“This strikes me as a bad idea,” Miranda said, standing in the entry to the bedroom. She was wearing one of Cody’s T-shirts for a nightie because she had nothing else, and it suddenly felt far too short even though it came to midthigh.

He was wearing a pair of athletic shorts, but his chest was bare. And that was definitely a problem, because whoa and damn, that was a mighty fine chest. He had a tattoo on his left pectoral muscle. She realized a moment later that it was the Navy SEAL trident. He also had a tattoo on his shoulder—she noticed it when he turned around to finish pulling the covers down—that said Where None Dare. The HOT motto, though not many would know that.

Miranda swallowed as he turned back to her. His blue eyes appeared placid, but then she saw they really were not. Still waters run deep and all that. His gaze slipped over her, lingering on her bare legs for a moment. His eyes were… hot. And the look in them made her tremble.

She tried to remember how Mark had looked at her. If she’d ever trembled because of it. He’d been tall, brown-haired with a hint of silver at the temples, and his eyes were green. They’d been interesting eyes. Eyes that had seen much and yet gave nothing away.

But he’d never, not once, looked at her with the heat that Cody did.

Why not?

“It’s the only option,” he said, interrupting her thoughts. “If you want to get any sleep, that is. You can try the couch—but it’s pretty damned uncomfortable.”

That it was. It was old and lumpy and the arms were hard. She wasn’t very tall, but she couldn’t stretch across the whole couch. And it was pretty damn clear that he wasn’t going to sleep on the couch. No way would he fit.

She went over to the queen-sized bed and fluffed up the pillow on her side before primly getting under the covers. “Stay on your side, cowboy, and we’ll get along just fine.”

He chuckled as he tossed his pillow against the headboard. “Sunshine, it won’t be a problem. I sleep in worse conditions and closer quarters with people who aren’t nearly as pretty as you—and not one of them has ever complained that I’m incapable of respecting personal space.”

She sniffed. “Unless there’s something you aren’t telling me, I don’t think those SEALs are your type—whereas I might be.”

He laughed outright this time, and she felt herself coloring. Really, could she sound any more like a frightened virgin maiden with a serious stick up her ass?

“Yeah, you’re definitely my type. You’ve got all the parts I like best—and I’ve seen those parts, so I know how magnificent they are. But unless you ask me to come out and play, I know how to keep my dick in my pants and my hands to myself. You’ve got nothing to worry about.”

He sank onto the bed, but instead of getting under the covers, he stayed on top. Miranda flicked off her light and closed her eyes. She was tired—more tired than she’d realized—and yet sleep was still elusive. Ten minutes went by. Then fifteen.

Her mind was too busy concentrating on the sounds the man beside her made—not that he made much sound at all, but every shift of his body on the mattress, no matter how slight, created a disturbance that rolled through her. He was also reading on his phone. She could tell because of the light pressing against her eyes.

“Why were you in Vegas?” she finally asked, needing to hear the sound of his voice. Needing to know she wasn’t on her own. She wasn’t afraid of being alone, not usually, but now that she’d been betrayed by someone in the agency, she felt completely without connections to anything or anyone. She didn’t like that feeling.

It’s your own fault, a voice whispered in her head. You broke ties with your sisters, your parents.

Yes, she had. And she didn’t regret it. Not usually.

“I was visiting family.”

She opened her eyes and gazed up at his handsome profile. “In the Venetian?”

He was silent for a moment. “I was looking for someone.”

It hit her then that perhaps he had a girlfriend, or even a wife. What if he’d been looking for a woman? And she’d interrupted him. Taken him away before he could meet whomever he was meeting.

“I’m sorry if I ruined your plans,” she said. It was a lame apology—and a late one—but it was the best she could do. Though if she’d taken him away from another woman, she wasn’t sorry for it. She should be, but she wasn’t.

“No plans.” He sighed. “I was looking for my mother. She has a habit of disappearing into the Vegas scene and upsetting my grandparents.”

She didn’t know what to say to that. “I’m sorry I interrupted your search then.”

And she really was. It was clear he wasn’t happy about what his mother had done. If she hadn’t interfered, he might even now be reunited with his mom.

