When was imprisonment going to end?

The past three weeks had been the longest of Aimee’s life.

Restless, she paced the length of her back patio, unable to look away from the six-foot privacy fence Trace had insisted she needed. Now, she couldn’t enjoy the neighbor’s flower garden with its colorful snapdragons and large pots filled with stunning lavender.

Ever since the break-in, her life had been turned upside down, taking her emotional equilibrium with it. Trace was everywhere, sleeping on her couch, cooking in her kitchen, showering in her guest bathroom, running on the treadmill in her office. He’d dealt with the forensics team that had gone through every bit of her house, overseen the technicians who’d installed the security system and set up monitoring in her office, authorized IT people to examine her computer for a hardware hack. Annoying her, he’d also started to make friends with Eureka. How was she supposed to dislike Trace when she’d caught him giving her bird a strawberry?

But maybe worst of all was the way she noticed the sexy agent. This morning, she’d been up early to work on her project.

She’d tiptoed toward the kitchen for coffee. Though she was as quiet as possible, Trace woke up. He tossed back the blanket and sat up. In a single move, he stood. Loose gray sweatpants rode low on his hips, showing his muscular abs and the tempting V-muscles near his groin.

Frozen in shock, she was still standing there when he rounded the couch, gun in hand. “Everything okay?”

When she didn’t respond, he repeated the question.

“Ah.” She cleared her throat. “Yes. I didn’t mean to disturb you. Just up early. An idea I want to work on.”

“Get up!” Eureka squawked. “Get up, get up, get up!”

“It appears we’re all awake now,” Trace replied, casting a glance at the birdcage.

“Sorry. I’ll keep him in my bedroom from now on.”

“No need. He’s tolerable…at least sometimes.” The words were begrudging but welcome. “How about I make the coffee and bring you a cup when it’s ready?”

“Would you really?” With the craziness spinning inside her, she seized the opportunity to escape. With his sexy, sleepy eyes, the man was dangerous as hell. “Will you let Eureka out too?”

“Do I have to?”

“No.” She smiled. “I’ll do it while I make the coffee.”

“Uhm.” He placed his gun on the coffee table. “You go. I’ll take care of the bird.”

“Are you sure?” The previous day, she’d brewed the first pot. Since he dumped his cup down the drain when he obviously thought she wasn’t watching, she could now put him in charge of coffee making and bird sitting.

“I got this.”

Though she’d closed herself off from the living area of the house, she hadn’t been able to concentrate. While the machine gurgled and hissed, spitting out the aromatic brew, Trace was doing some type of exercise, if the sounds of his heavy breathing were anything to go by.

When he brought her a mug, a faded T-shirt clung to his chest, and a sexy sheen of sweat dotted his upper eyebrows.

Aimee wasn’t sure she could take much more.

Pretending to be occupied with her work, when in reality she’d just minimized a cute otter video, she didn’t look up as she murmured her gratitude.

Back in the dining room, she overheard him communicating with the team, ensuring everything was quiet. Then he took a shower.

He whistled, like he always did, and Eureka picked up a few notes as well, creating a cacophony of distraction.

At this rate, her part of the project would never be finished. And Trace would be assigned to her forever.

She pressed the heel of her palm against her forehead. Something had to change before she lost her mind.

Aimee sent a text message to her sister, and the response wasn’t surprising.

Until we find out what happened, Trace stays.

After slamming down the phone harder than she intended, Aimee turned off her computer in favor of a long run on the treadmill. She set the speed ridiculously fast and ran hard, trying to shed the frustration. Twenty minutes later, out of breath and energy, she attempted to return to work.

Outside, rain began to splatter against the roof, matching her mood perfectly. And even with the door closed, the sound of the news on the television reached her, as did the deep, sensual tones of Trace’s voice as he spoke on the phone.

Skies remained cloudy most of the day, adding to her inner tension. If she didn’t get out soon, she was going to explode. With him around, she hadn’t just lost her privacy, she had lost her concentration.

As the afternoon dragged on, the gray clouds began to dissipate, and she pulled her hair back into a ponytail and went into the backyard.

Now, still searching for some sort of peace, she dropped into a chair near the wrought-iron table.

What was wrong with her? Her focus had never been fractured like this before.

The door opened, and Trace exited the house. The late-afternoon sun played with strands of his hair, and as always, his musky, masculine scent aroused her.

