“WHAT ARE YOU LOOKIN’ SO happy about? Get laid last night?” Eddie from the loading dock shuffled past Cynthia in the corridor, a bleary-eyed leer on his face.

“What kind of—” She stopped herself in the middle of a self-righteous rant, remembering Cyn would have those kind of earth-shattering experiences practically every night and not feel a bit embarrassed by her smug morning-after smile. She changed her tone to sultry, and threw in a little laugh. “What kind of girl kisses and tells?” She winked at Eddie and watched his complexion go even ruddier. Really, she was getting pretty good at this sexy stuff.

“Mornin’, Mr. Percivald,” he said as he shuffled on by.

“Good morning, Eddie.” Neville Percivald’s voice came from just behind her. She felt herself blush. Darn it, how much had he heard?

“Good morning, Cynthia.”

She was forced to turn around, hoping she hadn’t shocked him. He didn’t seem shocked, though. He looked…interested.

She didn’t want Neville interested in her sex life.

Last night, Cynthia Baxter had discovered she could have sex so mind-bogglingly fantastic she giggled every time she thought about it. She wanted to hold that special knowledge to herself, not bring it to the office with her.

She’d had so little sleep last night, she should be exhausted this morning, but instead she felt invigorated. Empowered was a favorite word in those self-help books she’d been reading, and that was how she felt this morning. Empowered. She could do anything today!

Which reminded her. She had work to do, important undercover work, and following Jake’s rules about doing nothing but her job hadn’t helped her get any closer to discovering whether Oceanic was involved in drug smuggling, and if so, how.

Maybe it was time to use that newfound empowerment. Take a bit of a risk and see what she could find.

Today she could risk anything, do anything. She was Cyn the Bold! And she’d been bold last night in bed—bold in a way that should have made her blush this morning. Instead she felt a warm, sexy and invigorating glow.

She smiled to herself. Having a man like Jake helpless beneath her and literally begging was the best kind of empowerment a woman could find. She could probably get a Ph.D. on the subject.

Which would involve finding a pretty broad-minded university. Perhaps she’d be better off continuing her research in private, her dissertation fit for nobody’s ears but Jake’s. Perhaps, instead of the traditional thesis, she could do more of a one-on-one, performance-art kind of thing. She licked her lips as scenarios filled her mind.

She found herself back at her desk, her coffee mug still empty. How had she managed to walk to the break room and forget the coffee? Apart from her empty coffee mug, there was nothing more exciting on her desk than a routine stack of packing slips. She glanced at the first one. It was for another load of chopsticks.

Oceanic seemed to be bringing in an awful lot of chopsticks, she thought idly, as she flicked through a stack of paper. She stopped and picked up a pencil, tapping the eraser end against her desktop.

According to the documentation, these chopsticks had also come from Colombia. Excitement stirred in her belly. Colombia had cleaned up its image but, if the news was to be believed, the country still grew and exported more cocaine than any other country in the world. And a lot of that was being shipped to the US.

The same boat had also shipped a large order of coffee. Her eyes widened in excitement. Jake had mentioned the practice of smuggling cocaine inside sacks of coffee, so the overpowering fragrance of coffee beans hid the smell of drugs from the dogs.

She glanced up at the Daytona 500 racing poster her predecessor had left behind, knowing she didn’t fit in at this company any more than that poster fit in her office. She had to take a more active role in this investigation or she’d be weeping from boredom. She stretched her legs out in front of her and admired the brand-new, strappy black heels. They were the most frivolous and expensive shoes she’d ever owned. She loved them. A woman in shoes like these didn’t worry about stepping out of the box.

She rose.

A woman in shoes like these made her own rules.

She walked down the corridor and through the double fire doors into the warehouse. As she’d hoped, the guys were already moving the boxes, sacks and crates from the loading dock into the warehouse. She tripped up to Eddie, who was supervising a grunting, sweating crew, and gave him her best smile. She leaned against the wall of coffee sacks they were building.

“Hey, Cyn,” Eddie greeted her.

“Eddie, I don’t know what to get Marilyn for a shower present. I’ve seen you two together a few times, so wondered if you might have some ideas.”

“Present for Marilyn. Hmm.” Eddie leaned beside her, his freckled arms crossed over his massive chest. Damp sweat rings circled his underarms.

