Asking to see his playroom had been a stupid idea. Nora could admit that in the dark of the night, staring up at the ceiling of his bedroom. Once the blush finally left her face, and the light fluttering of her stomach ceased, she could see the error.

At first it had been just a distraction tactic. Get him off the idea she wasn’t telling him the full truth. Because she wasn’t. She couldn’t.

But once he’d gotten close to her and she could feel his heat, sense his desire, it turned into something more. Actual curiosity. His fingers on her cheek, running across her jaw, all of the little touches, they reached deep down into her body, stirring up sensations she hadn’t experienced before.

And when she rolled her eyes! He may have thought he hid his real feelings behind that husky laugh of his, but she was a quick study. He didn’t like it. While filing that bit of information under Things to do to irritate him in her mind, it didn’t serve much purpose otherwise.

The air conditioning unit kicked on again outside the window. Apparently when they’d left Chicago they’d dragged the humidity with them. She hated the heat, and when it was stuffy it was all the worse.

At least the air was cool in the cabin. She snuggled a little deeper beneath the quilt but froze when her foot brushed against his calf. Turning her head to see if she’d wakened him, she couldn’t help but stare. His hair was messy, covering his face, his mouth pinched open from the pillow shoved against his mouth. He was a stomach sleeper.

At least he didn’t snore.

A soft ding came from the corner chair where his jeans had been tossed. She’d already been in bed, covers pulled up to her ears when he came out of the bathroom, having showered himself, and got into bed. She’d missed seeing him in his boxers.

She knew they were boxers, because once she was sure he was asleep, she took a peek under the blanket. She had every right to know if the man was naked in the bed with her or not.

He was not.

Though with his positioning, she could only make out his muscular back, tight ass, and his naked legs. She really needed to stop drooling over him. It wouldn’t go anywhere, she knew it, so why bother putting her heart through the torment. Again.

Another ping.

She looked over at him; didn’t he hear that? Weren’t marines supposed to sleep lightly so they could hear if an enemy approached? Maybe that was just in the movies and in the dirty novels she read.

Deciding sleep wouldn’t be arriving anytime soon, she eased out of the bed, careful not to disturb Sleeping Beauty. After a third ping she decided to find the source.

His phone.

Of course.

He hadn’t taken it out of his jeans when he came to bed. She glanced at his still form before slipping it from his pocket. The buckle on his belt, still snug in the loops of his jeans, jangled and she froze, checking on him once more.

Still sleeping.

How did he expect to keep them safe being such a deep sleeper?

Shaking her head, she pressed the phone to her chest to keep the illuminated screen from cascading throughout the room, and tiptoed out of the bedroom. He’d left a lamp on in the living room, so she headed in that direction.

Safely in the living room, she sat on the couch and swiped her finger over the screen. Password protected.

Tapping her fingernail on the edge of the phone, she stared into the light, urging the password to show itself. It wasn’t a number system, but a swiper. She needed to connect the dots in the right order to open the phone.

Maybe it was something simple. She swiped diagonally up, then tried going down from corner to corner. Nothing.

How many tries did it take before the phone locked? She’d already made three attempts, if the next one was wrong and she locked it, he’d know she’d been trying to use it.

Not that she was afraid of him. She had every right to get ahold of Bernie and let him know what was going on. Every right.

“Do you always tsk your tongue while you’re thinking?” His dark voice penetrated her concentration.

Her fingers curled tighter around the phone and she hugged it protectively to her chest.

He shuffled around the couch and put his hand out, probably expecting her to just hand it over. She probably should. It was his phone after all.

But she didn’t.

“I didn’t mean to wake you.” She put on her sweet voice.

“You didn’t. I’ve been awake for the past hour waiting for you to stop fidgeting in bed and fall asleep.”

She glanced up at him, choosing to ignore the fact that he was standing there in his damn boxers. Just his underwear. He couldn’t take a second and throw on a shirt to hide all those muscles, and the damn tattoos covering his chest?

“You were sound asleep,” she countered, pulling her feet from the floor and tucking them under her butt when he stepped closer.

“Okay.” He shrugged. “I’m not arguing about it; give me the phone, Nora.” He didn’t reach for it, though she was pretty damn sure he could just snag it whenever he wanted.

“Why don’t you want me to use it? What am I going to do? Call the Santinelli brothers and let them know where to find me?” Seriously, given the fact he knew very little of the actual events, how could he jump to such silly conclusions.

He sighed, a heavy, deep sound expressing his exasperation with the subject. She got the idea he wasn’t used to being questioned, at least not as much as she’d been doing since they’d met.

“I mean, c’mon, see this from my side.” Maybe a new approach would work better with him. “I don’t really know you, and you’re keeping me from calling someone that I do know, that I do trust, to let them know what’s going on, what happened. How can I not be at least a little skeptical of you?” All true points, but none of them really caused her any sense of alarm. She was safe with Greg. At least for the moment.

He dropped his hand and sat on the coffee table, leaning toward her.

“And see this from my side. I don’t know this person you want to call so badly. I don’t know exactly what you were doing in the flower shop. What journalist, who isn’t really a journalist, would take an undercover job working for someone who you admitted yourself didn’t have any big stake in the Santinelli family business.” He put his hands on her knees, keeping her in place as he moved further into her space. “Until I know more, you aren’t tipping anyone off to where you are. Once I get some answers tomorrow, I’ll decide what happens next.”

His fingers gripped the phone, snagging it out of her hand while she was still processing his words.

“You’ll decide? I didn’t ask you to take me from the flower shop. In fact, I told you to leave me there. I’ve done nothing but ask you to let me go, but you’ll decide what happens next, you’ll decide if you can trust me?” She bounded up from the couch, smacking him in the chin with her flailing hands. “I don’t give a shit if you trust me. I don’t need you. I didn’t ask for your help. I don’t want it.”

Running out of things to say, and keenly aware of the glare he set on her, she gritted her teeth and stalked toward the bedroom.

“Sleep on the fucking couch!” she yelled and slammed the door. With her heart racing, she jumped onto the bed and yanked the covers over her legs.

He was an arrogant asshole. Just like most of the other men in her life.