“Is there any end in sight?” she asked as he took an uninvited seat across from her.

“Meaning?”

“You’ve been here for weeks.” And nothing else had happened. No one else on the team had anything strange happen. Her files hadn’t been hacked. “It had to have been a random thing. Kids or something.”

“You’ll have to take that up with your sister.”

“I already tried.” She needed her life to get back to normal. “I was hoping you could influence her.”

“This assignment is fully at her discretion.”

“Yeah. I know.” Aimee blew out a breath. “It seems like a waste of resources.” So many agents. In addition to Trace, there were two separate teams stationed in the neighborhood, providing twenty-four-hour coverage.

“Is it all bad?” He leaned toward her.

“You have to be losing your mind as well. Babysitting me can’t be any fun for you.”

“On the contrary. My cardiovascular capability has improved since I’ve started running with you. I can’t keep up. Yet.”

At his lighthearted comment, she couldn’t help but grin. “You’re a charming liar, Agent Romero, but a liar nonetheless. You’d rather be doing something much more exciting.”

“Such as?” His gaze locked on her. Then slowly, he allowed it to drift over her.

Her pulse skidded to a halt. She’d imagined the sensual tone in his voice, hadn’t she? She swallowed the sudden onslaught of nerves.

After his casual comment about seeing her collection of erotic books the first day he arrived, he hadn’t mentioned it again. His search had been so thorough that she knew he had to have seen her toys. Had he wondered about them?

Aware of his scrutiny, she tried to remember his question. “Like, I don’t know, battering down a door in some remote part of the planet.”

“I don’t know.” He glanced up. “Denver in late summer isn’t so bad. Better than a jungle somewhere.”

Aimee pushed back from the table. “Well, enjoy it.”

“Going somewhere?”

The sun had peeked out from behind the clouds, and she was seizing the opportunity. “I need a cocktail.”

“I’ll make you one. Margaritas are my specialty.”

“No.” She dragged the ponytail holder from her hair. “Just no. I’m going to take myself out to dinner and have the biggest rum cocktail I can find as I pretend I’m on a Caribbean beach somewhere.”

“I’ll be ready in fifteen minutes.”

Had he listened to a single word? “What part of I’m taking myself out did you not understand?”

“You know the rules.” He looked at her through his impossibly long lashes, but there was nothing but lethal coldness in the depths of his brown eyes. “Don’t push me, Miss Inamorata. You can’t win, and you won’t like my tactics.”

Ever since she’d broken away from Jack, she’d hated bossy alpha men, and she’d never allowed another one to tell her what to do. “That sounds a bit like a threat.”

“Doesn’t have to be.” He shrugged, but there was nothing casual about the motion. “You can consider it a gentle reminder or a friendly suggestion.”

The words hung between them, as did his unveiled threat. She had no doubt he’d act on it. Her reaction was some where between petrified and intrigued. The last part bothered her the most.

“Do you have somewhere specific in mind?”

She tipped her head back. Though she rarely went out, not being able to jump in her car and go was maddening.

“Your choice. If there’s somewhere you’d like to go, I’ll make it happen.”

Aimee sighed. He had, indeed, won. “There’s a restaurant in Morrison that has a cool rooftop bar.”

“What’s the dress code?”

“Casual. There will be a lot of hikers, and some people dressed for a concert at Red Rocks, if there is one tonight.”

“What’s the name of the place?”

When she answered, he entered the information into his watch. “Team’s notified. Fifteen minutes?” he asked, repeating his earlier question. “Or do you need longer?”

“The sooner the better.”

Without another word, he went back inside, careful not to let Eureka out.

Confounding man.

Once she returned to her bedroom, Aimee changed into a short skirt while Trace closed the door to the bathroom and turned on the shower.

Even though he annoyed her, awareness of him blossomed.

It had to be natural. They were in close quarters with no other stimulation. Captives fell in love with captors. Survival of the species was hardwired into her.

She pulled on a tank top. Just because she understood the mechanics of their attraction didn’t mean she wasn’t woman enough to be firmly in its grasp.

When the shower fell silent, she slid into a pair of strappy sandals. As she walked past the closed bathroom door, the scent of his masculinity was imprinted on the air. And he was whistling.

Shaking her head, she continued to the dining room. Eureka was perched on the top of his cage, preening. “Step up.” She put her hand in front of the bird. Instead of responding like he normally did, he walked away from her. “You don’t have to go in for the night. I’ll be right back.”

