into her hair, urging her nearer. Resisting didn’t occur to her. His warm lips touched hers, and the bright, sizzling jolt of pleasure made her gasp, startled her pulse into a gallop. Shocked by her intense response, she shoved at his chest.
He instantly released her.
She jumped away, pressed quivering fingers to her lips. “Wh-what do you think you’re doing?”
A “hell-if-I-know” stunned expression glazed his eyes for several long, trembling heartbeats. Then he shook his head, and the familiar naughty twinkle appeared. “If you don’t know, I must not have been doing it right.” His shaky chuckle vibrated through her. “That was a kiss.”
It certainly was. A startling, amazing, set-me-on-fire kiss. She’d enjoyed the brief pressure of his mouth on hers far too much. “I am not that kind of a woman.”
He wiggled his eyebrows at her. “Maybe you are and just don’t know it.”
Fury burned away the sweet ache inside her. Because maybe, just maybe, he was right. And that would make her the kind of woman she’d vowed not to become. “You…oh! You’re a…a…an oversexed gorilla!”
His grin flashed. “I thought you said I was nice.”
“I’ve changed my opinion.” She stormed into the kitchen. Trembling, she stood in front of the sink, her hands gripping the cold edge of the tile counter. What was the matter with her? She’d basked in his kiss with the greedy thirst of a desert wanderer at an oasis.
Gabe poked his head in the doorway. “Is it safe to come in?”
She whirled. “What do you want?”
He held up both hands. “I shouldn’t have done that.”
“I happen to be engaged.”
“Yes, you are.” His impudent grin flashed. “Engaging.”
“Get serious. If you can. We’ve got to plan what to do.”
“I’m sorry. You’re right. Truce?”
“Well…I suppose. But keep your distance.”
“Yes, ma’am. I’m going to grab a shower and change out of this monkey suit. You will be here when I get back…” His eyes danced with mischief. “And not traipsing around in the woods in purple skivvies singing ‘You Ain’t Nothin’ But a Hound Dog’?”
She shot him a glare. “I never break a promise. I want to talk to your superior. Then I need to call Mel, or she’ll have every cop in the state searching for me. You wouldn’t happen to have a phone in your shoe?”
“You watch too many movies, Houdini.” He unsnapped his pocket and produced a cell phone. “It’s a secure unit, can’t be traced.” He gave her his boss’s name and phone number, and the code name Falcon Three so his boss would release the information to her. “When you talk to your friend Mel, make something up. Don’t tell her anything about me.”
“Of course not. I’m not an imbecile.”
“No you’re not. You’re a very sharp lady, and I’m glad you’re on my side.” He saluted, turned and sauntered out.
Tessa didn’t trust the information he’d provided, after all he could have paid someone to lie for him. She called directory assistance in Washington, D.C. They recited the same number Gabe had given her. Hurdle one conquered. Excitement jittered through her. Feeling disconcertingly like a Bond babe, she dialed, waited through three transfers, and then gave the code name to the gravelly voiced baritone who identified himself as Gabe’s superior. At her request, the man supplied a dead-on description of Valentine Gabriel Colton down to the cleft in his chin, and verified that he was indeed a federal agent. Hurdle two. Relief, mixed with an emotion that felt oddly like happiness careened through her. Gabe was who he said he was. Not a criminal. FBI.
After a second call to inform Mel that she’d been delayed at the police station, Tessa hung up and set the phone on the counter. Leaning on her elbows, she stared out the window at the forest, blazing with resplendent fall foliage. What was the strange reaction that overpowered her whenever Gabe was near? Her stomach jittered in horror. Maybe her mother’s genes would triumph after all. Tessa wanted stability and a family, but perhaps she was fated to follow her hormones through man after man, just like Vivienne.
She slammed her palms on the counter. No way! Her mother’s life was a nightmare example of that tortured path. Tessa refused to follow in Vivienne’s destructive footsteps. Her shoulders stiff with resolve, she focused on making coffee and sandwiches. When they were ready, she carried a tray to the small table in the living room. Goose bumps prickled up her arms and she rubbed her hands together. The cabin hadn’t been in use, and the room was cold. Kneeling in front of the fireplace, she started a fire.
A pair of long, tanned bare feet appeared in her line of vision. “I was gonna do that.”
She swallowed hard. Good heavens, even the sight of the man’s feet tweaked her libido. She said the first thing that popped into her mind. “You don’t have frog’s feet.”
His husky laugh bubbled through her veins like expensive champagne, filling her with a warm, sparkling glow. “I didn’t mean literally.”
“Of course not.” She leapt up, backing toward the chair. “I made sandwiches and coffee.”
Gabe’s brows tilted. “Should I have you taste-test them?”
“I said I was sorry about that.”
“So you did.” One corner of his mouth quirked up. “But remember, honey, payback is hell.” He grabbed a sandwich and a mug of coffee and collapsed on the plaid sofa.
She dropped into a chair beside the fire. The damp sheen of Gabe’s hair reflected the dancing flames. He’d changed into snug, faded jeans and a black cotton sweater. Trying to ignore the disturbing zings ricocheting along her nerve endings, she doggedly chewed her sandwich. It tasted like sawdust.
“So—”
She jerked, nearly spilling her coffee.
He shook his head. “You’ve gotta get a handle on that hair-trigger reflex. Do I still make you nervous?”
Not in the way he meant. “I was thinking, and you startled me, that’s all. How long will we be here?”
“I don’t know. Did you leave the phone in the kitchen?” She nodded, and he rose. “Be right back.”
His low voice murmured from the kitchen. In minutes he returned. For once, his face wore a somber expression, without a hint of levity. Dread hung heavily between them.
Sighing, he jammed his fingers through his hair. “There’s no sugar-coated way to say this. Gregson may be dead.”
Bile swelled in her throat. “Y-you killed him?”
“No.” He dropped onto the sofa and stared down at the green braided rug. “Whoever he works for doesn’t have a real subtle job performance evaluation. You escaped, and I saw his face, but he didn’t see mine because of the helmet and sunglasses. With his cover blown, he was useless. The local cops found a John
