THE PERFECT TEN (Boxed Set)

the other side of the patio railing.
    She was alive. He kept telling himself that so his chest would relax.
    For the second time that day, relief flooded through him.
    He should shake her until her teeth rattled for the anxiety she’d put him through. But lying there with that floppy hat half on her head, she looked so vulnerable that all he wanted to do was wrap her in his arms, tuck her close, and keep her safe.
    Another day of this and he’d lose his mind.
    He opened the door slowly and stepped into the warm night breeze. She stirred. Her eyes blinked open then she jerked, looking around, clearly trying to orient herself. Two exhausted amber eyes peered up at him, looking as relieved as he felt.
    He gave her a moment then walked over and squatted down. “Hey there.”
    She murmured something that echoed his words.
    He ran the back of his finger lightly along her baby soft cheek, inhaling the fresh smell of shampoo, no mousse, no spray, just plain shampoo. How could soap and shampoo smell sexy? He didn’t know, but it did.
    The urge to kiss her hit him square in the chest.
    Kissing her might make him feel better, but he wouldn’t risk anything that would send her running again. He spoke softly to not startle her. “I was worried about you. Where’d you go?”
    She rubbed her eyes and mumbled something that sounded like, “A guy stared. Didn’t know, um, had to go. Sorry, don’t worry.”
    Her eyes fluttered a couple of times.
    This little Energizer Bunny was out of energy. No run left in her. Damp hair stuck to her face from a light sheen of sweat. She must have traveled the four miles back on foot.
    “Come on, Angel, you need to sleep.”  He snaked his arm around her waist to lift her to a standing position.
    She let him lead her forward, but once inside the apartment she stopped, shook her head, and said, “Not until I get another shower.” 
    The back of her blouse was damp from her exertions. He’d seen no clothes other than the running outfit she’d worn when he first met her.
    “Sure. I’ll give you one of my T-shirts to sleep in and we’ll throw your clothes back in the washer,” he said.
    “Thanks. Really sorry to be so much trouble.”
    “Honey, it’s no trouble, but I wish you’d tell me what’s going on.”
    She smiled, the shy expression too sweet to be criminal. “I don’t want you to get mixed up in this mess. You’ve been so nice to me. I owe you that.”
    He sighed. One tap and she’d fall over. He hadn’t slept much during the last two weeks himself. Any questions would keep until tomorrow. “I’ll get you the T-shirt.”
    By the time Angel walked into the kitchen fresh from her shower, Zane sat at the counter sifting through mail. She wore his pale blue cotton T-shirt with a redfish busting a wave on the front. It hung halfway down her thighs.
    Nothing else, just her and the T-shirt. He knew it.
    Warning signals screamed from the side of his brain that had been trained to take note of suspicious activity. No one wiped her fingerprints clean everywhere she went. She’d been held captive – he was certain – and then chased down by a deadly group. He’d caught her digging through his storage room looking for something he’d bet played a major role in her tenuous situation. Hard not to think that when his instincts said she’d followed him from Jacksonville looking for whatever she’d lost.
    His mission should be clear – determine her identity and find out if she was tangled up in anything illegal that could cause him big trouble.
    With complete lack of regard for all that logic, his body was still interested in all that creamy skin not covered by his T-shirt.
    She’s probably cold , the brain in his pants suggested. Yeah. She might be chilled, need him to run his hands over that exposed skin and warm her up.
    Or he might just be a goat after all.
    Zane beat his randy side back into submission and tried to see her with the objective threat assessment skills expected of someone with his background.
    He’d studied the enemy. He should pay more attention to the criminal behavior.
    But she didn’t fit the profile of a threat of any kind. Damp hair framed her face. A soapy clean fragrance filled the air between them. She couldn’t seem to lie to him without acting as though she felt guilty. His eyes trailed down the two enticing legs that spanned the break between shirttail and floor.
    There were dozens of reasons he should keep an emotional wall between the