Eureka shook his head.

“Having trouble?” Trace asked, joining her.

She turned to face him. His hair was damp, and his T-shirt was tight around his biceps and chest. He was devastatingly handsome, so much so that she suddenly couldn’t breathe.

Ignoring him, she repeated her command to Eureka.

The parrot shook his head. “Aimee! Stay!”

“I’ll be back. Promise.”

Eureka lifted a foot to shield his face

“How about a walnut?” Trace offered.

The bribe would probably work. “Thank you.”

Trace brought over the nut and placed it inside the cage, at the far corner. Still regarding them critically, Eureka went to explore the gift.

Once he was inside, she closed the door. “Most times he doesn’t mind going in his cage, but sometimes he can be stubborn.”

“Not like anyone else I know.” Trace cleared his throat, then smiled, disarming her.

His high-tech watch lit up with an alert. “Your car awaits.”

“Ready?” He pulled on a formfitting black blazer that made him all the more impossibly handsome.

When she nodded, he pressed a key on his watch, and it was then that she noticed his tiny earpiece. “Falcon is ready to roll.”

“What?” Falcon? “Why Falcon?”

“You like birds. And you’re a flight risk.”

“I don’t want to be reminded that you’re my keeper.”

“Do you want to go or not?” He lifted a shoulder in a little uncaring shrug. “Your call.”

Frustrated, she tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear. “Yes.”

In full secret agent man mode, he pulled back the drapes before offering her a tight nod.

Outside, a vehicle idled at the curb. As they approached, a woman exited to open the back door. “Afternoon, ma’am.” The agent didn’t smile.

Aimee scooted inside the SUV, and Trace slid in next to her, his thigh bumping into her. Senses swimming with awareness, she edged away from him.

“Agents Bree Mallory and Agent Daniel Riley.” Trace introduced them as they pulled away from the curb.

Aimee crossed her legs, uncomfortable with the realization that her need to get out meant a lot of effort from the team. No matter how crazy she was going, the confinement wasn’t just about her. Her actions impacted a number of people. “Thank you for doing this.”

“It’s a pleasure.” Agent Riley met her gaze in the rearview mirror. “Turned out to be a beautiful afternoon.”

In contrast to the dismal morning and drizzly noontime, now only a few high clouds danced across the cerulean sky.

Once they were away from the neighborhood and deeper into the rolling foothills, she relaxed against the seatback.

The tiny stress lines next to Trace’s eyes were trenched in deeper than they had been this morning, reminding her of the sacrifice it was for him to escort her out in public.

Finally, in the heart of downtown Morrison, Agent Riley pulled to a stop in front of the restaurant, and Bree opened the door for them.

As if they were on a date, Trace offered his hand. Knowing it was anything but, she accepted, but when he held her tight, her stomach flip-flopped.

Though it wasn’t necessary, he held her hand as they made their way up the wooden steps. When they reached the hostess station, he didn’t let her go. Heat, as uncomfortable as it was unfamiliar, chased through her. It had been years since she’d reacted to a man in this way. Aimee gave herself a hard shake. Men like Trace were the reason she’d avoided dating.

Since it was still early, they had their selection of tables, and Trace chose one at the outer edge, close to an enormous cottonwood tree, shaded by an umbrella, and with a spectacular view.

The moment she sank into the chair that he held for her, her stress eased…until he scanned the occupants and angled himself so he could catalog every person walking into the bar.

“Could we pretend you’re not my bodyguard?”

“We could.” He grinned. “But I’m not going to.”

“Look, Agent—”

“Trace,” he corrected, maybe for the hundredth time. “At least for tonight. You’d call me Trace if I wasn’t protecting you.”

She met his eyes. They weren’t filled with challenge as they had been earlier. In fact, they were inviting. She kept her distance because using his first name would be a step toward destroying the wall she needed to keep between them.

The server brought over two glasses of water, and Aimee ordered the sweet, fruity cocktail she’d promised herself.

“For you, sir?”

“I’m good with the water.”

Less than five minutes later, the first sip of her punch flooded through her, warming her insides and chasing away the stress.

“How is it?”

“Lethal.” Over the rim of the glass, she looked at him. “I forgot to order it without the rum shooter on top.”

“Enjoy it.”

