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"You're going back?" he said, lounging in the doorway, arms folded, feet crossed.
She turned and looked at him in surprise.
"Yes, of course. There's nothing for me in the States."
Stupid, the way her answer made him feel. Angry, and maybe even a little bit... a little bit...
"What?" she said.
"What, what?"
"I don't know. You've got a weird look on your face."
Conor cleared his throat. "Nothing. I mean, I was just wondering—I thought you said we'd have scrambled eggs and bagels."
"So?"
"So," he said, nodding at the can of cat food, "that doesn't look much like an egg to me."
Miranda laughed. "Relax, O'Neil. Mia gets fed first, or she'll yowl." She scooped the cat's food into a dish, then reached for the coffee pot. "Then it's our turn."
"You left a step out."
"I did?"
"Well, you're all sweated up. And dirty."
Miranda's eyebrows shot up. "You're just full of compliments, aren't you?"
"Don't argue, Beckman. You take a hot shower and I'll start the meal."
"Don't be silly. I'm fine."
"You're not fine. You're starting to shiver. And that cut on your knee still needs to be cleaned."
"Do you ever lose an argument?"
He grinned. "Not that I can recall. I'll give it some thought while you're in the shower."
He could see the narrowing of her green eyes that told him she wasn't pleased. That's it, he told himself, keep this up, she'll be sorry she asked you here. Not that it mattered. He was already sorry he'd come. Why should he want to stand so close to her that he could smell her incredibly sexy combination of sweet woman and honest sweat? Why should he want to see how her damp shirt clung to her breasts, with her nipples standing hard and firm under the cotton, just waiting for the touch of his fingers?
Dammit, he thought, and he stepped back, far enough away so he couldn't be tempted to reach out and skim his hands up under her shirt.
"Get going," he said, his irritation with himself turning his voice gruff, "or I'll dump you under the shower myself."
Miranda glared at him. "Your wish is my command, mein Fuhrer," she said, and she rammed the coffee pot into his middle and marched out of the room.
* * *
Safely inside the bathroom, she clutched the rim of the sink and flinched at the sight of her flushed face in the mirror.
So much for owing her rescuer a cup of coffee, a couple of eggs and a bit of polite conversation.
She kicked off her muddy sneakers, yanked off her sweat-soaked, dirt-encrusted shorts and shirt, her sports bra and panties and tossed the entire mess into the corner. Then she turned the shower to hot and stepped under the spray.
The polite thing to do was to show O'Neil some appreciation for his help but he didn't make it easy. He was still the same arrogant male he'd always been.
On the other hand, it was probably just as well he'd reverted to type and started barking out orders because a minute before that, she'd looked into his blue eyes and felt the world tilt beneath her feet. And that was ridiculous. He'd saved her butt but that didn't change things.
