She pulled her hand back sharply, and a shimmer of sensation skimmed across her fingertips, settled in her skin. “Static electricity,” she muttered, shaking her fingers.
“Pardon?”
“I wasn’t speaking to you.”
“Then who?”
“None of your business.” T.C. spoke through clenched teeth. “I’m going to search your pants now.”
“Be my guest.”
It was amazing how much amusement he managed to pack into that short statement. Enough to really rile T.C. She prodded him in the ribs with sufficient force to cause him to flinch. Good—maybe now he would show some respect!
His pants were jeans of the close-fitting variety. One rear pocket housed a slim leather wallet; the other contained nothing more than finely hewn muscle. She took a half step back and wiped her palm against her thigh, then scrubbed it harder. Somehow she couldn’t erase the imprint from her skin.
She jumped clear off the ground when he drawled, “Don’t stop there, sweet hands. There are more pockets around the front.”
“I have a better idea. Why don’t you just tell me where your weapon’s hidden?”
He laughed, a low rich belly-laugh that did strange things to T.C.’s insides. “Why don’t you slide that soft little hand around here and find out for yourself?”
Heat blazed into her cheeks. How dare he be so…so… Words failed her. She did the mental equivalent of spluttering and told herself the warmth in her cheeks was not due to his softly purred suggestion. She transferred the gun from left hand to right, stretched her tight tendons finger by finger, and inspected the hand that was indeed little but hadn’t been soft for more years than she could remember.
“Don’t,” she said, her voice as crisp and chill as the night air, “make the mistake of associating my size with softness.”
And with the strength of those words ringing in her ears, she did exactly as he’d asked. She reached around and checked the front pockets of his jeans. Very quickly. Then she slid her hand up and checked the waistband. Neat fit, hard to hide anything there, she noted. She also noted when he drew breath. She could tell by the sudden tautness of his abs beneath her hand.
What she didn’t realize was that the breath was taken in preparation.
His turn was quick, as was the hand that dislodged the gun. It clunked against the wall, hit the floor, then slid a long long way before clattering to a standstill. It took the stranger less time to twist her arm behind her back and right up between her shoulder blades.
“I’d like to think you were touching me up for the sheer pleasure of it, but something tells me that’s not it. How about you tell me what is going on?”
He stood close behind her, close enough that the words washed over her nape in a warm wave. She shook her head to rid herself of the sensation, and he stretched her arm further.
“Ouch,” she breathed. “You’re hurting me.”
“You think that piece of plastic you were brandishing hasn’t bruised me?” He released the pressure on her arm, although he didn’t let it go. Long fingers manacled her wrist. “Well?” he prompted.
T.C. frowned. If he knew the gun was fake, it explained his casual attitude, but why hadn’t he called her on it? And why had he asked her to explain? She wrenched her arm and found herself hauled backward, right up hard against his body, so when he spoke his voice hummed close against her ear. “All right, sweet hands, if you don’t want to tell me why you’re skulking about in the dark, I’ll have to start searching for clues.”
His hand slid over her hip. T.C. yelped and tried to swat it away, but he pulled her nearer by banding an arm around her chest. Her back was pasted to his front, so close that when he laughed, the low sound vibrated from his chest into her body. It set up a resonant buzz along her spine, like a tuning fork perfectly pitched.
Or maybe that was in reaction to the hand cruising down one thigh then back up again, inch by leisurely inch. Omi-gosh, now it was inside her pajama coat, sliding across her belly. She wriggled frantically, needing to escape his touch—but wriggling was a big mistake. It brought her backside up hard against his thighs. All the breath left her lungs in a rush.
“What’s the matter, sweetheart? Not used to having a perfect stranger run his hands all over you? Intrusive, isn’t it?”
“My name’s not sweet anything!” She kicked out, and the sudden flurry of legs and boots caught him unaware. The arm holding her slipped, and she swiveled sideways; his free hand grabbed…and closed over her left breast.
For a long second they both went completely still. T.C. heard the rasp of her own breathing, not quite steady, over the heavy thud of her heartbeat. Then she kicked out again, and this time her booted heel caught him in the shin.
He swore succinctly, and T.C. felt a rush of vindictive satisfaction. This was his fault. He shouldn’t have been touching her at all, let alone in that deliberate way. She swung her feet again, and he grunted as he shifted sideways to avoid her heels.
He cursed again. “What are you, half mule? Stop kicking, for Pete’s sake!”
“Then…let…me…go!”
“I’ll let you go when I can see what you’re up to. Where’s the light switch?”
When she didn’t answer his arm tightened. “Down there…straight ahead…last door on your left.” T.C.’s instructions came out in reluctant grunts against the arm crushing her diaphragm.
He frog-marched her the length of the breezeway, pushed open the door to her quarters and flicked the switch. T.C. squeezed her eyes shut against the sudden brightness. Dazzling yellow figures danced across the backs of her lids. She heard Ug yap a greeting, the scratch of her nails as she scampered across the concrete floor, then felt the little dog bouncing around her legs…no, make that their legs.
Oh, great. First my dog doesn’t even hear him arrive, then she greets him like a long-lost friend!
“Down. Sit.” His instructions were so do-not-argue that T.C. almost sat herself.
Needless to say, her traitorous dog subsided.
The stranger’s grip eased. His hands moved to her shoulders, swinging her around until she stood staring into his broad chest. Her nose almost touched the front of his shirt and the chest hair revealed by two open buttons.
She swallowed with difficulty and raised a hand to push against the solid wall of his chest. It didn’t budge. Beneath her palm beat the steady pulse of his heart. She tipped her head back, found herself too close to see anything beyond a chin dark with regrowth and centered with a faint familiar-looking cleft.
Oh, no, it couldn’t be….
She backed up until the full lips and long, straight nose came into focus; then she closed her eyes.
Oh, yes, it most definitely was!
“Tell me I didn’t just kick Nick