She did. While Morrison wasn’t the same as being on a Caribbean beach, the evening was pretty close to perfect. A gentle breeze drifted around them, and the sun trekked toward the foothills, turning the sky a spectacular shade of orange. “At times like this, I realize how much of a homebody I’ve become.” She stirred her drink with the tiny red straw. “I should enjoy the sunset more. How about you”—she hesitated before opting to use just his last name—“Romero? Do you take time to notice the sky?”

“Sunrise? Sunset? No. The weather, yes. Rain, wind, temperature potentially impacts my work.”

“The stars?”

“The full moon makes it easier to move at night.” His eyes took on a faraway look, as if he was remembering some past event, reminding her they had so little in common.

The server arrived with their food. Aimee picked up a thick-cut French fry and took a bite. “So, how long have you done this secret-agent stuff?”

He grinned, relaxing for the first time since they’d left the house. “I wouldn’t call it that.”

“Okay.” She popped a second fry into her mouth. “This never noticing the sunshine thing.”

“All my life. Went to the police academy right out of school, like my dad. Like my older brother. Most of my uncles. Eventually, I was bored, so I tried out for the SWAT team.”

“You like risk.”

“Being challenged. If I had it to do over again, I might join the military instead. Try out for Special Ops.”

“How did you learn about Hawkeye?”

“Through a friend. Nate Davidson. Do you know him?”

She shook her head. “I’ve heard of him, though.”

“Working for Hawkeye is more interesting than police work. I never know what I’m going to be doing, where I’ll be sent. I volunteer for extra assignments.”

“The riskier the better?”

“You could say that.”

She leaned toward him a little. “Where’s home?”

“Wherever I am.”

“So no permanent address?” So different from how she lived her life. Because of her father’s chronic unemployment, her parents had moved a lot, and then after they died, Aimee and her sister had rented a two-bedroom apartment in the Denver suburbs. Even that had proved costly, so they’d downsized again. During college, she’d shared with three roommates. As soon as Aimee fled from Jack, she’d bought her small home and cocooned herself in it.

“No. Most of my family lives in Texas, near Dallas. I visit when I can.”

“You still have your parents?”

“I do. Both of them. Mom’s always run the house, and Dad recently retired. I think he’s driving her a little crazy.”

The affection in his tone made Aimee smile. She was thirteen when she’d lost her mom and dad. She’d been in a rebellious period, thinking her parents were trying to restrict the freedom she wanted, and she recalled some loud arguments. If she could have known the horrible gulf looming before her when they’d been hit head-on during a storm… Growing up without that anchor left a hole in her heart that she’d never been able to fill, even though she’d tried, with Jack. “You’re fortunate.”

“I think so. Until Mom asks when I’m going to settle down and give her grandbabies. I’m grateful for my sister who’s getting ready to have her first. My mother moved in with her temporarily so she doesn’t miss a single thing. She was afraid they’d go to the hospital and not tell her. Said she didn’t want to see the first pictures of her new grandchild on social media.” He grinned. “My brother-in-law is beyond unhappy about that. He appealed to my dad for help, but all of them are helpless against the force that is my mom. At any rate, Deanna has taken the pressure off the rest of us, for the moment, at least.”

“The rest of you? How many siblings do you have?”

“I’m one of six. Four boys, two girls. I’m right in the middle. My oldest brother is considering a run for mayor.”

“Impressive.” For as long as she could remember, it had just been her and her sister, struggling to stay together and survive.

Trace plucked a fry from the oversize basket between them.

“I’m shocked to see you eat that.” At her house, he’d cooked most of his own food, a ridiculous number of salads and lean meats.

“You might be shocked at the number of things I like.”

She swallowed hard, unaccountably, again, recalling his comment the first day about her reading material. “I’m sure some of them are dangerous.” Her question had to be the result of the rum.

“In the mind of the beholder, I suppose.”

Aimee stirred the remnants of her drink.

“I prefer to think of them as enthralling.”

She glanced away.

“And you, Miss Inamorata? Burgers and fries don’t seem to fit your personality, either. Soy lattes. Fresh veggies.”

If she didn’t have the courage, and a touch of bravado, from the cocktail, she might have kept her mouth shut. Instead, she replied in kind. “Like you said, you might be shocked at the number of things I like.”

“Would I?” He took a drink of his water. “Try me out.”

