Deliciously Dangerous by Karen Anders Page B

every facet of his equilibrium was threatened, physically, emotionally, intellectually.
    The urge to tell her the truth was there, the words right on the tip of his tongue. And that urge was so strong it actually made his insides cramp. He knew she couldn’t possibly guess at what was really going on.
    He was disappointed that she hadn’t questioned him further, tried to glean whether or not his little “story” about his father was real.
    His brain scrambled to logically weigh all the pros and cons of truly opening up to her, but his head was in a constant war with the reactions of his body and his heart. It was all such a huge jumble, there was no way he could make a rational judgment. Not with her looking at him with those bright and direct eyes and him wanting all sorts of things that were in conflict with why he was here and what he’d promised to get done. But his mind wouldn’t stop spinning, teasing him with ridiculous possibilities, ones that should seem outrageous at best, terrifying at worst. And yet he couldn’t stop that little voice from whispering tauntingly, teasingly, that perhaps it was possible he could somehow come out of this alive and free, and she might be the one woman with whom he could become whole.
    Yeah, he was very good at spinning fiction—both with his words and in his head.
     
    W HEN C ALLIE WOKE UP the sun was low in the sky and she felt refreshed. She took a quick shower, then put on a pair of tight black shorts and a skimpy white cotton peasant top that bared her midriff.
    Slipping her feet into a pair of black gladiator sandals, she exited the room, listening intently for any noise from the interior of the house. Hearing nothing, she walked downstairs and out into the yard. Wondering if Jammer had gone back to the shed, she made her way there. Pulling open the door, she was greeted with the sight of him dressed in a pair of cutoff denim shorts and a muscle T-shirt, standing next to a wooden table.The aroma of alcohol laced with…cherries hit her as she stepped inside and shut the door.
    “What are you doing?”
    He looked around, his hair spiky, his eyes a bit lazy. He smiled and it was as if the sun came out in that small space. His teeth were white in the dimness and she literally had to catch her breath.
    “Tasting the cherries to see if the brandy is ready.”
    “I’d say you’ve done your fair share of tasting.”
    He laughed. “I have. Come over here and help me.”
    “You were supposed to wake me.”
    “I know, but you were tired and I thought I’d do some more work before you got up.”
    “This is work?” she asked with an arched brow.
    “It is.” He laughed again and she realized he was a bit tipsy.
    And she had to wonder if he’d come out here to escape from the tortured thoughts that haunted him.
    “I’ve lost everyone who matters to me.”
    “I’ve got enough death on my conscience to last me…”
    Who had he lost? Who had he cared about? Why were their deaths on his conscience?
    She stopped herself from going down that road. It was dangerous to want that knowledge. She had all she could handle just getting through this op.
    “Come here,” he said softly. Something in his voice sent off fireworks in her midriff. At least she could pretend that was part of the op.
    She approached him and could immediately feel the heat from his body as she got closer.
    “I don’t want to interrupt your…work,” she said with a teasing smile.
    “Tasting cherries is one of my favorite things to do. I don’t mind sharing,” he said. His eyes ran down her body to her groin, where they lingered, frank and outrageous.
    She didn’t move. Couldn’t move with the aura of sin around him like a halo. He was temptation personified.
    She had the sense, as she looked up into that calm, stunningly handsome face, that he was running possible scenarios through his head. Hot, dark, erotic. The air around them seemed suddenly charged with his powerful sexuality. It enveloped