Thief of Hearts by MaryJanice Davidson

shit ,” he replied politely. He found himself leaning against the sink while she ran warm water in the basin, found a washcloth and gently pressed it to his nose and mouth. The tender motion was a puzzling conflict to her tight-lipped expression, narrowed eyes, and sharp words.
    “Where I come from, you don’t let the lady take the lumps. Jeez, what kind of household did you grow up in, any—” He made himself stop talking and stared at her. She was tending to his face and wouldn’t look at him and no wonder…Kara hadn’t exactly been brought up in the be-kind-to-children-and-animals mode.
    “Putz,” she said again and he silently agreed.
    A long moment passed, then he caught her wrists and gently took the washcloth away from her. “I can do that. And quit manhandling me, will you? Don’t make me kick your ass.”
    She snorted and he continued. “Listen. I get that you’re truly angry with me. I couldn’t figure out why until right now—you truly feel it’s your job to get hurt and mine to stay safe?” She said nothing. “The thing is, I see us as more of a team.”
    “We’re not a team. I’m never in a team,” she said fiercely and tried to take the washcloth away from him. He held it high above her head, out of reach.
    “Stop me if you’ve heard this before, but bullshit.”
    “I can’t keep you safe if you’re not going to listen,” she said flatly. She gave him a disgusted look as he dangled the washcloth out of her reach, as if saying: You don’t really think I’m going to jump for that, do you?
    “Well, I won’t stay safe if it means you’ll get hurt. Period. The end. The fat lady singeth.”
    She stared at him. “You're an idiot.”
    He raised an eyebrow at her and sponged the rest of the drying blood off his face. The nosebleed had stopped a few minutes ago, luckily. “I don’t want to see you get pounded, ergo I’m an idiot? What, you’ve never hung around with one of the good guys before?”

    “I’ve never hung around with a moron before,” she muttered, looking away.
    He caught her chin and gently forced her to look at him. “In all the excitement,” he said mildly, but his heart was starting to pound, “I forgot to thank you for kicking some major ass on my behalf.”
    He leaned forward to kiss her and to his amazement and pleasure she met him more than halfway. She tenderly licked his sore upper lip, then her tongue slipped past his teeth and suddenly he was tasting her, devouring her, holding her tightly against his chest and kissing her with all the passion and excitement she had called up in him from the moment he first saw her.
    Jared, who’d been sure the infatuation was one-sided, thrilled to feel Kara’s hands slip under his shirt, her fingers brushing across his nipples and sliding through his chest hair.
    He cupped her skull in his hands tenderly, carefully, as if holding a Faberge egg, precious and priceless.
    He pulled at the clip keeping her hair up. Suddenly the rich blonde waves were tumbling past his hands.
    He groaned and buried his face in her hair.
    “Oh we can’t,” she said in one breath, then nipped at his ear with her small teeth.
    “We hardly know each other,” he agreed with a groan and kissed her throat. He brought his hands down to her waist, across her taut stomach and up under her t-shirt. He closed his eyes and rubbed his face against her hair like a cat, for Jared Dean was a pure sensualist and nothing was more delightful to him than the feel and smell of a woman’s skin and hair.
    He explored her body as a blind man would, bringing his palms across the muscles in her abdomen, sliding up, marveling at the sleek power contained in her body. He found her bra and—joy!—realized the clasp was in front; with one sure tug the fabric parted and her breasts were in his hands. He groaned again at the sheer joy of it, of her. Firm and sweet and fitting exactly into his palms, he caressed the tender undersides with his knuckles, then