Shiver

determinedly focused on the folded bills he was still holding in front of her face instead.
    “It’s mine. Give it back.”
    “Yeah. No. You got something hidden in your front pocket, too. I can feel it pressing against me. Are you gonna pull whatever it is out and show it to me, or do you want me to pat you down all over?”
    An honest answer to that question, even if given silently, was not in her best interest, so she thrust it out of her mind. Bottom line was, if he patted her down all over, she would probably end up dissolving into a steaming little puddle at his feet. At the very least, she would get even more turned on than she already was, and that would not be good. Or smart.
    So she folded.
    Giving him a sulky look, she delved into her pocket and produced the knife.
    “Happy now?” she asked.
    He took the knife, shot a pointed look at her cleavage. “Is that it?”
    Just the idea that he might start searching where he was looking made her heart thump. Forget about it. Not going to happen. “Yes.”
    He gave her another hard look. “You give me your word?”
    “You can do a strip search if you want.” A little bit of aggression, she figured, was the best way to back him off. Because she was able to see, now, that the heat in his eyes wasn’t the only sign. That, plus the flush that had risen to stain the tops of his high cheekbones, the heavy-lidded look to his eyes, the barely perceptible quickening of his breathing, were all signals that, as a woman, she knew how to read: he wanted her bad.
    If she’d let it, the knowledge would have made her dizzy. But instead she forced it out of her head, and managed to summon a mocking smile for him.
    His lips thinned. As she’d been almost positive he wouldn’t, he didn’t take her up on her offer. Instead, with her cash and knife still in hand, he levered himself off her, reaching for the crutch that still lay against the wall beside her, wedging it into place, bracing himself with it, surprisingly solid on his one good leg. The net result was that there were now a few inches of space between them, for which she tried to tell herself she was glad. She stayed where she was, back against the wall, her hands flattened against the cool plaster.
    To keep herself from doing what she really wanted to do and reaching for him.
    He looked at her grimly. “The knife I can understand. You want something to protect yourself with. Under the circumstances, fair enough. The money—that’s what’s got me worried. Especially since I watched you spend the afternoon checking out the doors and windows, locating the car and house keys, and memorizing the code to the security alarm. You’re thinking about taking Tyler and striking out on your own, aren’t you?”
    Sam thought about lying. She certainly hadn’t been expecting him of all people to be so observant, but apparently he had missed very little, which told her that he had been watching her closely while he hadn’t appeared to be watching her at all. He’d observed enough to lead him to the money and the knife, too. The idea that she had just been the subject of a very thorough if partial pat-down was finally starting to work its way through her brain, and she was thinking that she ought to be at least a little mad at him about it. What complicated the whole thing was remembering how it had made her feel. Sexy enough to make her start to burn all over again at the recollection.
    You need to get laid, she told herself firmly. Then, in a hasty corollary, she added, just not by this guy.
    But it was too late. She had an instant mental vision of the two of them naked and in bed, and practically ground her teeth as her pulse went tremulous and her stomach seemed to quiver. The tiny stress muscle below her eye started to twitch, most annoyingly. Pressing a calming finger to it, she glared at him, and gave up all attempt at pretense.
    “So what if I am?”
    His eyes narrowed. “That would be the dumbest thing you could possibly do.”
    She huffed. “Says you. The guy who screwed up his life so badly that he’s got an army of assassins combing the country looking for him, and if he doesn’t get himself and everybody around him murdered is going to wind up spending the next twenty years or so in jail.”
    For a moment Marco didn’t say anything, just looked ather. She realized that throwing what he was in his face was her way of asking him to deny it if he could. But what he said was, “Who’s been talking to