The words—the temptation—hung between them. He captured her gaze, and her heart galloped. She wanted to be bold, but suddenly she couldn’t string words together in the right order.

The server returned, and Aimee boldly opted for a second cocktail. For courage, maybe? “And a piece of key lime pie.” If she was going to be reckless, she might as well go all the way.

“Two forks,” Trace said, surprising her again.

After dinner, she asked if they could stroll down Bear Creek Avenue. After informing the team, he nodded.

“I’m sure it’s your favorite thing.”

“You know, Miss Inamorata, protecting you isn’t all bad.”

She furrowed her eyebrows as she looked at him, searching for any hint that he wasn’t telling the truth.

He took care of the bill, then helped her from her chair.

“Are you always such a gentleman?”

“Part of the service.” His smile was quick, genuine, and it did funny things to her pulse.

As they meandered to a shop, he placed his fingers in the small of her back, and she jumped as if electricity had arced through her.

Her attraction to him was as real as it was dangerous. She needed to rein in her hormones. He wasn’t a friend or lover. He was a man well paid to be with her. Forgetting that would be stupid.

Still, he was aware and attentive as she browsed through a gallery, then a curio shop.

Finally, she purchased half a pound of homemade fudge in a rustic-looking store.

The Hawkeye SUV idled out front, and she’d been aware of Mallory and Riley never letting her out of their sights. It was overkill, she was sure. But she’d never convince her sister of that. Still, it was better than staying in the house again. “Thank you for this evening.”

“I’ve enjoyed it.”

“Have you?” She broke off a piece of the chocolate peanut butter confection and offered it to him.

“The pie was enough for me.”

After one bite of her second dessert, she was inclined to agree with him. “We should get the rest of the team some burgers.”

“That’s thoughtful of you. I’m sure that would be appreciated.”

After walking up and down the aisles of the last store that was still open, they returned to the restaurant to place a to-go order.

Twenty minutes later, they were back in the car and on the way home.

“Much appreciated, ma’am,” Riley said when she handed over the bag filled with food.

“I love fries,” Mallory added. “My weakness.”

“How about some fudge too?” Aimee offered that bag to Mallory, also. “I’m afraid my sweet tooth got the better of me. And I don’t want to run for three hours tomorrow to work it off.”

“I don’t want you to have to do that either,” Trace added drily.

“Thank you. I’m not a fan, though. How about you, Riley? You’ll eat anything.”

“Oh, yeah. Definitely.”

Mallory accepted the gift and placed it on the console near Riley. “This will get me through the rest of the shift,” he said, meeting her gaze in the rearview mirror with a quick smile. “Thanks.”

“Thank you for saving me from myself. Oh, and it’s not Donna, Ruth, or Julie.”

“Ma’am?” Mallory asked, turning slightly in her seat.

“My sister’s first name.” Aimee smiled. “I understand there’s quite a pool of money available to the person who figures out her name.”

“Enough to take a nice trip to the Virgin Islands.”

“Or put a down payment on a house,” Riley added.

“Not that we’re interested in obtaining inside information, ma’am,” she amended hastily.

“And it’s not Louise.”

Mallory was grinning as she turned back around.

The conversation ended, and Aimee’s unease crept back in. The outing should have refreshed her. Instead, sitting next to Trace as they navigated through traffic bothered her. His knee touched hers. Heat flared, reigniting the same reaction she’d had earlier when he commandingly put his fingers against her. He glanced at her, and even in the darkness, his intensity slid through her.

She should move away, but she didn’t.

Neither did he.

When they turned a corner, they came in even greater contact, and he placed his hand on her leg to steady her.

She pulled away, as if scalded.

Every glance, holding hands, sharing dessert, laughing together, had ratcheted up her awareness of him until she wanted to crawl out of her skin.

Or worse, quench the craving.

When the vehicle stopped in front of her home, she hurried out, rather than waiting for one of the agents.

Trace rounded the vehicle and jogged to catch up with her. When she fumbled with the lock, he took the key from her. “I can do this,” she protested.

“Of course you can.” He covered her hand with his. “But you’re going to let me.” He stood impossibly close, using his body to shield hers, reminding her she was his client, and nothing more.

Telling herself, again, that she couldn’t afford any ridiculous sort of notions about him, she sighed.

When he finally released the lock, she hurried inside.

“Aimee!” Eureka called, desperately, she imagined.

