Heart of Danger by Lisa Marie Rice

looking at him as if looking at him could cause them harm like that Greek lady with the snakes for hair who turned anyone who looked at her to stone.
    He’d had a hard life and it was reflected in his face. Mac didn’t give a shit. In the military, he did what he had to do and he did it well, and what he looked like didn’t make any difference at all to the outcome. The only time he thought about it was when he was undercover, because he was memorable. Not in a good way.
    “Mac might have better chances than I would,” Jon said, waggling his eyebrows. “With that handsome mug of his.”
    “Cut it out,” Mac growled. They didn’t have time for this.
    “No, dude. I mean it.” Jon suddenly turned serious, the expression odd on his good-looking face. Mac had watched him hosing opponents with his charm, wielding that bright and merry smile while slipping in the knife. His face wasn’t made for seriousness. Seeing him so sober and serious was strange. “The chick likes you.”
    Mac didn’t surprise easily but he felt his jaw unhinge slightly, then snapped it closed. “What the fuck are you talking about?”
    “The chick?” Jon insisted. “The lady doctor? The one you just spent an hour interrogating? ’Member her? The one we’re watching now?”
    “Can it, Jon.” Nick’s voice was low with menace.
    “She digs you,” Jon continued as if Nick hadn’t spoken. “Man, she looked at you like you were smokin’ hot.”
    Mac made a sound of exasperation. Jon liked to razz on him but now wasn’t the time. On the monitor, the woman had finished the juice drink and was polishing off the last of the peach pie. Man, she must have an amazing metabolism to eat like that and stay so slender. Either that or she’d been starving.
    At the thought, a slight worm of unease went through him. He was hard, yeah, but he wasn’t cruel. It wasn’t a happy thought that she might have been hungry while he was interrogating her. Starving a woman . . . well that officially made him a prick.
    He was a badass but not a prick.
    “Shit, look at that chick eat,” Jon said. “Nice manners, but she’s packing the stuff away.”
    “She was hungry,” Mac said curtly.
    “Yeah.” Jon nodded. “For you.”
    “Fuck off, Jon.” Nick gave Jon’s shoulder a sharp blow. “We don’t have time for this. The fuck’s wrong with you?”
    “Hey, man, I’m serious. Wait, wait! Let me show you what I mean.” Jon reached over and touched the screen, dragging his index finger from right to left, rewinding. “Where . . . there it is! The moment Mac takes her hood off.”
    All three men turned to the monitor, though Mac didn’t know what the hell he was looking for. He’d been there and hadn’t noticed anything. All three watched as Mac held open the door and ushered a hooded Catherine in with a hand to the small of her back.
    Now that he remembered. Vividly. Sleek muscles, narrow waist, some really nice smell as she walked past him. He rarely touched women except for sex. It had felt nice and he’d squashed the thought immediately. Until she convinced him otherwise, this woman was the enemy.
    “There!” Jon shouted, and tapped the screen to freeze it. “What?” Nick asked, baffled. Mac frowned and leaned closer to the monitor, trying to figure out what Jon saw. He looked at the tableau, his frozen self with the hood in his hand, holding it high, having whipped it off the woman’s head, her hair gently raised from the friction with the hood forming a halo around her head. She was looking straight at him and the screen save caught that second in which she first had a glimpse of his face.
    Dispassionately, Mac had to recognize that the woman was truly beautiful. One of the most beautiful women he’d ever seen. Gorgeous light gray eyes, high cheekbones, full mouth. It was a bone-deep beauty, the kind that could never fade. She’d be a gorgeous centenarian. Whatever makeup she might have started the day with was long gone, though