Facing Fear by Gennita Low Page B

further.
    “Not yet,” Rick told her very softly, his lips inches from hers.
    “Let me down, then.”
    His green eyes mocked hers. There was anger in them, and that other dark element she couldn’t put a finger on that was frightening her. In answer, he adjusted his position and slid her along his thigh toward him. She felt her towel parting further, and the friction of his black pants against her nakedness pressed home the point that she was in no position to bargain.
    “All in good time. After you’ve answered a few questions.” Rick frowned as her dark hair fell forward and covered his hand, a soft caress that distracted him from his goal of intimidating the woman. He wanted to run his fingers through it as it dried. He fought the urge to lift and bury his face in it. He scowled. Diversion.
    “Who sent you?” When she shook her head, he persisted. “Who? You’ve been asking questions about me.”
    Her gaze lifted. “Really? And you haven’t been doing the same about me?”
    This time her voice was steady, and although her eyes were still making him feel like a bastard, there was a challenging tilt to her chin now. For some reason, he couldn’t stop looking at her mouth and thinking of strawberry daiquiri, and how her lips had pursed around that straw.
    Nikki forced herself to meet his eyes. There was no place to run, and she knew, in her heart, that Rick Harden wasn’t here to cause her the kind of harm she feared. He wouldn’t know—would he?
    “You have no background, besides the fake one you’ve conjured up for the last ten years. It was you in my elevator that night, wasn’t it?” He tugged at her hair again. “Wasn’t it?”
    She didn’t see any reason to deny it. “Yes.”
    “And you were with a group of touring writers the other day. And lunch. You knew I would be there. Didn’t you?” He spoke softly, his breath warming her in hot puffs.
    “Yes.”
    “You went jogging, looking for me. And all that talk about your novel, it was about me. Why did you tell Agent Jones those things if you hadn’t meant to bait me?”
    His eyes demanded answers that she wasn’t ready to give. She hadn’t really thought about Agent Jones as a connection to Rick until he had shown up on the trail that morning. She had answered his questions because it had been painfully obvious that the young operative was trying hard to get some sort of information on her, and she had felt sorry for him.
    “I…didn’t mean to bait you,” she told Rick, trying not to breathe too hard, or her towel would surely fall open. “He did me a favor, and I was returning it.”
    Rick frowned. “What favor?”
    He was a runner, with legs strengthened from years of endurance. He would not get tired of this position for a while, and she was beginning to be aware of too many things about him, things that she had no right to notice. The heat of his body. The curling brown hair above the collar of his black shirt. The easy strength of his body as he bore her entire weight. The way his fingers were half caressing and half pulling her hair, as if he couldn’t decide what to do with her.
    “What favor?” he repeated, his arctic voice a direct contrast to his body heat.
    She closed her eyes. She decided to give him the truth because that seemed to be the only thing he couldn’t see, but she had a feeling he wouldn’t appreciate it. “I interrupted your routine and was attempting to balance your not being in your usual…place. However, Agent Jones ran your miles for me instead. I owed him that, so I answered his questions.” Which brought Rick into her space. All debts were paid in full.
    The silence was drawn out to a screaming pitch. “Look at me,” he finally ordered, his voice dangerously quiet. She did so, openly defiant now, but her heart still thudding too loudly. His green eyes studied her intently, then he asked, “What do you do besides write?”
    Nikki jerked at his sudden change of subject. She had expected mocking