Greg watched her disappear down the hall, her hips swaying gently with each step and the very bottom of her ass cheeks peeking out from her cut-offs. He groaned internally, and snagged the bag of chips from the table, rolling it down and pinning it closed before stashing it back in the cabinet.

They’d need real food soon, like tomorrow. And she’d need clothes. Longer shorts that didn’t show off that ass of hers, and loose-fitting shirts. The woman had too many curves to keep his focus elsewhere.

He couldn’t completely blame her body; he’d been attracted to women before. But this was different; something else drew his attention. Maybe it was that steel strength he saw in her. Or her stubbornness. Maybe it all reminded him too much of a crush that went unsatisfied.

He could admit after spending years apart from his family that he had crushed hard on Aubree for a time. Not that he would admit it to her or Blake, but he could be honest with himself about it. Years in the marines helped him get over her, and accept she was his sister-in-law. And after seeing the trouble she caused Blake, he happily took the position of bystander.

Nora had the same fire in her, though. And apparently the same magnet for trouble.

A journalist. She’d said she was chasing a story, but he didn’t buy it.

Once he heard the shower turn on, he went into the bedroom to find her a shirt. He’d just leave it on the bed for her when she got out. All wet from the shower, hair dripping, her body being hugged by the towel.

Yep, he needed to go for a run or something because his body was too happy at the mental vision of her stepping out of the shower.

Dropping the shirt for her on the bed, he headed back to the living area of the cabin. He washed out the bottles again, tossed them in a bin near the back door, and went around the cabin making sure all the windows were locked.

The light outside the front door flicked on. Automatic timer. He left it on and decided to get a fire started.

“Hey.” Her soft voice announced her presence. When had the water turned off?

“I put a shirt—oh, good, you found it.” He stood from the fireplace staring at her. His White Sox T-shirt hit her just below her knees, safely tucking away her curves. She’d dried her hair, but it was mostly still wet; little droplets formed at the ends of her hair and fell to the shirt.

“Yeah. Thanks.” She wrapped her arms around her stomach and sat on the arm of the couch. “Can I use your phone? I do need to get in touch with my editor. If I don’t check in, he’ll worry.”

“Your editor.” Greg cleared his throat.

“Yes. Remember, I told you—”

“I’m still confused. What story were you trying to get? Anthony and Teo didn’t work at the flower shop, did they? And they’re the ones being investigated.” He scratched the back of his neck. Fucking mosquitos.

“No, they didn’t. But they run collections for the Santinelli crew,” she stated. Greg already had figured that part out, but it didn’t give him any more information on what she was investigating.

“Okay, so those thugs come in every month and what, collect protection money? They still do that?”

She gave a little laugh. Not the sort that held any sort of humor in it, but one used to buy time. She was stalling.

“Nora. What would they come collect?” He squared off with her; when he asked a question, he expected an answer.

“I don’t know.” She smiled with a shrug. “I was just the flower girl. I made the arrangements.”

He ran his tongue over his teeth. He despised lying. And he’d put up with enough of it already.

“I don’t think you’re telling me everything, and until you do, no, you can’t use my phone or call your ‘editor’ or anyone else.”

Her lips pinched together, and a pretty flare of her nostrils gave him the confidence that he’d made the right call. She was hiding something. Something big, and until he knew exactly what shit storm he’d walked into when he’d gone into that flower shop, he wasn’t letting her out of his sight.

“What do you want from me? I told you the truth.” She stood from the couch with her hands fisted at her sides. Was she angry because she wasn’t as good at lying as she believed or was she truly angry he wouldn’t believe her?

“I think we should just get some sleep. It’s early still, but it’s dark. As you can see there’s no television or radio, and since we’re at an impasse on what truth telling is, I think it’s better we just go to bed.”

She glared at him in silence. If she was waiting for him to make some chivalrous move she’d be waiting a very long time. He’d already done his fair share of sleeping in sand pits and dirty hovels.

“I’ll take the couch.” She waved at the couch, obviously giving up on him offering to give up his bed.

“You don’t have to do that.” He stepped closer to her. “The bed in my room is big enough for us both.”

“I don’t usually hop into bed with guys I’ve just met.” Her retort came with a snarky grin, but he was sure that was the first completely honest thing she’d told him so far.

He dropped the piece of wood he’d been ready to toss in the fireplace and walked over to her. It was subtle, but he heard the small gasp leave her when he invaded her space. She looked up at him, uncertainty lingering in her stare.

Uncertain she’d get away with whatever her plan was, or uncertain she was safe with him?

Well, he could assure her of at least one. The other remained a mystery to him as well.

“Will you show me your spare room? Before we go to bed? I just want to see it?” Her voice softened. It made him suspicious of her motives.

“Why?” She’d blanched so easily at seeing the little bit of his playroom at home, if she saw what he kept in the hunting cabin, she may run into the night screaming.

“I’m curious. I’ve—well, just curious.” A gentle blush kissed her cheeks. Another truth from her? This was becoming a habit. Unfortunately, none of these things had anything to do with the murder she witnessed that morning.

“I don’t think it’s a good idea, Nora.”

A strand of hair fell in front of her eyes, sticking to the side of her nose. He brushed it away with his fingertip and tucked it behind her ear.

“You can’t unsee some things,” he continued.

“Are you that scary?” she laughed, the blush deepening.

“Not unless the situation calls for it.” He ran his knuckles along her clenched jawline.

“I don’t think a spanking bench or two will scare me.” She leaned into his touch, her dark eyes widening as she looked up at him.

“You were frightened at my apartment,” he reminded her.

“I was unprepared.” She shrugged, pulling away from his touch.

“Maybe tomorrow,” he decided. If he showed her now he might not be able to get his cock under control before getting into bed with her. He wouldn’t touch her, he promised himself. He would just sleep next to her, but if he went to bed after seeing all of her innocent reactions to devious things he had in that room, he might make himself out to be a liar.

“Fine.” She rolled her eyes and stepped away from him.

He shook his head. If she only knew how much he hated eye rolling, and how hard of a spanking he’d give her if she were his for doing it, the little pink touch on her cheeks would deepen. Maybe set on fire.

“Let’s just get some sleep.”

“Fine.”

He was really beginning to hate that fucking word.