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Amusement creased the corners of his eyes, somehow
making his almost too perfect features more human. Yet
more unforgettable. "Very observant of you. And careless of
me."
"Hey, the boys were impressed you could even walk."
His smile grew, and her heart did a strange flutter. This
man was dangerous, all right, and not just to her health.
"Which is why I could not retrieve my sweater," he said,
his gaze drifting from her face to her breasts and back again.
Suddenly too warm, she peeled off her coat and dropped it
on the seat next to her. "How did you lose the cops in the
park?"
"How did they find me after the supermarket?"
"I saw you."
He studied her for a moment. "It would seem you are not
as oblivious to this link between us as you would have me
believe."
That much was certainly true, but she wasn't about to
admit it. Giving this man the knowledge of how deeply he
affected her would be a bad move on so many levels. Not the
least of which was the fact that he was a stranger who
refused to impart information about himself.
But would that stop her from having sex with him again?
Hell, no!
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"And how did you come to that conclusion?"
"You sensed who I was, didn't you, even though I gave no
clues via appearance or walk?"
"Maybe."
A smile tugged his lips again. "I can understand your
hesitancy. Believe me, this was not on my agenda, either."
"Then what is?"
His smile faded into something cold and hard. "Catching a
killer."
The sudden change was a chilling reminder that she knew
nothing about this man other than the fact that he gave good
sex. She didn't even know if she could trust him, despite what
her instincts said.
She crossed her arms, and leaned back. "Are you
government?"
He paused, his expression assessing. After a moment, he
said, "Yes."
"U.S. government, I mean."
"Yes."
"CIA?"
"No."
"FBI?"
"No."
"Who then?"
"It doesn't matter."
It did matter, if only because of what was happening
between them. She needed to know more about him. Needed
to explore the possibilities that lay before them.
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But that required two willing participants, and she had a
suspicion willing wasn't in his repertoire at the moment. So
why was he here? Really?
"Do you know the killer?"
"Yes."
"He works with you?"
He hesitated, his gaze sliding past her for a moment, then
coming back full of warning. Not that she really needed one
when the sound of footsteps, as well as the tantalizing aroma
of bacon, pancakes and coffee, was evidence enough that
Dan was approaching.
She waited until he'd deposited the food and the coffee,
then picked up the small pot of maple syrup and poured it all
over her pancakes.
"If you eat a stack like that every morning, piled high with
butter and maple syrup, how the hell do you remain so slim?"
Grey asked, amusement glinting briefly in his eyes.
"Luck of the draw when it comes to the gene pool. Beagles
are naturally slender." She picked up her knife and fork. "You
were saying?"
He began to tuck into his bacon and eggs. "You need to
keep away from the bar tonight."
She blinked. "That's not what you were saying."
"No. But it's what I needed to say."
"Why?"
"Because the killer will strike tonight, and I don't want you
in the firing line."
His words made her heart do an odd little jig. "Better me
than someone who can't defend themselves."
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"There is no defense against the likes of this person. Not
for you, anyway."
"I'm a shifter. I'm fast. Strong."
His smile held a condescending edge. "Not against this
person. Not even against me."
She raised an eyebrow. "You're just a face shifter no
disrespect intended. Granted, you're a male, and therefore
stronger than me by nature, but I still should have the edge
when it comes to speed."
"You think?"
"I wouldn't have said it otherwise."
He studied her for a moment, his gaze so intent she had to
quell the urge to squirm. Then, with a half smile, he put down
his knife and fork.
"Care to test that?"
She hesitated. "How?"
"On the count of three, you try to pull your right hand
away from the pancakes before I can grab it."
She put down her cutlery. It seemed too easy, which made
her suspect it would be the opposite. "Who counts."
He shrugged. "It doesn't matter."
"Okay. One."
He raised an eyebrow, amusement touching his lips again.
He crossed his arms, and rested them lightly on the table. It
was a pose that suggested this was no contest.
"Two."
Tension ran through her. He still looked relaxed.
Unconcerned. Like he had all the time in the world to lunge
across the table and grab her hand.
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"Three."
As fast as she could, she ripped her hand back, out of the
way. His hand blurred as it shot out. She got as far as the
edge of the table before his fingers wrapped around hers and
stopped her dead.
"Damn, that's fast," she muttered, trying to ignore the
press of his callused palm against her knuckles. Yet it was
impossible to ignore the warm response that spread from her
hand to the rest of her body.
"It almost wasn't fast enough." He shifted his grip and,
with his thumb, began to lightly caress the inside of her wrist.
Her pulse jumped into high gear again, and her throat felt
suddenly dry.
"What do you mean?" It came out little more than a husky
whisper, and the heat in his gaze went up several notches.
Even the air seemed to vibrate with the lust flaring between
them.
"You got your hand to the edge of the table. Most people
wouldn't have."
"Most people aren't shifters."
"Most shifters aren't that fast." His gaze rose to hers. "Or
this beautiful."
For several seconds she lost herself in the ethereal beauty
of his eyes, drinking in the heat, the sincerity, the desire, that
were all too evident in those ghostly depths.
It would be all too easy to fall for this man.
This stranger.
She blinked and tried to free her hand from his. He held it
fast, then with his free hand, pushed the food aside and
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leaned across the table. She watched his approach, her gaze
skating between his lips and his eyes, torn between watching
the desire so evident in his gaze, and the advance of the
luscious mouth she just wanted to kiss forever. She closed
her eyes at the last moment, welcoming his kiss, opening her
mouth, drawing him deeper. God, he tasted good. She kissed
him long and hard, exploring his mouth with her tongue,
tasting him as thoroughly as he tasted her.
By the time he pulled back, her breathing was ragged and
tiny beads of perspiration dotted her overheated skin.
"I want you," he whispered, his breath so warm and fast
against her lips. He raised a hand, cupping her cheek, his
fingers seeming to burn where they touch. "Now."
Oh God ... she so wanted the same. Yet she couldn't. Not
here, not when she knew so little about him. Not when she
didn't even know what he really wanted.
He began to drop feather light kisses on her lips, her nose,
her cheeks. "Trust your instincts," he said. "They rarely lie."
"It's the rarely bit I'm worried about."
"I'm not lying, Eryn. I want you."
His mouth moved down her neck. She closed her eyes
again, enjoying the sensation, feeling warmth flooding all the
right places. "That I don't doubt. It's the rest of your story
I'm worried about."
"I've told you no lies here."
His tongue skimmed the moisture around the base of her
neck. A tremor ran through her. "It's the truths you haven't
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