Show No Fear by Marliss Melton

that’s all.”
    He stood up, coming to stand behind her. The sight of his broad shoulders filling the mirror did little to soothe her. “You
     can stay here tomorrow if you want to, Luce. I’ll go by myself.”
    She whirled on him, holding up the hairbrush like a weapon. “Stop saying that!” she hissed. “I don’t need your negativism
     undermining my self-confidence.”
    “It’s not a question of self-confidence. You were traumatized at the warehouse. That’s not going to go away just because you
     want it to.”
    “You see?” she said, menacing him with the brush.
    “What are you going to do with that?” he asked, a hint of laughter in his eyes as he glanced at her weapon.
    “Don’t mock me,” she warned. “I can have you doubled over and begging for mercy in five seconds.”
    “Go ahead,” he offered, visibly bracing himself.
    “Forget it.” She shoved at his chest, needing space to clear her thoughts. Turning her back on him, she went back to brushing
     her hair.
    For a nerve-racking minute, Gus just watched her. Awareness tightened Lucy’s nipples, putting twin points on the front of
     her pajama top.
    “A massage would help,” Gus announced unexpectedly. “You’re way too tense.”
    Startled, Lucy put the brush down. Oh, no. A massage wouldn’t help anything. “Maybe you’re projecting your anxiety onto me,”
     she bluffed. “I am perfectly fine.”
    “You’re right,” Gus agreed with a nod. “I’m the one who’s tense.” He stripped off his T-shirt unexpectedly. “How about you
     massage me?” Suddenly he was standing in a pair of gray gym shorts and nothing else.
    Lucy’s gaze fastened helplessly on the expanse of naked chest. The lean youth she had loved in college had, in addition to
     widening his shoulders six inches, grown a six-pack and chest hair—lots of chest hair, the same russet brown as his head.
     It furred his upper chest before narrowing into a line that bisected his abs and arrowed into his gym shorts. “I suck at giving
     massages,” she protested stonily.
    “No, you don’t. Come on, Luce. Don’t be chicken.” He sprawled gracefully across the coverlet, exposing a back that was all
     swells and ridges and thick, dense muscle. “It’s just a massage.”
    Who was he calling chicken?
    Resentment bolstered her courage. Seeing that he was watching her, she marched over to the bed and casually chopped his back,
     her hands bouncing off the resilient slabs of muscles. “There,” she said, straightening.
    “Not like that. Sit between my legs.”
    His legs were long and strong and bare, and dusted with light brown hair. Lucy swallowed hard.
    Could she touch him and not get lost in the past? It would be a test of her professionalism, that much was certain.
    Maybe he
was
testing her, in which case, she had better surpass his expectations.
    With a careless-looking shrug, she kneeled between his slightly spread thighs and braced her hands on his smooth back. His
     clean skin exuded a familiar scent that made her head spin, made her insides melt with remembered pleasure.
    With a tremor in her fingers, she dug in, instantly intrigued by the interplay of muscles and sinew.
    Gus gave a low groan of pleasure, the sound of which seemed to vibrate inside her. The impulse to lower her lips to the expanse
     of bare back had her swimming in her desire.
    Of their own will, her fingers trailed lower, drifting just under the elastic band of his shorts toward his firm buttocks.
     Even as his muscles loosened under her flexing fingers, a different tension invaded his body.
    She could take this as far as she liked. The realization filled her with bittersweet triumph. She was still in control. She
     still had what it took to turn a potential recruit into an asset. Only Gus wasn’t a recruit. He was her partner, the first
     she’d ever had, and probably the last.
    Slapping his butt with a playful swat, Lucy jumped from the bed.
    He cracked an eye. “Where are you