubbing her stinging wrist, she eyed the lean length of him with admiring disgust. The guy could be a Calvin Klein model. What a waste. Shaking her head, she put both hands on the steering wheel and backed out. Facing forward again, she caught sight of herself in the rearview mirror, the image startling. The sleek image of herself with the severe ponytail and pewter gaze filled her with unease.

At the first stoplight, she flipped on her overhead light to glare in consternation at her stinging wrist. The skin beneath the silver bracelet was an angry red, almost like it had been burned. She undid the clasp and tossed the bracelet into the cup holder. The light turned green. Stepping on the accelerator, she proceeded, rubbing the inflamed skin absently as she concentrated on putting Gideon March out of her mind.

Gideon groaned when he spotted the familiar Tahoe in his driveway. Its shiny chrome finish glinted in the afternoon sun. He parked alongside the curb in front of his house to make sure he wouldn’t block the vehicle from departing.

“It’s my damned driveway,” he muttered, shifting into park with an angry jerk and killing the engine. “Why doesn’t he park in the street?”

He wasn’t in the mood for this particular visitor. Especially since it called for pretending that everything was normal, business as usual, that his thoughts weren’t tangled up in her.