While he pondered, and it wasn’t a quick process, she began digging and twisting her brand-new, very expensive, pencil-thin heel into a burlap sack, trying to tear a hole big enough for the beans, and whatever else was in the sack, to come spilling out. It broke her heart to damage her brand-new shoes, but she was willing to make the odd personal sacrifice if she was going to help the FBI.

Trouble was, when she’d thought up this maneuver she hadn’t taken into account how tough burlap was.

“A tablecloth could be good,” Eddie said.

“Do you know how big their table is?” She stabbed her heel harder, trying not to grunt.

“No.” His attention was caught by the forklift, which held a pallet of coffee sacks poised in midair, one lone sack teetering at the edge. “Watch what you’re doin’,” he shouted, just as the sack toppled off and crashed to the ground.

Cynthia beamed with delight as it exploded on contact, sending coffee bouncing and flying until the floor was thick with fragrant black beans.

Eddie and Cynthia both rushed forward, but Eddie’s feet slipped out from under him as if he were a man walking on ball bearings, and he landed on his butt with an oath.

By planting those thin heels of hers, Cynthia managed to reach the burlap sack first. Pretending to stumble, she upended it until the last bean had bounced to the cement. She felt like stamping her stiletto heels in frustration when no incriminating packages tumbled to the floor.

There was nothing there but coffee.

After helping Eddie to his feet, she said, “I guess I picked a bad time to ask about wedding presents. I’ll catch you later,” and with a cheerful wave she returned to her office. Her mug was still empty, but she’d lost the taste for coffee.

If the drugs weren’t in the coffee, they had to be hidden in the crates of chopsticks. As she reconciled invoices and drudged away with columns of numbers, a plan began to form in her head. As Jake was so fond of reminding her, she wasn’t a real FBI agent, she was a volunteer. And volunteers didn’t have to follow the same rules and regulations as real agents. In fact, as far as she was concerned, they didn’t have to follow any rules but their own.

She was going to check out those “chopsticks.”

“Are you free for lunch today, Cynthia?” Agnes asked just before noon. The two women had become friendly and Cynthia hated to turn her down, but she had no choice.

“I’m sorry, Agnes. I’ve got some errands to run today.”

“I understand,” the bookkeeper said in the resigned tone of one who is used to rejection. Guilt smote Cynthia.

“How about tomorrow?”

“All right, I—”

“Oh, no. Wait. I’m getting my hair colored at lunch.”

“You’re so brave.” Agnes sighed enviously. “I wish I had the courage to color my hair. It’s always been mouse-brown, and now it’s mouse-gray.”

“My true color is mouse, too. Come with me. It’ll be fun.” Really, Agnes was such a nice lady, it would be a pleasure to get her started in the right direction.

“I couldn’t come back to work after lunch with a different color.” She patted her hair, with such a wistful expression on her face, Cynthia had to smile.

“Tell you what. I’ll change my appointment and we’ll go together Saturday morning. Then you’ll have the whole weekend to get used to the new you.” She thought about suggesting they go clothes shopping afterward, but she was probably pushing it to get Agnes to agree to the hair.

“I don’t know. I’ve never done anything like that.” Agnes turned with a half eager, half fearful smile. “Do you think I should?”

“Absolutely. Take my motto—Live a Little.”

The older woman sighed. “I wish I could be as bold and adventurous as you, Cynthia. I admire you.”

“There’s nothing to it. Trust me on this one.”

“I’ll think about it.”

Having salved her conscience, and fobbed Agnes off, Cynthia left for lunch a few minutes early and headed for the closest hardware store. She bought a crowbar, industrial flashlight, dark gloves and a black woolen skull cap. She glanced at her watch and saw she’d been almost an hour.

Drat. She’d hoped to have a filling lunch, but there wasn’t time. On her way back to the office, she passed a shoe and handbag store with a nifty looking black leather backpack in the window. Perfect! It would match her black leather miniskirt and she could stuff her purchases in it. While she was there she also bought a pair of black sneakers, more suitable for after-dark snooping than the strappy heels.

Then she headed back to work, running into a convenience store to grab a cereal bar and a chocolate bar. Hardly a nutritious lunch. Good thing she’d remembered her multi-vitamin this morning. She promised herself an extra serving of veggies when she got home.

She arrived back at work breathless, but feeling awfully pleased with herself.

