THE PERFECT TEN (Boxed Set)

ice-cold water would help – poured over his crotch.
    If that didn’t do the trick, then how about remembering that he had yet to figure out whether she was a criminal. That should douse any spark of desire that flamed up.
    Angel walked into the kitchen just as Zane managed to stuff his reaction to her under a veil of polite indifference.
    She eyed him warily and hooked a thumb on the waist of her jeans.
    For some reason, it dawned on him right then that she hadn’t given him any panties to wash.
    Don’t go there.
    He’d understand his reaction if she dressed in some skimpy outfit, had her hair styled and makeup exaggerating her finer qualities, but she didn’t have a speck of makeup and only wore the cotton shirt and jeans again.
    Damn if it wasn’t fresh and attractive. He particularly liked the soft, barely-there curls showing up as her hair air-dried. What would it feel like to run his hands through those fine strands or feel them brush against his chest?
    He gritted his teeth. Polite indifference, remember?
    Got it.
    She turned her shirtsleeves up at her wrists, eyes not really settling on any one spot. “Thanks for letting me use your bath. I feel much better.”  A loud growl erupted from her stomach.
    “Sounds like you’re ready for dinner.”  When was the last time she’d eaten? “Give me a minute to clean up and we’ll grab a bite.”  He wanted to check the bathroom before they went anywhere. Before walking away, he pinned her with a serious stare. “You will be here when I come back, won’t you?”
    That she took a moment to answer told him she’d been contemplating leaving, but he’d noticed that she tended to dance around the truth rather than rattle off a lie. After a long sigh, she nodded. “I’ll wait.”
    Zane accepted her word, but also had a security monitor in his bathroom with lights that would indicate if anyone opened a door or a window. He shut himself inside the bathroom then squatted down to view the counter and faucets. Every inch had been wiped clean. He lifted the water bottle she’d tossed into the trash basket next, but knew he’d find no fingerprints there either.
    Impressive, in an extremely suspicious way.
    No problem.
    He had the perfect place to eat. The owner would supply him with her entire set of tableware if Zane asked for it.
    Making quick work of his shower while keeping an eye on the security monitor, Zane strolled back into his living room. He found Angel planted in the middle of the floor gazing out the glass doors. Was she so uncomfortable around the strange environment that she wouldn’t sit down on the leather furniture?
    Or was she so careful to not leave a print?
    “Ready?” he asked.
    Turning to answer him, concern shadowed her face. “Can’t we
    just order a pizza?”
    “I know a great little Italian restaurant, really a hole in the wall. Only locals go there. They make the best pizza, but you should try their lasagna.”
    She slumped in defeat, obviously tired. Once he fed her a decent meal, she’d probably sleep like the dead.
    Cutting her eyes back over to the glass doors to where purple twilight closed in on the beach, she must have seen something that made her decision. “If it’s not too expensive,” she mumbled.
    “I’ll buy dinner. Consider it a bonus for pacifying Suarez today.”  He doubted money mattered as much in her agreement to go as the fact that the sun was setting. Dark offered protection from being easily seen.
    “Just a minute.”  She retrieved her hat and bag, twisted her hair up and shoved the hat on. “Okay, I’m ready.”
    Hat or not, he’d recognize that body. Who did she hope to outfox? He herded her to the truck, ready to finally nail down her identity. But would he be just as pleased with himself once he had fingerprint results tomorrow?
    In the four miles to the restaurant, the scenery deteriorated from snazzy to worn out. While he described how the area had changed in a mere three years, Angel looked where he pointed but rode in silence, hands in her lap, touching nothing. Her discipline was remarkable, and at the same time disconcerting.
    He pulled into a rundown strip mall with one significant store in the center surrounded by small eclectic retail shops. Once a high-end grocery, the cavernous anchor of the center now housed a sprawling flea market he’d spent a couple of outings wandering through with Trish when he couldn’t get out of it.
    Parking in front of De Nikki’s , he strolled