“Don’t be. She doesn’t want to be found anyway. Plus I’m fucking tired of looking every time she goes off the rails. If it weren’t for Gramps and Grandma, I wouldn’t do it.”

“My mother is an alcoholic,” she said and then wanted to bite her tongue. Where the fuck had that come from? She didn’t share those things with anyone. Not ever. It was a life she’d left behind, a life she didn’t want or need.

“Mine probably is too, but she’s always hidden it so well. She can stop for weeks at a time. Then she inevitably goes on another bender, and the shit hits the fan.”

“I don’t remember my mother ever not drinking,” Miranda said, her throat tight. The utter dysfunction of the Lockwood family as her mother drank all day and her father came home with coal staining his skin, spitting mad and ready to tear into his wife and kids, was seared into her soul forever. The utter fucking misery of it all would never be washed away. That was why she’d never gone back again. Why she couldn’t.

“She hit the bottle all day long,” she continued. “Whatever cheap shit she could beg, borrow, or steal. And when she couldn’t get her vodka, she’d drink cough syrup for the alcohol content. It wasn’t a good substitute though.”

“I’m sorry you had to grow up that way. It’s not fair to the kids.”

“No.” She swallowed the hard lump in her throat. It was dark, except for his phone, which made the situation seem cozy and safe. She knew it wasn’t, and yet she wanted to talk. For once in her life, she wanted to share it with someone. Blame it on the stress of her current circumstances.

“I have five sisters. We were left alone a lot, and that’s fine when you’re kids in the country. There’s plenty to do when your life revolves around fields and streams. We’d take off in the morning and wouldn’t come home until late. Daddy worked the coal mines, and his hours were erratic. I think I sometimes went for days without seeing an adult, truth be known.”

“Mark saved you from that life?”

Had he? Or had he merely encouraged her in the right direction when she needed it most? “I left home at eighteen. I didn’t have a plan, not really. Other kids were going to college, but how the hell was I going to afford that?” She shook her head. “The only way out for me was to leave. I should have joined the military, I see that now, but instead I decided to strip and earn my fortune that way.” She couldn’t help but snort a laugh at the naive teenager she’d been.

“I was there for a week before things went to hell. One of the clients wanted a bit more than a lap dance. When I said no, he tried to force me into another room. I have no doubt he’d have raped me. But Mark was there, and he stopped the guy. Then he bundled me away and I never went back. Not even to collect my last paycheck.”

Cody swore. “Good thing he was there.”

“Yes.” She sighed and closed her eyes. Her skin prickled with heat. She thought about tossing the covers off and then decided it wasn’t a good idea really. Not with Cody here, and not with the electric hum simmering deep inside her veins. She felt like one hot look might set her off.

“Do you get back home much?” he asked, and everything inside her went still.

“There’s nothing to go back for. My mother is still an alcoholic, and my father is still an asshole. I talk to my oldest sister—nothing has changed and nothing ever will.”

Miranda frowned. Why the effing hell was she still talking about this? It only made her seem weak and pitiful—and she would never be either of those things.

“I get it. I go back for my grandparents. My mom—well, she’s a good person deep down, but she’s selfish and miserable, and she makes everyone around her miserable. It’s more than I want to deal with when I’m taking a break from the realities of the job.”

“Exactly.”

She loved that he understood. Mark had often asked why she didn’t go home for a visit, why she didn’t try. He’d believed she needed that connection, but then he’d been an orphan who’d never known his own parents. He and his sister had been raised by an aunt and uncle who apparently weren’t the warmest people on the planet.

He’d thought her parents were simply flawed people, not toxic destroyers of everything good in life, because that’s what he needed to believe about parents in general.

“I’m still sorry I interrupted your evening, Cody. And sorry if I took you away from visiting with your grandparents.”

“Honestly, sunshine? I love them and love seeing them, but getting kidnapped by you and being on the run from Victor Conti—and the CI-fucking-A—is a lot more fun.”

She wanted to laugh but she managed not to. “You have a warped idea of fun.”

“Oh, I have plenty of other ideas about what’s fun,” he said, his voice a lovely deep purr that strummed against her nerve endings. “Let me know if you want to hear them.”