Was Jake thinking about her? Was he reliving last night as often as she was? She touched a finger to a tender spot on her wrist. Raunch Magazine hadn’t let her down. She’d written her own “orgasmic drama of legendary proportions.” Now she was ready for the curtain to go up again. And again.

Now that they’d broken the ice, and he knew about the magazine, she wondered if they could explore some of the ideas in Intimate Intermediates. There was that one with ice cream…

“Cynthia. Cynthia!”

“Hmm?” She turned, and her vision melted like the ice cream would on Jake’s— “Sorry, Agnes, I was miles away.” She shot the older woman a sheepish grin, straightened her spine and yanked her skirt down a bit. “What did you say?”

“I’ve decided to take you up on your kind offer.” Agnes stood there in her doorway like a Crusader about to start off for the Holy Land. “I’m ready to get my hair colored.”

“That’s great! I’ll make the appointments right now.” Before Agnes could change her mind, which she looked in imminent danger of doing, Cynthia dug Michael’s card out of her purse and made appointments for the two of them for Saturday morning.

As the afternoon dragged on and boredom threatened to set in, she nudged her lumpy backpack with her foot, just to remind herself of the adventure she’d promised herself later.

Frequent peeks at the office clock didn’t speed the afternoon at all.

Finally, the clock showed it was just a few minutes before five. The office staff were starting to pack up, ready to go home. Cynthia turned off her computer, straightened her desk and picked up the backpack, slipping her purse inside. “I’m just going to visit the washroom, then I’m leaving for the day,” she said breezily to Agnes as she headed out of the accounting department and into the main office.

She didn’t mention that the washroom she’d be visiting was located in the warehouse. She saw Eddie and a couple of casual workers on the far side as she entered. A quick glance revealed where they’d stacked a shipment of chopsticks. The crates appeared untouched. Excellent.

Casually, just in case anyone was watching, she sauntered to the ladies’ room. She’d never seen a woman working in this area of the company, so she imagined the women’s bathroom was a tip of the hat to equal opportunity. An easier step than actually hiring a woman on the loading dock.

She was grateful that the men were too macho to enter a door with a silhouette of a woman on it. The tiny bathroom was spotless, and smelled faintly of disinfectant.

Using the light from the open door, she did a quick reconnoiter—very quick; it was a pretty small bathroom—and in seconds had the layout memorized. One stall, a single white sink with a small mirror stuck to the wall above it. A paper towel dispenser, empty trash can. Lino floor that looked pretty clean. No window.

Swiftly she closed the door behind her, not turning on the light just in case it showed under the door.

Her heart began to pound. For the first time since she’d started the job, she was going against Jake’s specific instructions to stick to her regular job and do nothing out of the ordinary. If he found out she was actively snooping he’d kill her. Of course, if there were drugs in this warehouse and she got caught hiding in a pitch-dark bathroom with a backpack full of tools, somebody might do the job for him.

The darkness started to close in on her and she felt mildly panicked. It wasn’t too late to change her mind. She could still waltz out of this tiny bathroom, say goodbye to the guys and saunter on home. No one would know about her botched undercover spying attempt. She gnawed on her thumb and listened to her heart pound.

She took a step backward and halted. She had to stop being a coward. Jake had offered her danger and excitement, and she’d been thrilled. Now she had a chance to grab some of that excitement by doing a little sleuthing, and she wanted to wimp out.

Well, forget it. She was doing this. And not just for her own personal satisfaction.

She kept up with the news; she knew the devastation caused by drugs. Families were torn apart. People became addicted and ruined their lives. And the senseless violence of drug wars made Cynthia sick. If there was any chance she could play the smallest role in helping to keep illegal drugs out of the country, she’d do it.

Considering her options, she decided to sit on the floor rather than the toilet. She’d be here awhile. She sank down, wishing she’d chosen to wear her black pants this morning. At least her black wool jacket was warm.

She wished she had a way to pass the hours. She also wished she’d had time for lunch. She was already hungry. She ate the chocolate bar in tiny bits, making it last as long as possible.

After an eternity had gone by, she realized she had no idea what time it was. She’d turned her phone off and didn’t dare turn it back on. If she was going for a career in the spy business, she should invest in one of those fancy watches with a luminescent dial that were good to thirty feet underwater. Then she spent a long time fantasizing about doing naughty things with Jake thirty feet underwater.

