this adolescent behavior of hers, he would never take her seriously.
“I was about to fix breakfast. You want some?” She asked.
“Just coffee if you have it. Or tea would be fine.”
“Tea? For breakfast? Oh, you mean hot…”
He smiled again, this time full-out, and Molly thought her heart might stop for good, once it quit bonging around in her chest like a Super Ball. She’d forgotten those perfect teeth. And the dimples. Good grief, no wonder she was babbling like an idiot.
“Whatever you’re having will be fine,” he said.
A loud, piercing wail erupted. Molly turned and dashed down the hallway into the den to get Sydney before she woke up the entire neighborhood.
“Okay, babe, hang in there. Juice coming up. Dry pants first.” Molly ripped the night diaper’s tapes loose and began changing her.
“Is it hurt?” he asked above Syd’s noisy fretting.
“What?” Molly asked, confused. It? “Syd? Oh, no, she’s fine. Just wet and hungry.”
She pressed down the last tape on the diaper and hefted Syd out of the playpen. Shifting her handily onto one hip, Molly headed to the kitchen. “Come on.”
Quickly she plopped the baby in the high chair, washed her hands and poured a sippy-cup full of apple juice. “Like shutting off a siren, isn’t it?” she asked with a laugh as Syd gulped the juice.
His mouth quirked slightly to one side as he watched.
Molly dropped several vanilla wafers onto the highchair tray. “Sit down,” she invited. “I’ll put on the coffee.”
She took the basket of yesterday’s blueberry muffins out of the microwave, uncovered them, and set them on the table. “You want eggs and bacon? I think I have some in the fridge.”
“No, thank you,” he said politely, clasping his hands together on the tabletop. “Shall we get down to business, Ms. Jensen?”
“Sure. And please call me Molly. I mean, as long as you and Ford are such good friends—”
He looked ready to argue, and Molly didn’t think it was about the first name issue. She supposed he thought asking for this kind of help was too much, even for the sister of a friend and fellow agent. And it was, of course. She had known that up front.
“Look, maybe I was wrong to call you. I’ve really no right to involve you in this mess even if you are Ford’s buddy.”
Even as she let him off the hook with her words, she begged him with her eyes to consider helping her. Come on, Damien, please!
He considered what she’d said—and most likely her silent message, too—quietly, and at some length while Molly waited breathlessly for him to assure her he would help.
“You say you think your life is in danger?” he asked calmly.
Molly cleared her throat and looked away from him so she could think straight. “Yes, I do. I believe my ex-husband is insane.”
“And you believe him capable of violence?” he asked.
She raised her chin and faced him, mimicking his cool regard. “Yes, Damien, he certainly is capable of that.”
He nodded slightly and thought for another minute. Molly liked the way he considered the angles before making a decision. She wished she had that trait.
“Then we had better prevent that, hadn’t we?” he said.
“You are going to help us?” Before she could stop herself, Molly had reached out and grasped his hands. His large, wonderful, capable hands.
Only one eyebrow raised. “I would be delighted.”
He would be delighted. She had to smile at that.
Damien Perry just took her breath away. She loved to hear him talk. If only the subject matter were a little less macabre, she would just sit back and enjoy the daylights out of it.
But she hadn’t called him in on this because he sounded cute or because his fantastic looks made the backs of her knees sweat. She needed a man who could handle the situation. She had no doubt that when Damien Perry said he would—delighted or not—he surely would.
Suddenly she realized she was still holding his hands between hers and released him. “Oh, sorry,” she mumbled.
“Quite all right,” he said, flexing his fingers as though she had squeezed them too hard.
Molly rose, her movements deliberate and careful as she poured two cups of steaming coffee, placed them on the table and took her seat. She peeled the paper cup from a muffin, reached over and placed it on the tray of the high chair.
Sydney promptly christened it with apple juice, leaned over and bit off the soggy top.
“Have a muffin. I’ll fill you in on what’s happened so far.”
His aristocratic nose wrinkled the tiniest bit when Sydney grinned at him, her mouth full of purple mush. “Thank you, no. I believe I’ll pass on the muffin.”
Molly shrugged. Maybe it wasn’t fair to bring a friend of her brother’s in on this. But Damien Perry had struck her from their very first meeting as a man who could take care of business. Even wounded as he’d been at the time, he had projected an aura of strength and capability that impressed her.
She flatly rejected the thought that there might be another reason his name came to mind when she needed help.
So what if he was handsome as sin itself? Was it a crime to admire his good looks? She was human, wasn’t she? And an artist, too. One who appreciated beauty in all its forms. That’s all she felt for this man, admiration and appreciation.
All right, maybe she’d felt a little infatuation for him initially, but surely that was normal. Every woman he met must feel that. As soon as she got used to him, it would go away.
Damien was a man of the world and, she suspected, a loner. And that was fine with Molly. That signaled safety. She was definitely not looking for another man in her life when she couldn’t even dodge the mistake she’d made the first time.
All she wanted was Damien’s help. Then he could go on his merry way and she could enjoy a couple of secret fantasies about him now and then. No harm in that.
“Tell me about it,” he suggested softly.
Molly jerked her head up and stared into those azure eyes. She almost blurted out exactly what she was thinking, then caught herself. “Oh, you mean about Jack.”
He nodded, an all-too-knowing look in his eyes. “Of course. What else?”
Chapter 2
Damien wondered exactly what Molly Jensen saw when she looked at him and why he seemed to disconcert her so much. It couldn’t be his job. Her brother was also an agent,