While Trace secured the door, she went to say hello to her pet, grateful, more than ever, for the distraction.

“Out. Out, out, out.”

“I know. I promised.” She offered her hand, and he climbed on.

“Whee!”

She carried Eureka to the perch she’d set up for him in her office. After misting him with a water bottle so that he could occupy himself by preening, she forced away her disturbing thoughts about Trace and her damn strong feminine reaction to him. Hoping she could focus, Aimee powered up her computer and logged in to the group discussion board for her work project.

The most recent update was a video from Jason Knoll, a young, brilliant computer prodigy. As a fourteen-year-old, he’d written a game that had been purchased by one of the world’s largest producers of video games, making him a millionaire. Today, he wore an in-your-face yellow T-shirt, had long uncombed hair, walked around in bare feet, and every motion was animated to the point of exaggeration.

They’d been on the same team for over a year, working to develop a state-of-the-art way to spy on people, by utilizing devices that resembled insects.

The evening before, he’d launched one that looked like a mosquito. The video showed the bug moving through the air. She cheered when it successfully navigated away from a hanging bug zapper. That was an amazing bit of programming work. But then, a neighbor picked up a can of insect repellant and sprayed the mosquito. She gasped in horror as the expensive insect wobbled then plunged to the grass.

“We took a lot of things into consideration,” Jason said. “But not that. Stuff is sticky as hell. If anyone has any ideas, let me know.”

The video ended.

She was working on the injection part of the project, and she had her own set of challenges. About five percent of the time, her delivery mechanism didn’t work as designed. When the stakes were high, that failure rate wasn’t acceptable. She opened up her code to take a fresh look at it.

In the quiet, she couldn’t ignore Trace’s sounds as he checked the doors and windows, even though the house had been under surveillance the entire time they were gone. As if that wasn’t enough, the surveillance video was streamed to Hawkeye headquarters as well as all members of the team.

Fort Knox had less security.

He entered the office, and Eureka called out, “Agent!”

She scowled. Disloyal avian, greeting her nemesis.

“Hey, you green menace.”

As if he’d understood every word, Eureka lifted a leg.

She looked back at her screen to hide her grin.

After ensuring the window was latched, Trace left her alone, and she exhaled in relief. She never remembered a time when her attraction for a man eclipsed her interests in work.

The sound of his voice as he spoke on the phone to Riley reassured her, and simultaneously reminded her of the intimacy he’d shown at dinner.

A little while later, the word Madre drifted toward her, and he asked about his expectant sister.

An hour later, her eyes tired from looking at code that she couldn’t decipher, she sighed and admitted defeat before pushing back from her workspace.

Eureka turned toward her, and she placed her hand near him. “Step up. Time for bed.” It didn’t surprise her that he chose to be naughty and move to the far end of the perch. She shouldn’t have told him he was going to bed. “Step up,” she repeated, moving her hand closer to him.

For a moment, he ignored her command. “Eureka,” she coaxed.

After a few more seconds, he relented.

“Good bird.”

“Good bird,” he repeated. “Good bird. Good bird.”

She carried him back to the dining room to settle in for the night. Trace was in the kitchen, uncapping a bottle of water. The house was quiet, and her insides were suddenly a livewire of tension.

“Look, Aimee, about what happened—”

“Thanks for taking me out tonight.” She needed to excuse herself, make a mad dash for the bedroom. Instead, she remained where she was.

Trace placed his drink on the counter. “Come here.”

Every instinct for preservation flashed with warning. But something more urgent—feminine to masculine—responded to his quiet command. Obediently, she moved a couple of steps closer.

He took her shoulders in a firm but loose grip. If she tried to pull away, she knew he’d let her go. “Taking this any further might be a hell of a mistake.”

“I know.” She swallowed, but she was lost in his eyes. Raw desire was there, in the rich, deep depths.

“I want to kiss you. Tell me no.”

For a million reasons, she should run. Instead, she shook her head. “I… Yes.”

He moved one hand to the back of her head, then inched up and spread his fingers to fist her hair.

Trace was as forceful as he was commanding, and it was the illicit thrill she knew it would be.

“Preciosa.”

With purpose, he held her captive and moved toward her.

He brushed his soft, sensual lips across hers, as if giving her a taste, but also one last chance to run away.

She swayed toward him.