Which naturally led to memories of the night before and the way he’d made her feel: sexy and wanton. Powerless and yet powerful enough to make a man like Jake whimper. She smiled smugly at that. He’d moaned, too. But best of all was when she’d made him beg.

She was starting to feel very warm all of a sudden. He’d been gone when she’d woken this morning, which was to be expected, given his paranoia about secrecy. She’d swallowed her disappointment and searched eagerly for a note. There hadn’t been one, but then again, if the bad guys broke into her house, he wouldn’t want them finding a note. It was so sweet of him to worry about her.

Over coffee and granola it had occurred to her that if the bad guys broke into her house, she’d have more to worry about than a note. Her euphoria dipped sharply and all her old insecurities rushed back. Maybe he hadn’t had such a good time, after all. Maybe he thought last night was a huge mistake.

With a heavy heart, she’d prepared for work, defiantly putting on the tight black pants and figure-hugging black and white shirt even though she felt more of a fraud than usual in her sexy getup.

She’d grabbed her purse with a sniff, set the alarm—vowing to upgrade to a top-of-the-line, state-of-the-art, unbreakable system—and hauled out her keys to lock the door. On her key ring was a small silver key she didn’t recognize. Puzzled, she stared at it for a moment—then felt a rush of delicious joy.

It was the key to the handcuffs.

That was better than any old note, or dozens of red roses. What he was telling her, she was certain, was that he’d had a great time—and why put the key on her chain unless he was thinking she’d be needing it on a regular basis? The silver key tinkled merrily against the sturdier house and car keys.

If she wasn’t scared of making a noise, she’d take her keys out now, just for the comfort of holding the little key that reminded her of her connection to Jake.

Her backside went numb and she reviewed sections of the Tax Code in her head to stay awake. She knew the shipping and receiving guys worked until eight. She’d planned to wait until somewhere around midnight to make her move.

It must be hours and hours she’d sat here. If she wasn’t careful, they’d find her sound asleep on the bathroom floor in the morning, and that would not look good at all. She slipped out of her heels and donned the black trainers she’d purchased earlier.

Slowly, she stood. She pressed her ear against the door and listened.

Silence.

Feeling for the door handle in the dark, she eased the door open a crack. A faint glow from emergency lights illuminated the warehouse, but it was very different from daytime. The dim lighting cast horror-movie shadows and turned the crates and boxes into sinister masses.

She’d been surprised at how lax the security was. There were a few security cameras and lights outside, but nothing inside, which was possibly suspicious in itself. If dire deeds took place in this facility, they weren’t being recorded.

But at least she was alone. No gang of cutthroat drug dealers had come to collect their booty, which had been her greatest fear.

Still, she fought an impulse to dive back into the bathroom and curl up into a ball. I am Cyn the Bold! she reminded herself over and over as she crept slowly out of the bathroom, closing the door soundlessly behind her.

Now what?

Deciding to get her nosing around over as quickly as possible so she could get out of there, she crept toward a heap of crates stacked on a wooden pallet.

She tiptoed along the cement, searching ahead for a path. She skirted trollies and a hydraulic lift. She passed boxes fresh from England and Ireland, thanks to Mr. Percivald senior.

At last she reached the chopstick crates. They were stacked in front of the coffee, with an aisle width between.

She stared at the heaped coffee sacks. The one she’d seen break had contained nothing but coffee, but wasn’t it possible some of the sacks contained drugs? She gnawed her thumb in indecision, then decided to stick with her original plan of action. She could always investigate the rest of the coffee later if she had time.

She put her backpack on the ground beside her and dug inside it for the crowbar. She’d bought the smallest one she could find, for obvious reasons, but when she tried to pry the lid off the first wooden crate, she wished she’d gone for the jumbo size.

Although she was happy to be the first person opening the crate, she cursed at how difficult it was. And noisy. Sweat prickled her forehead and neck as she worked the crowbar up and down, trying to ease the lid off as quietly as possible.

She paused and her heart pounded double time. Had she heard something? Her eyes tried to penetrate the murky corners of the warehouse, but all she saw were menacing shadows. The crowbar grew slick in her hands.

She remained rigid, all senses alert, for a minute or so, then decided she’d imagined the noise, and went back to the crowbar. Her arms began to ache from the strain, but slowly the lid started to rise. With a final loud squeal, it came free.

