it Miles? Had she spoken his name aloud? She was so scared, Peggy wasn’t sure. Or was this his sidekick, the black man, Kevin Hall? Trapped by the crowd, she couldn’t turn. Or run. Or hide.
She squirmed, but every inch of the man’s muscular body moved with her. It was definitely the wrong time to notice how well suited she and this stranger were, at least from a physical perspective. His thighs molded to hers, his lap curved over her behind, his solar plexus fit into the groove of her spine, and finally, the steady thud of his heart seemed to take up residence inside her own chest, in the space just below her left shoulder.
Her pulse was racing, and when she sucked in another breath, hoping to calm herself, she knew it was useless. The man leaned closer, angled his head down, and she felt his breath against her neck; in the cold night, it was as warm as a fire. Suddenly, her heart ached. A wave of homesickness brought tears to her eyes. Blinking, she whispered, “Stop.”
He didn’t move or say a word. His breath kept teasing her, though—stirring strands of hair that traced her neck and the curve of her ear. What was going on? Was some crazy stranger about to try to steal a kiss? Was some psycho behind her? Half expecting his tongue to trace the shell of her ear, she felt her pulse catapult, jolting over the top.
“Gotcha,” he whispered simply.
Oliver Vargo.
She’d never felt the man’s touch before, but she’d recognize his voice anywhere. The distinctive bass was exactly as it had sounded during his televised interviews—and it sent a shiver of longing down her spine. He must have caught her watching him and doubled back to confront her.
“What are you doing?” she managed to say, ignoring traitorous sensations as she craned her neck to look over her shoulder.
“What are you doing?” he returned, his low voice dropping a seductive notch as his fingers flexed around her arm. “That might be a better place to start.”
Jerking her head in his direction, she struggled to keep her voice noncommittal. “I’m watching the parade.”
“Following me,” he countered.
Silently, she berated herself. Of course he’d noticed. He was an FBI agent—and one of the best. Oh, that day in the subway, she’d worried that he’d seen her, but she’d told herself that throwing her hair in front of her face had worked as a disguise. Guess not.
Oblivious of how his physical proximity was affecting her, he inched closer, and her heart missed a beat as heat flooded her. Yes, this was definitely the wrong time to contemplate how many fantasies she’d had about him rescuing her….
But she’d had plenty. Which was why, when the crowd behind him swelled, pushing him against her, she knew the man wasn’t really aroused. Oh, no. She was the one who’d been fantasizing about him—not the other way around. What Peggy felt was the result of her overactive imagination. Nevertheless, hadn’t she felt…something? And before she could stop herself, hadn’t that hard, powerful something brought a soft sigh to her lips? Well, no matter how sexy Oliver was, she had to stay in control. She had to keep her wits about her, in case whatever had prompted Kevin Hall to chase her might also prompt Oliver to…
On a surge of fear, she pivoted. Struggling as a second arm circled her, she continued fighting. She was sorry she did, too, because all the maneuvering brought the front of her body flush with his—and while Oliver wasn’t exactly aroused, he wasn’t not-aroused, either. Even more unsettling, she found herself gazing into his heart-stopping eyes. Darker than on television, they looked the color of liquid ink in the night, and they were scrutinizing her without apology.
“Let me go,” she said, trying to tell herself that the male awareness she saw was only her own wishful thinking.
When he didn’t release her, she swallowed hard. Was he helping Miles McLaughlin and Kevin Hall find her? Moving on instinct, she tried to run again, but there was nowhere to go. Oliver reflexively drew her nearer, and her cheek wound up pressed against a white shirt he wore beneath his trench coat. Heady scents assaulted her. He smelled just the way a man should.
Veering back, she slammed a fist to his chest, using the wall of muscle to steady herself, vaguely aware that her own coat was opening in the process. When she registered his skin quivering under her fingertips, she snatched back her hand. Inhaling audibly, she said, “Could you give me some breathing room?”
“Don’t worry,” he retorted dryly, his gaze flicking over the low-cut white dress she’d exposed. “I won’t burn you.”
“I doubt that,” she grumbled. Fighting embarrassment, she drew together the sides of the coat, knowing the lace of her bra had been visible through the dress’s tight fabric. No doubt, he’d noticed the effects of the chill air, too. She considered telling him that the dress didn’t even belong to her, but that would only call attention to the outfit and make matters worse.
“You doubt that? What do you mean?”
She shook her head. “Nothing.”
But no TV image could have prepared her for how Oliver Vargo would affect her in real life. She’d already noted that his eyes seemed darker, as liquid as the November night, and yet they were full of glinting fire. Feeling completely unsettled, she tried to ignore how those eyes were roving over her face, as if memorizing each contour. “Why don’t you take off the mask?”
“Why?”
“I want to see your eyes.”
At the thought of Oliver Vargo scrutinizing her further, a shiver went down her spine, and she was glad for the mask. “I’d take it off, but everybody here’s in costume if you didn’t notice.”
“I noticed.”
“Then where’s your mask?”
“Must have left it at home.”
It would be a pity to cover those eyes. No, interviews hadn’t prepared Peggy for how the drizzle would look in his hair; glistening droplets caught in the thick, black waves, refracting light. How he towered over her was a surprise, too, since she was nearly six feet tall, herself, and men never did. The power coiling in his body wasn’t anticipated, either. Heat seeped from beneath his clothes, and as it warmed her, she wanted nothing more than to cup her hands over his broad shoulders and let him carry her away….
She came to her senses. “C’mon,” she repeated. “Let me go.”
His hand curled more tightly around her arm. “Go where?”
She said the first thing that came to mind. It was what she most wanted, after all. To be back in Ohio, watching her mother knit while Aunt Jill made one of the apple pies she was so well known for. “Home.”
“And where exactly is that?”
She should have known he wasn’t the kind of guy who liked one-word answers. Still startled by his sudden appearance, she said the next thing that popped into her head. “How did you get over here, anyway? You were across the street.”
“So, you’re definitely following me.”
“I thought you knew that.”
“I’m still waiting to hear why.”
“I’m