“So perfect.” He kissed her, seeking entrance to her mouth.

With a soft sigh, she surrendered. At first his tongue was seeking, as if he wanted to learn the secret to her responses. When she lifted onto her toes, he plundered deeper, taking what she offered, then asking for more.

He tasted of seduction. Of temptation. And his scent was spice and chilled alpine air, as untamed as he was.

Far too soon, he began to withdraw. He was no longer dominant. In fact, he was tender, easing his grip to make small circles with his fingertips, massaging away the tiny ache he’d caused.

He left her breathless.

Slowly, he released her shoulder, then tucked wild strands of hair back behind her ear with a gentleness that captivated her. “I’m sending you to bed, querida. Before I can’t.”

“Yes.” They were sliding toward something that might destroy her emotionally. Keeping her distance was smart, even if her body ached with demand. “Good night.” She turned away. Though she didn’t look back, heat from his gaze followed her down the hall.

At the bedroom door, she paused. Unable to stop herself, she turned.

He was there, arms folded. Uninviting.

Hoping he was as frustrated as she was, Aimee went inside and closed the door. Alone, she pressed her fingers to her mouth, as she tried to pretend it had meant nothing to her.

In the living room, the television blared to life, and Eureka squawked in protest until Trace turned down the volume.

She changed into nightclothes, then, for more than an hour, her thoughts in riot, she tossed and turned.

Eventually the house fell quiet, the sudden silence seeming to echo. She tuned in to the sound of water running in the kitchen, then quiet again before Trace said a few words, presumably on the phone, but he could have been talking to Eureka since the parrot said something that could have been “Night-night.”

Trace’s footfall was firm on the hardwood floor as he made his nightly rounds, through the office, then back down the hallway.

She held her breath, fearing he’d knock, hoping he would.

Though the movements she could discern became fainter, she imagined him pulling off his shirt, then changing into his thin, reveal-damn-near everything sleep pants.

The kiss had devastated her. He’d awakened a physical reaction. More frighteningly, he’d evoked her emotions. She hungered for him, while knowing she dare not go any further.

Aimee punched her pillow into shape, but she still couldn’t drift off. Taking a bath to relax might wake him up, but she needed to do something to escape the turmoil rolling inside her.

Careful to not make too much noise, she turned on the lamp, then slipped from the bed to grab a book. Instead of picking up a scholarly read or even a mystery, she allowed her fingers to hover over her more erotic titles.

With a sigh, she selected an anthology with short and intensely hot vignettes, some Victorian in nature, one a medieval historical, another a contemporary fantasy. But in all of them, she was the heroine, and Trace was the hero. In this particular one, she was a princess who needed taming, and he was the duke, dressed in fashionable breeches and polished boots, impatiently tapping a cane against his calf.

She tossed aside the book and rolled to her stomach, working her hand beneath her to finger her clit.

The angle didn’t quite work for her, and in frustration, she turned back over, then went to grab the vibrator from the bottom drawer. No doubt Trace had seen it, along with her other toys. At least he’d had the courtesy not to mention what he’d found.

She buried herself beneath the covers to dull the sound of her toy before sliding it on to the lowest setting.

Rather than satisfying her, the tiny fluttering annoyed her. She needed more.

She closed her eyes and spread her pussy before turning the device to a higher speed.

Unbidden, thoughts of Trace danced through her mind. But instead of one of the short stories she’d just read, she imagined them being alone, with him directing her what to do, giving her a spanking—her first—and encouraging her to learn what she liked. He’d be unrelenting and determined, his voice gruff, granting her no reprieve.

The orgasm loomed just out of reach. But when she pictured Trace guiding her hand, she cried out, shaking, breathless as she came.

Somehow she managed to turn off the vibrator before she dropped it beside her.

That had been the most powerful climax she’d had in months.

What would sex with Trace be like? Romantic? Maybe frenetic because their relationship would end the moment he was reassigned?

She sighed. Was he even a Dom? She didn’t even know that much. His interest in her reading material might have been passing.

Aimee pushed wayward strands of hair back from her forehead. Even if he was, it didn’t matter. Though Hawkeye didn’t have a strict policy against fraternization, getting involved with a teammate was a bad idea—particularly a protective agent who was as demanding and bossy as Trace Romero. If getting involved was a bad idea, then getting spanked by him would be stupendously stupid.

So why couldn’t she stop thinking about it?