Like a kid on Christmas morning, she leaned forward to peer inside the crate.

What made her lift her head? Another sound? The sense she wasn’t alone?

She turned just in time to see a black shape hurtling toward her. Even as she opened her mouth to scream, it was too late. A black-gloved hand closed over her mouth and she was hauled backward, her body shoved hard against the pile of coffee sacks. She still had the crowbar in her hand, but as she tried to wield it, she realized that her attacker was holding it, along with her hand, in an unbreakable grip.

His other hand still covered her mouth and half her face. Through a fog of terror, she smelled the leather of his glove, felt the rigid strength of his hand. She worked her jaw, trying to bite him, but the hand clamped so hard she couldn’t even move her tongue.

Frantically, she twisted her body, trying to get a good shot at kneeing him in the groin. Blood was ringing in her ears, and if it was possible to pant through her nose, she was doing it.

“Stay still. I’m not going to kill you till later,” a fierce voice hissed in her ear.

Her body stilled and sank bonelessly against the burlap bags. After a moment the hand eased from her mouth.

“Jake!” she whispered, relief making her feel faint.

“Don’t sound so happy to see me. I’m serious. You’re dead meat.”

“What are you doing here?”

“Same as you.”

“Chopsticks?”

“Chopsticks.” He cocked his head, listening. “Since you’re here, you can hold the flashlight.”

For a second she pondered arguing, then she remembered how glad she was to see him, and what hard work it had been just getting the lid off one crate. “You almost gave me a heart attack.”

“Good.”

She held the flashlight he handed her, and got her first glimpse inside the crate. Rows and rows of chopsticks met her gaze. “Could be a ruse. Maybe the drugs are underneath,” she whispered.

He shot her a glance that, even in the dim lighting, she had no trouble interpreting. Shut up.

She did. And watched as Jake lifted layer after layer of chopsticks out of the box, each layer buffered by transparent packing material. Patiently, he removed each layer from the crate and laid the chopsticks on the cement. Then he got right in the box, taking the flashlight from her and doing a minute inspection of the wooden crate.

He shook his head as he emerged. Then turned his attention to the chopsticks themselves. Slipping a set from its paper sleeve, he broke them apart, then snapped one in pieces, sniffing it, then touching it to his tongue. He grimaced and wiped his tongue on his gloved hand.

“Drugs?” she cried hopefully.

“Sliver.”

“Ouch.”

He wrapped the chopstick pieces in a bit of the packaging and slipped the small bundle into his pocket. He made a close inspection of each layer as he returned it to the crate, careful to preserve the same order.

Suddenly he cocked his head, listening.

She heard it, too. A deep male voice, muffled, but growing louder. Even as her eyes widened and her heart pounded in panic, she watched Jake shove the last few layers of chopsticks back into the crate.

The flashlight beam wavered all over the place as her hand started shaking.

He slid the lid back on top of the crate, then grabbed the flashlight, flicked it off and took her hand in his. He hauled her back behind the last of the crates, against the sacks.

They crouched there, and he lifted a black sleeve to reveal a watch with a luminescent dial, which had to be good to at least thirty feet underwater. Figured. Cynthia hoped it also had some kind of secret agent contraption to get them the hell out of there before they were discovered. The glowing numbers showed it was just after midnight.

Jake leaned toward her and put his lips to her ear. “Night watchman,” he whispered.

She turned to him, startled. She didn’t remember seeing any night watchman on the payroll. But, of course, they employed a security firm. The night watch must be part of the security contract.

The sound she’d been listening for, and dreading, came. She heard the heavy door to the warehouse open. She peered cautiously over the top of a crate and saw two uniformed security guards. They were armed and burly, which was not good, but they also carried lunch boxes and thermoses, which made them somehow less frightening.

They headed straight for the scarred table where the guys played cards on their lunch breaks. They put their stuff down, and one said to the other, “I’ll take a turn round the main offices, you do a walk around in here.” He gestured broadly, and Cynthia felt her already tight nerves crank another notch.

Agent Wheeler, who obviously didn’t have any nerves, put a finger to his lips and flipped the flashlight so the handle faced out. She was puzzled until she recalled how heavy it had felt when she was holding it. Presumably it doubled as some kind of a weapon. He reached beneath his jacket with his free hand and withdrew his gun.

