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Unpack that.

“Are you… are you going to kidnap me?” She’s breathing harder than she should be, her voice edging towards pure panic as her hands scrabble against my chest. “Please, please don’t hurt me.”

My chest constricts in sympathy.

But I don’t get up.

“You fired a shotgun at me, June. I’m not just going to let you go.”

Moving my hand over her body, I search for more weapons, and completely ignore her warm skin. I definitely don’t notice the soft curve of her hips under the gauzy material of her dress.

I don’t notice it one bit.

The sharp inhalation of breath gives her away, and I flinch back right as she attempts a head butt, her forehead connecting with my cheek. Pain sparks behind my eye and I growl.

“I swear to god, if you take me back there, I’ll lose it. I will lose my mind. Please don’t hurt me. Just tell me what you want.” She shakes her head from side to side, tears pooling in her eyes. Her nails dig into my chest.

All I can do is stare at her in confusion as tears roll down her cheeks, leaving clean tracks through the plaster dust on her face.

“Take you back where? I told you, I’m with the DEA. Why would you think I’m going to hurt you? Where do you think I’m taking you?” Something about this is important. My instincts scream at me to figure out what the hell she’s talking about.

She stops fighting, her body completely limp. “Prove it.”

Like this, I’m even more aware of how well she fits against me, her breathing pushing her breasts against my chest, her eyesso full of emotion and intelligence that all I want to do is prove something else entirely to her.

I lick my lips, forcing control over myself.

“Prove what?” I growl.

“Prove that you’re DEA. If you are government, call it in. No. You know what? Give me your phone and letmecall it in.”

“Your dad taught you that too, huh?” Grudging respect for the smuggler starts to form.

Fishing my phone from my pocket, I unlock it, handing it over, trying to ignore what her shallow breaths are doing against my chest. “DEA website,” I say, leveling her with a stare. I’m trusting you not to call 911 and fuck this day up any worse.”

She glares at me but takes the phone, quickly tapping the screen. “I’m there. What now?”

“Go to the page with the field offices. Houston is overseeing this mission.” I smile at her speculative expression, the tightening around her eyes. “Go on. Verify that I’m working with them.”

She dials the number, and when she is well past the three digits that would signal she’s calling 911, I let out a long breath.

And realize I’m still straddling her.

“Hi, I’m calling to verify a field agent or, er, a contractor? Or something.” There is a pause as a tinny voice says something indecipherable on the other end.

“What’s your ID number?” June asks, relaxing beneath me somewhat, though her pulse still flutters in her throat.

A lazy grin spreads across my face as I rattle it off, only growing as June repeats it and is given confirmation. Slowly, she ends the call, never taking her eyes off me.

“Dr. Legarde,” I say, picking a hunk of ceiling plaster from her hair, flicking it towards the door. “I told you I’m not going to hurt you, and I meant it. I’m not taking you anywhere. At themoment.” I tack on the last part, because we do need to get to a safehouse soon.

Her eyes narrow, and she bites her lip.

I should get off her, but my body refuses to move. I don’t want to risk her taking a potshot at my crotch, either.

“Okay, so you’re with the DEA,” she says slowly. She’s looking anywhere but at me, her brown eyes wandering around her house. “But what does that have to do with me? How did you know where I live? Why are you stalking me?” The questions fly out of her, rapid-fire.

Somehow, June managed to control her panic.