Jinxed!

How to explain that to her, much less to himself, he hadn’t a clue.

“Today, it was like you appeared out of thin air.” She leaned in close as he searched the drawer. She brushed a wet strand of hair from his temple, letting her fingers linger on him.

His gaze locked on hers as his fingers closed over the key.

She smiled and somehow the simple gesture warmed him. “You grew into your skin quite nicely, Ian McCall.”

“Not nearly as well as you…” Straightening, he ran his fingers over her bare shoulders, playing with the spaghetti strap of her very wet tank. “You’re wet.”

Her eyes widened, maybe wondering if the double entendre had been intentional, which actually it hadn’t, but now he could think of nothing else.

“So are you,” she whispered, running her free hand over his shirt, then under. Her fingers brushed his nipple, and he actually dropped the key.

The pulse at the base of her neck was racing. She wasn’t breathing all that steadily either, but then again, neither was he.

Neither of them bent for the key.

Send her home, his brain ordered. He had to, before he did something stupid.

She was still touching his chest, sliding her hand back and forth over him, lingering. “Chloe-”

She shivered.

He could see her white lace bra-it was playing peekaboo with the wet cotton of her tank, blowing his mind. So were her nipples, pebbled to two hard points, clearly outlined and defined, making his mouth water. “You’re beautiful, Chloe,” he breathed. “So damned beautiful.” His finger slid beneath one of her straps, and then, oops, look at that, it fell to her elbow.

Stop, he told himself. Seriously, stop.

But then Chloe lifted their joined hands and slipped the other strap off…and then the top slid down so that it was just barely, oh, God, barely covering the very tips of her breasts. “Chloe-”

“That’s my name,” she said in a soft, whispery voice that reminded him of long, achingly deep, toe-curling sex. She tugged on the hem of his shirt, leaving him no choice but to lift up his arms and let her pull his shirt all the way off.

No choice at all.

Now his shirt hung between them, caught on the handcuffs. And then she was working on the button fly of his jeans, and he was trying to find the zipper on her skirt, but their hands were getting tangled up. Breathless with anticipation and with a hunger so all-consuming neither of them could talk and make any sense, they fell back against the counter, mouths fused, bodies still damp from the rain and practically steaming they were so heated up.

Unable to get her skirt off, he bunched the light, gauzy material in his fingers. She broke off the kiss to drag hot, wet openmouthed kisses down his throat and over his chest.

He found her panties.

She got his buttons undone.

Being with her like this felt like a homecoming in ways he couldn’t really wrap his brain around, except that stopping was no longer an option-

And then he heard something that snapped him out of it like nothing else could have.

“What?” she murmured, her mouth on his pec.

“I thought I heard something-” His brain had gone hazy. “I heard-” She sank her teeth into him and his knees nearly buckled. “Hold on-”

She slid a hand into his pants. “I am.”

His head came up as he realized two things at once. One, he loved feeling her hands on him again. Two, someone was in the house with them. And he was standing here with his hand down the back of her panties, more than half-undressed himself, still handcuffed to her, and shockingly, frustratingly helpless. “Be very quiet,” he said in her ear. “I’m going to-”

That’s when the lights went out.

7

CHLOE GASPED AT THE sudden, unexpected darkness. “The storm?”

“No.”

That was when she realized Ian had gone taut with tension, and not the good kind of tension.

“Someone’s in the house,” he said quietly, without inflection. “They just cut the power.”

“Ohmigod.” Since he was so calm, she panicked for the both of them, clutching at him, feeling all one hundred and eighty pounds of him quiver with a dangerous edge. “Are you sure?”

Instead of answering, he reached for something, came up against the restraints of the handcuffs, and swore beneath his breath.

“What are we going to do?”

“Not we.” His voice was low, a barely there sound against her ear. “Me. You’re going to-”

“We’re handcuffed! There is no just you!”

He pushed her behind him, where she concentrated on breathing. Not easy. Only a moment ago she’d been breathless for an entirely different reason, and now with the adrenaline flying through her, she felt dizzy, light- headed and sick.

She heard another drawer open and then caught the glint of something-

A knife. He’d grabbed a knife.

Oh, God. Her hands were on his back, smooth and sleek and shirtless.

Defenseless.

Not defenseless, she reminded herself. He was trained; he knew what to do.

She hoped.

He moved, and without any choice she followed, thankful at least that they were on familiar territory for him because she couldn’t see a damn thing.

God, she was tired of the dark. After tonight she wanted never to be in the dark again.

“Careful,” he said, craning his neck to speak softly to her. “Stay behind me.”

Which she’d be glad to do, except that left him even more defenseless because he had one hand twisted behind his back, attached to her.

Oh, God.

He flattened them against a hard surface. Given the icy-cold steel that hit her bare shoulders, she realized it was the refrigerator. She bit back her gasp, and with her free hand attempted to right her tank top. But it was twisted around her and not cooperating-

“Stop.”

Yes, she understood he wanted her to stop fiddling around, but hell if she’d be chased around the house by a burglar while half-naked.

“Shh,” he added, as if she’d dare say a word, and he brought their joined hands to her belly, maybe as comfort, but more likely to hold her in place so she didn’t give them away.

She heard a light squeak and caught the vague outline of the double kitchen doors opening, which had her heart launching into her throat.

Ian’s hand tightened on her stomach. Definite warning.

But she wasn’t going anywhere, she was paralyzed in fear.

A shadow stepped into the kitchen, crouched low, holding something that looked like a-

Oh, God, a gun.

Then Ian stepped into the middle of the room-dragging her with him-and executed some amazing sort of roundhouse kick that sent the intruder flying. It would have sent her flying too, just from Ian’s momentum, but he grabbed her and they both fell to the floor.