Jake angled his body so it blocked hers from sight, and she stared at the dark outline of his back until it started to blur. Her senses were superheightened as she crouched there, feeling as though she were caught in a nightmare. She heard the slow footfalls of the guard against the cement. He was overweight and wheezed slightly as he walked. The coffee beans smelled as potent as a triple espresso. She heard her own swallow, and tasted a hint of the chocolate bar she’d eaten earlier.

Closer and closer the slow, plodding footsteps came. She felt Jake’s muscles tense in readiness. Her own fight or flight response was on full alert, adrenaline pumping through her system. She reached for the crowbar, knowing it wasn’t much, but it was heavy and she could whack the guard with it if she had to.

Had the man seen them? He seemed to be heading straight for their hiding spot, not checking the other areas of the warehouse. But if he’d seen them, why hadn’t he called his partner? She licked dry lips and tried to think up some plausible explanation as to why she, an office accountant, might be crouching among the crates in the dark.

Nothing plausible occurred to her.

“I know you’re back there! Come on out,” the guard said suddenly, in the voice a father might use with a child acting up. She didn’t need Jake’s signal to stay where she was. She was paralyzed by fear.

“Come on. I’ve got something for you.” The voice came again, closer now.

Jake was poised on the balls of his feet, ready to spring.

Something hairy brushed her hand and she squeaked in alarm before biting off her own cry of horror. She jerked her hand back and watched a big dark shape scuttle by. It had a long snaking tail.

Oh, God. A rat.

“Hey, Wally. How are you, buddy?” the guard crooned, just as she heard the heavy door open once again.

“You gotta stop feedin’ that rodent, it’s disgusting,” a grumpy older man’s voice complained.

“Don’t hurt his feelings, Harry. He’s a very smart rat. Look how he knows I got Oreos in here.” The voice sounded fainter, and she heard the boots heading away, then the clicking of a lunch box.

“He’s vermin. I got rat poison in here.”

“Aw, you wouldn’t. Wally’s like family, ain’t you, little buddy?”

“I have to leave now,” Cynthia whispered urgently to Jake, rubbing her hand frantically against her jacket. “They have rats here. Rats carry diseases like the bubonic plague, and are generally revolting.”

Jake shot her a warning look and put a finger to his lips.

Okay. She was losing it. In some recess of her mind where a smidgen of sanity remained, she recognized that she was losing it, but her only coherent thought was to get out of this horrible rat-infested nightmare as quickly as possible.

Like yesterday.

“I really have to leave,” she whispered.

“How are you going to get out?” he whispered back.

“I’ll crawl past them. They’re playing cards.”

“The rat’s up there.” Was it her imagination or was he laughing at her?

It was the last straw. She’d had a miserable evening, learned absolutely squat, and her last meal on earth could turn out to be a candy bar. Not only that, but Jake, her brand-new lover, hadn’t even bothered to tell her he’d be dropping by. To top it all off, a rat had run over her hand. And Jake thought it was funny?

“Excuse me,” she said furiously, and tried to shove her way past him.

Next thing she knew, he had his hand clamped over her mouth again, the other just under her breasts, and he was hauling her backward. When he’d finished manhandling her, he bumped her down onto his lap, and she found herself leaning against his chest, while he leaned against the sacks. The smell of coffee, pungent and unattainable, made her stomach growl.

Jake held her still and began whispering soothingly into her ear. “Relax. They’ll probably do rounds every couple of hours. Next time they do, we’ll leave. Understand?”

She shuddered, but sanity had returned. Her panic was already ebbing as he cradled her, his words warm and reassuring in her ear. Somehow she felt nothing too terrible could happen to her now that Jake was holding her. In her head she knew how stupid that was, but he felt solid and warm beneath her.

“Just try to relax.”

She felt his chest rise and fall as he whispered, imagined she could hear the steady pounding of his heart against her shoulder. His whispered breath sent shivers down her neck, and unbidden, images of him naked in her bed last night flashed before her eyes like a particularly luscious film.

His hand rested just under her breasts as though it belonged there, and suddenly she didn’t want to go anywhere.

She heard the slap of cards and the low rumble of the guards’ voices, not fifty feet away. She should be cowering in terror, but instead, a warm, powerful urge pervaded her body. It was as though all the fear and tension, all the adrenaline that had coursed through her body moments ago, had settled, hot and insistent, between her legs.

