01 Only Fear by Anne Marie Becker

kicking a man where it hurts most?”
    Scowling, she shifted in her chair. “You mean the instep of his foot? Or a solid clap to the ear? Now you’re insulting my intelligence.”
    So she had paid attention in her self-defense class. “Still…”
    Her expelled breath lifted a curl from her forehead. “I have pepper spray in my purse. And I know how to shoot a gun, if that’s what you’re asking. I don’t own one and don’t particularly care for shooting,” she added under her breath, “but would I if I had to?” She met his gaze unflinchingly. “Absolutely.”
    The truth of her words was evident in her expression.
    “Okay. Let’s start with an assessment of your home. Walk me through it.”
    As she took him on a tour of her small home, Ethan analyzed the strengths and weaknesses. She’d done a good job securing the windows and doors, but there were things even she, as cautious as she seemed to be, had missed. Things such as choosing an everyday item in each room of the house that could be used as a weapon, should she be trapped there with an assailant.
    He reached around her as they stood in her master bathroom, his arm brushing the creamy skin of her bare shoulder as he lifted her can of hairspray. He caught the scent of her hair. Something flowery, but also earthy and subtle. Whatever it was, it had his body responding in a way it hadn’t since he was in high school—quick and shameless. Accidental contact with her had almost brought him to his knees, so he didn’t mind when she quickly stepped away, putting distance between them, though the bathroom was small. She didn’t get far.
     
    Heat seared the bare skin of Maggie’s shoulder where Ethan’s body grazed it. It had been so long since any man had touched her, let alone a man as attractive as the security specialist Damian had insisted she speak with. Wanting Damian’s help, she couldn’t refuse, no matter how hard it was to let a near-stranger into her home.
    Into her home? Heck, the man was standing in her bathroom.
    Her reaction to Ethan Townsend was a surprise. Taller than her by a few inches, and wide enough through the shoulders to make her wonder if he’d ever played football, he made her bathroom seem more like a coat closet with the two of them filling its space. And here he was handling her personal-care products. The things she used every day. There was something unbearably intimate about it, especially after so much time alone, and the thought brought a rush of heat to her face.
    Seemingly oblivious, he lifted her bottle of hairspray. “Ever get this in your eyes?” he asked. She nodded. “Doesn’t feel good, right? And it won’t feel good to an intruder, if he happens to corner you in the bathroom. Spray it in his eyes if you can. It’ll impair his vision—hopefully, long enough for you to make an escape.”
    “Sounds like you know from experience.”
    He shrugged. “I’ve been trained on what to do if I’m sprayed with pepper spray. Or hairspray. Or a couple other things that I’d rather not ever face again. My eyes still water when I think about it. But it taught me some valuable lessons, such as how to focus on taking my target down while enduring incredible pain.”
    He gestured for her to lead him out of the bathroom, and she exhaled a breath of relief. Some space between her and this man who smelled faintly of coffee and some mouthwatering spice—she thought maybe it was cinnamon—was definitely a good idea.
    He led her to the kitchen where he selected a large knife from among others in the wooden block she had on her counter. Any spark of attraction she’d felt was quickly squelched as he held it up. She backed up a step. He couldn’t know about her aversion to knives. Even Damian didn’t know the full extent of that terror.
    As her breath hitched, Maggie tried to focus on Ethan’s mouth instead of the weapon, watching his lips form words. His mouth looked strong, yet soft when one side quirked upward into a