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His gaze cut over her high cheekbones, pert little nose and full lips before catching on those thighs again.
When she crossed her legs, draping the left over the right and leaning back in her seat to get comfy, he couldn’t help but note how… unintentionallysexyshe was.
She had a body men sniffed after, but gave off the air that she didn’t give a damn what anybody thought of her looks or brains or how eccentric she was.
The longer he studied her, the more she reminded him of those Russian nesting dolls. She wasn’t just one thing. The layers kept peeling away to reveal new sides of her.
She possessed a core of steel, and an amazing set of strengths were right there at her fingertips, waiting for the time she had need of them.
Clay’s instincts were good, but when had he ever read a person’s character so fast?
What was he supposed to do with her?
I know what I’d like to do TO her.
Dammit, this is wrong. So wrong.
She thinks I’m a silver fox.
But in the past half hour of trying to get rid of a bomb, Lark had stimulated him more than he had been in a very, very long time.
* * * * *
Lark squirmed on the truck seat. Who knew that the FBI had a problem with being late? They’d been sitting in this parking area off the interstate for over two hours.
Two hours that the bomb kept on ticking.
Her coffee cup was empty and the donut she’d scarfed down that morning had long since worn off. Her companion was a man of few words too, which made for dull company, even if hewasnice to look at.
The parking area was more of a place to pull off, featuring picnic tables where travelers could stop and eat the food they brought from home. And for some reason, Clay decided to park a few steps from an outhouse.
“How much longer do you think we’ll have to wait for this guy to show up?”
“He said by the time we got here, he’d be waiting.”
“Well, it’s been two hours.” She popped the door open.
A big hand came down on her thigh right below the hem of her shorts. All five digits and a broad palm sent heat searing through her skin. Her stomach did a little flip at the touch, and she stared at his hand.
Long fingers. God, were those calluses she felt? And veins snaked up his wrist to tangle with the tendons of his forearm.
He yanked his hand away as if he’d grabbed an electric fence. “Where do you think you’re going?” he ground out.
“I’m going to use that outhouse. The coffee, remember?”
He opened his own door and extended his long legs to the ground. She jumped out too, automatically snagging her purse as she did. When he circled to her side, she realized she didn’t need her purse and thrust it at him.
Dropping his arms to his sides, he simply stared at the bag. “What is that thing?”
“Well, it’s not a bomb.”
He gave her a flat look.
“Okay, I see that you’re not much for jokes. Just hold it while I use the restroom.”
“Why didn’t you leave it in the truck? We’re only feet away.”
“Habit.” She held out the purse to him, which he reluctantly took. “Why didn’t you stay in the truck is the better question.”