Relax? Not a chance.

She shifted her hips, doing her own private version of a fully clothed lap dance, and all thoughts of rodents fled. Maybe it wasn’t the smartest thing she could be doing under the circumstances, but she was unable to control the raw need that gripped her.

The hand under her breasts tightened, grabbing her ribs as though to stop her movements, but it would have taken a full body cast to prevent the instinctive gyrations of her woman’s body urging her mate to fill her. She heard a muttered oath, then felt Agent Wheeler’s breathing change, as did the topography of his lap.

“What’s on your mind, Cyn?” No longer soothing, his whisper was as ragged as a torn curtain, revealing his own urges.

Since he didn’t move his hand from her mouth, her only way of answering him was with body language. She wiggled, as suggestively as she knew how, against the bulge pressing against her backside.

He nipped her earlobe, then traced its shape with his tongue, hot and wet in the cool, dank atmosphere of the warehouse. “I guess we don’t have anything else to do for the next couple of hours.” He still didn’t move his hand from her mouth, but the other hand slipped inside her jacket and began to trace the contours of her breasts, while his lips trailed over the back of her neck, making her shiver all over.

She arched against him, rubbing her hands on the outside of his thighs, up to his waist as far as she could reach. All her fear had sublimated itself into an arousal so fierce she burned with it.

Helplessly her movements changed from the controlled gyrations she’d started with. She began squirming on his lap.

“Can you keep quiet?” he whispered.

She debated with herself for a moment. Could she? His left hand was doing such delicious things to her nipple that she felt a moan building in her throat. With two hands on her flesh, he could have her crying aloud in no time. And his right hand was such a talented hand. Clapped over her mouth the way it was, it just wasn’t living up to its potential. There were areas of her body that needed that hand much more than her mouth did. Figuring the presence of the guards would act as a pretty efficient gag, she jerked her head up and down. Yes.

His hand released her mouth and, stopping to tug the glove off with his teeth, he reached down between her legs as if he’d read her mind. She pulled them open, as though she were doing a frog kick, and sighed softly as he cupped her heat.

“I like you better in skirts,” he whispered in frustration. He undid the button at her waist, eased down her zipper and together they wiggled and pulled until her black skinny jeans were half way down her thighs and cool air fanned her intimate parts.

Maybe the air was cool, but she wasn’t. She’d never felt like this before. Feverish with want. Shameless and wanton with the urge to take and be taken. Deep inside herself she recognized that part of the feverish excitement was caused by the fact that the guards were only several yards away and that this game she and Jake were playing was a dangerous one.

She bit her lip to stop herself from crying out as his fingers reached for her again.

“Now this, I like,” he whispered, slipping his hand beneath the silk thong she’d donned that morning in a fit of bravado. She felt her own slickness as his fingers slid over her, seeking and finding her throbbing clit.

He shocked her by clamping a hand once more over her mouth. Before she had time to wonder why, he plunged two fingers inside her, deep and hard. Once.

And again.

And again.

She gripped the hard muscles of his thighs, trying to anchor herself as her body bucked helplessly against him. But there was no anchor that could hold her. He wouldn’t allow it, forcing her to the brink, then flinging her over. The climax rocketed through her, urgent and explosive, while his hand silenced her cries.

But it wasn’t enough. It wasn’t nearly enough. All he’d done was whet her appetite, only reminding her of the depth of her hunger.

As quietly as she could, given the raging need inside her, she turned and straddled him, feeling the cold shock of cement against her knees, startling against the heat in the rest of her body.

Her trembling hands fumbled a little as she found the zipper of his pants and drew it down slowly and oh, so quietly. His eyes were gleaming slits, mesmerizing her as she released him, warm and solid, into her hand. She took a moment to stroke him, loving the feel of him.

Her body ached, wanting him deep inside her. “I don’t suppose you—”

“In my pocket.”

Even in the dim light her surprise must have registered, for he continued, “I was planning to come by your place later.”

Feeling wonderfully smug, she waited until he’d sheathed himself, then, lifting her hips, she guided him, pushing her thong to one side, nudged him against the still-throbbing entrance to her body.

She gazed at his face for a moment. It was rigid with suppressed tension, the jaw clamped, eyes half-shut. Very deliberately, she placed a hand over his mouth and brought his up to cover hers once more. Then she lowered herself slowly, feeling the delicious stretch, taking him deep.

