Stranger in Her Arms
"What are you doing in my house?" the stranger on her porch demanded.

Dominique had never seen the man before. He was tall and lean. But there was a latent strength in the breadth of his shoulders. His voice was husky and intense.

"Your house?" Dominique exclaimed. "This is my house. I live here." She began to shut the door. "I think you'd better leave."

"Don't," the stranger protested. "Please. Don't close the door. My name is
Alex Crawford. I've been...away. But now I've come home."

Dominique started back with an involuntary gasp. "That's impossible," she breathed. She stared at the stranger, her heart pounding. "Alex Crawford is dead."