Sizzle and Burn

kitchen and brought back the bottle of scotch that she kept in a cupboard for Andrew and Gordon. She recalled drinking one or two glasses, possibly three. Shortly afterward things had gone pleasantly vague.
    She levered herself up on her elbows and looked at Zack. He had pulled the bedspread up to his waist for warmth but he was still on top of the quilt and still wearing his pants. She could see the broad expanse of his bare chest.
    Shock jolted through her. “ Zack .”
    He opened his eyes and regarded her with lazy, masculine appreciation.
    “We didn’t play strip poker last night, if that’s what’s worrying you,” he said.
    She surged to her knees to survey his chest more closely. “My God, you look like you’ve been hit by a bus.”
    He looked down and grimaced when he saw the bruises. “Purple isn’t my color but it’s not as bad as it looks.”
    “That’s hard to imagine. I had no idea it was this bad. We should have taken you to the emergency room last night.” She started to scramble off the bed. “I’ll get dressed and drive you there right now.”
    He caught hold of her wrist, chaining her easily. “Relax. Nothing’s broken.”
    “Are you sure?”
    He seemed amused by her concern.
    “I’m a little sore, that’s all.”
    “A little .” She looked at him in disbelief.
    “Okay, kind of sore.” He touched his ribs in a gingerly manner. “A few anti-inflammatory tablets will take care of the worst of it. How’s my face look?”
    She scrutinized him carefully. “No black eye, amazingly enough.”
    “Good. That will save answering a lot of questions today. Black eyes always draw a lot of attention.” He used the grip on her wrist to tug her slowly toward him. “You know, if you’re sincerely interested in speeding my recovery, I have a suggestion.”
    A kiss was not a good idea but she could not seem to stop herself from leaning toward him.
    She brushed her mouth lightly against his.
    “Oh, yeah,” he said, eyes darkening. “That’s the magic cure, all right.”
    His arm started to tighten around her.
    She resisted. “I wouldn’t dream of taking advantage of an injured man.”
    “It’s okay. I know you’ll be gentle with me.”
    “You don’t need sex,” she said sternly, enjoying the banter more than she wanted to admit. “What you need is a good breakfast and those anti-inflammatories.”
    “See, that’s where you’re wrong.” He raised a finger and assumed a lecturing tone. “Sex releases all sorts of endorphins into the bloodstream. It makes you feel good. Like a tonic.”
    Laughing, she got to her feet, found her glasses and pulled on her robe. “Breakfast sounds safer.”
    “You gamble for big money in Vegas and you hunt bad guys for a hobby, lady. Since when do you play it safe?”
    She stopped short at that. She had always thought of herself as risk-averse, having spent her entire adult life concealing her talents from all but a tiny, close-knit circle of acquaintances. She had played it safe, just as Aunt Vella had taught her, so that others would not label her crazy. Until Zack she had never even experienced anything close to genuine intimacy with a lover because she had been afraid to reveal the truth about herself.
    The concept of herself as a woman who was not afraid to take a few risks was nothing short of dazzling.
    She was about to give Zack the sort of snappy comeback a bold, assertive, risk-taking woman might make to the man she had allowed into her bed when she noticed the notepad on the nightstand.
    She stared at the numbers written on the top sheet of paper, outraged.
    “What’s this?” She snatched up the pad and held it right in front of his eyes.
    He pushed himself up on his elbows and studied the numbers on the pad, brows furrowed in concentration. Then he smiled.
    “That’s the result of our friendly little game of blackjack last night,” he said.
    “According to this I owe you ten thousand, four hundred and fifty dollars.”
    “My luck turned after you drank those three glasses of scotch.”
    “The heck it did. I never lose at blackjack. You got me drunk and took advantage of me.”
    “Three itty-bitty glasses of scotch are enough to put you under the table? I’ll have to remember that.”
    “It was the scotch on top of the stress that did it,” she shot back indignantly. “I’ve been under a lot of stress lately.”
    “I dunno.” He shook his head, unconvinced. “Sounds like an excuse to me.”
    “Hah.” She