She set the pace, and she kept it slow, partly to keep the noise to a minimum, but partly, she had to acknowledge, to watch the helpless need build in his eyes as he thrust up against her. Sweat began to bead on his forehead. His nostrils distended as his breathing thickened, sending puffs of warm breath against her knuckles.

Her own breathing was just as thick, her need just as potent. As she struggled to drag air into her lungs, she smelled coffee beans, dust and cement, leather and sweat. With each slide of her body against his, she felt the connection between them deepen, until she couldn’t hold back any longer. Her hand squeezed hard against his mouth in warning, and he responded, pressing his palm more firmly over her lips.

Their gazes locked, saying all the things they couldn’t say with their covered mouths. Unable to keep to her slow pace, she thrust her hips faster, pushing them both beyond control. As her body spasmed around him, squeezed by wave after wave of pleasure, his hand stopped her cries. She kept her gaze on his, watching his eyes widen and darken, until the moment when he also broke. She felt the rigid control slip as he bucked up inside her, once, twice, three times as she felt the glorious rush of his passion.

She slumped forward, amazed their noisy breathing alone hadn’t been enough to summon the guards. But after listening for a tense moment, she heard a hoarse cry of triumph. “Full house beats your straight.”

“Jeez. You got all the luck tonight,” the rat-lover grumbled good-naturedly.

Jake kissed her palm as she started to remove it from his mouth. “He’s wrong,” he murmured. “I got all the luck.”

She wanted to touch him and hug him, snuggle under the duvet and swap secrets in sleepy lovers’ voices. Under the circumstances, she contented herself with leaning forward and kissing him, slowly and thoroughly.

Jake went along with it all right, but she could tell his heart wasn’t in it.

“What’s the matter?” she whispered in her sleepy lover’s voice into his ear.

“I don’t want to get caught bare-assed by the guards,” he muttered, shifting her off his lap.

“Oh. Right.”

They fumbled their clothing back into place. She reached for Jake’s hand while they settled back to wait. They overheard the muffled sounds of another hand of poker in progress, and she tried not to wonder about the whereabouts of the rat. And whether or not it lived alone. Jake glanced at his watch from time to time, but otherwise sat as still as the unopened crates.

Now that the fun was over, boredom set in. They hadn’t found anything but chopsticks. The floor was cold and hard, she was tired, she wanted to go home.

Maybe he read her mood, for Jake put an arm around her and pulled her toward him, dropping a light kiss on her hair.

She felt a wash of tenderness for this strong, scary man who made her life so exciting. She snuggled against him and rested her head on his chest. For a while she listened to his heart beat, slow and regular. It was odd to feel so languorous, hiding in a warehouse with two guards, at least one rat and possibly an illegal shipment of drugs. She thought about how happy she was that Jake had showed up. She thought about what they’d just done, and how much she wanted to do it again, at home in bed. Then she just drifted…

She jerked awake. Someone was shaking her.

“Time to go,” Jake said, his voice soft but no longer a whisper.

She blinked and stretched as she tried to get her bearings. With a shock, it all came back to her. She gazed around, wondering if she’d just had the strangest nightmare/wet dream combo of her life, but the cold cement and hunger were real, as was Jake urging her to her feet. “I can’t believe I fell asleep,” she grumbled on a yawn.

“Good thing you don’t snore.”

The card game was obviously over; she couldn’t hear the guards. “Are they gone?” she mumbled sleepily.

“Doing their rounds. Come on.”

He grabbed her hand and slipped her backpack over his shoulders. They skulked around the crates, past the trucking bays, over to the corner of the warehouse, where a door was set into the wall. Jake kept his back between her and the security panel so she couldn’t see what he was doing, but the next thing she knew, he’d opened the door—and no alarms sounded, no lights flashed. She remembered how easily he’d slipped past her own alarm system the night before, and wasn’t at all surprised.

If Jake hadn’t been there, she’d have had to spend the entire night at Oceanic, either cowering among the crates with the rats or holed up in that teeny tiny washroom, then somehow pretend to arrive at work the next morning. In yesterday’s clothes.

She shuddered at the thought.

“Boy, am I glad that’s over.”

As they walked out into the chilly night, Cynthia really thought it was over.

Until she saw the fence.