License to Thrill

shaky hands and wrapped the towel around her. After hurriedly wringing the moisture from her hair, she listened carefully at the bathroom door. Nothing.
    No, wait...something.
    Music?
    Kat recognized the crashing, grinding crescendos of the instrumental theme to a live performance she'd seen. From all the CDs she owned that were probably scattered to the four corners of the apartment, he'd somehow managed to find her favorite.
    Opening the door a crack, she peeked into her bedroom. Not only was the coast clear, but it appeared he had closed the door leading into the living room to give her privacy. Was it possible that she had met the last breathing gentleman on earth? Then she recalled his wicked innuendos and decided that James Donovan was only a gentleman when it suited his purposes.
    After hunting for toiletries and coming up empty-handed except for a bottle of pink baby lotion, she sat down on her clothes-covered bed and massaged the creamy stuff into her skin. The colossal mess in her room made her sick to her stomach. Or was that hunger? The clock read five-fifteen p.m. and she hadn't eaten since last night's white lasagna. She mined underwear, a pair of gray leggings, and a long white shirt from the mountains of clothing on her bed and dresser. It would take her days to get things back in place. It took every ounce of energy she had to keep from stretching out on the floor on top of her sock collection for a good cry.
    Her hair dryer was nowhere to be found, so she simply combed her long wet hair straight back from her forehead. She did, however, find her ancient fuzzy house shoes. Pulling them on felt like hugging an old friend. Today, she was taking pleasure wherever she could find it.
    Kat paused for a moment inside her bedroom door, smiling wryly at her earlier wild musings. So James was a little forward, a little too confident, a little overwhelming...that was a long way from being a criminal.
    A knock on the other side startled her. "Kat?" he asked, his voice low.
    Instead of worrying like a ninny, she should be thankful to have someone of his expertise on her side. How that could have come about was a bit of a mystery in and of itself. She turned the knob and opened the door, poised to thank James for everything he'd done.
    Instead, she froze at the sight of the butcher knife he held toward her chest.

Chapter Six

    "ARE YOU HUNGRY?" James asked, confused at the expression on her face. "I ordered in a pizza pie."
    "P-Pizza?" she asked, eyeing the knife warily.
    He glanced at the knife in his hand and laughed. "I couldn't locate the correct tool to cut it, so I improvised."
    She smiled shakily and nodded, then looked over his shoulder. "It smells wonderful."
    Not nearly as wonderful as she smelled, he noted, his body tightening in response to the sweet, fresh scent floating around her. He'd had to close the door to her bedroom and turn on the stereo to drown out the sounds of her showering. Had Kat's life not been turned upside down in the past few hours, he might have joined her, the desire to see her lush curves shiny-slick almost embarrassing for a man who prided himself on self-control. He swept his arm toward the small kitchen. "I found two barstools and cleared enough counter space for us to eat."
    She ran her fingers through her dark, wet hair, dis rupting the even marks her comb had left behind. Without her glasses, she seemed softer, more vulnerable. The lady had exceptional skin, pale without makeup, but wonderfully translucent. And the kind of bone structure that guaranteed her graceful aging. She walked in front of him, picking her way around the mess, and he noticed her house slippers.
    "Fond of those furry feet-things, aren't you?" he asked, not bothering to hide his amusement.
    "Love me, love my slippers," she quipped, the mere mention of the L word causing his heart to temporarily seize. "How did you know to order from Sid's?" she asked, raising the lid on the pizza box. "Oooh, olives." She lifted out a slice of the cheese-gooey pizza and bit off the pointed end with nice, even teeth.
    "It's listed on your land line’s speed dial directory," he said, pointing to the device he'd unearthed in the couch cushions. "By the way, your message light is flashing."
    Still chewing, she walked over and punched a button. The voice reported she had five messages. Kat glanced at James, a slight frown furrowing her brow. She was weighing whether to trust him with her personal communication. He busied