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The flickering flames in the fireplace made shadows dance across the ceiling. Julia stared at them and tried not to think about how Sergeant Britt Rollins was only three feet away.

Sergeant Britt Rollins, who hadn’t lied to her even if he’d played with semantics. Sergeant Britt Rollins, who had proved himself loyal and honorable at every turn. Sergeant Britt Rollins, who had trusted her to hear the evidence of his brother’s innocence and come to the correct conclusion concerning what to do with that information. Sergeant Britt Rollins, who had emerged from the shower in a tight black undershirt that emphasized the breadth of his chest and gray sweatpants that emphasized the breadth of…well… not his chest.

Hubba, hubba, and holy screaming ovaries!

He wasn’t asleep. That much she discerned from the quiet way he breathed. But neither had he said anything since they’d claimed their places for the night.

She kept expecting him to say… something .

Or maybe she just wanted him to say something because she loved the sound of his voice. Loved that deep, melodic Lowcountry drawl that was the auditory equivalent of sweet sun tea.

How many times had she fantasized about him whispering naughty words that would make her face flush and her blood rush? How many times had she heard his voice in her dreams only to wake up hot and bothered and unable to get back to sleep without first reaching into her bedside drawer for a little battery-powered relief?

Too many times to count.

And speaking of being hot.

A bead of sweat slipped between her breasts and had her kicking off the colorful afghan blanket she’d pulled from the back of the sofa.

The coolness of the room’s air was a blessed relief against her bare toes. But it wasn’t enough. She couldn’t get comfortable. She was still too hot. Plus, someone was snoring in the next room. And the pair of flannel pajamas Britt had supplied her with—a donation from whoever owned the cabin—were too tight.

Or maybe that’s just my skin , she thought.

She had the oddest feeling. Like something inside her needed to burst free. Like the very essence of her being was too confined and needed an escape and?—

“Something on your mind, Agent O’Toole?” Britt’s deliciously low voice drifted across the space between them.

You , she could have told him. You’re on my mind.

Instead, she said, “Agent O’Toole, huh? We’re back to being all professional and standoffish with each other?”

“Isn’t that what you want?”

“No.” The word was out of her mouth before she could stop it.

His voice dropped to a lower octave. When he said the words, “Then what do you want?” she could feel her heartbeat in the tips of her breasts. And in places a lot farther south.

You , she could’ve said. I want you, you.

But she’d already made that obvious when she’d tried to eat his face off and rub herself to completion against the ridge that’d risen behind his fly. She’d made her want of him obvious, and then he’d soundly rejected her.

Not really rejected you , a voice of reason argued. Just pointed out that he’s not the kind of man you’re looking for.

Except, despite all her logic and reason, she couldn’t shake the feeling that he was precisely what she was looking for.

Of course, those were her ovaries talking and not her brain. He felt precisely like what she was looking for because they had chemistry. Careless, carnal, combustible chemistry. And that was an intoxicating thing that muddled her mind and made her want to ignore logic and reason and simply… live .

Live in the moment. Revel in the now. Go with her gut…er…rather her hormones.

Instead of answering him, she said, “I’m just restless, I guess. There’s nothing worse than being up against a ghost. I can deal with an enemy I know. But an enemy I don’t know?” She shook her head.

Silence followed her pronouncement. For a moment, she wondered if he’d call her out for so soundly changing the subject. But eventually, he said, “If anyone can find a ghost, it’s Ozzie.”

“The FBI has firewalls inside their firewalls,” she told him, glad he’d followed her down this new conversational path. Mainly because the old one had been veering into treacherous territory and making her contemplate dangerous things. “I suspect the IRS is even more secure.”

“And Ozzie is a virtual fire jumper. If the evidence is there to be found, Ozzie will find it.”

“But what if finding it takes weeks instead of days? I can’t stay here that long. I can’t worry my family and coworkers like that. I’ll need to?—”

“Don’t borrow tomorrow’s troubles,” he interrupted.

She scoffed. “My whole career is about thinking one step ahead. Whoever outed your brother and Mr. Greenlee to the cartel is playing a dangerous game. They have to know that. Which means they’re probably too smart to have left behind a digital footprint.”

“Nah.” She heard a rustling and lifted her chin to find he’d sat up on his pallet. When he leaned his elbows against the stone hearth behind him, the fire at his back cast his form in silhouette. The little tuft of hair over his temple stuck up straight. She had the nearly overwhelming urge to run her hand over it. And then run her hand over so much more. “You don’t have to be smart to be dangerous,” he explained. “You don’t avoid a black widow spider because it’s smart.”

She sat up as well. Sleep wasn’t possible with her mind spinning in circles and her chest tight with worry. It definitely wasn’t possible with Sergeant Britt Rollins only three feet away.

Three feet away and wearing gray sweatpants.

Had he done that on purpose? Did he know gray sweatpants were catnip for women?

Talk about MEOW!

She needed a distraction. “Would you have really killed the tactical team guys if they’d found us?”

She watched as his lips pulled wide in a Cheshire cat smile. “Never said I’d kill them.”

“Yes, you did. You said?—”

“That I’d shoot them,” he interrupted. “Shooting someone and killing them are two very different things. If they were synonymous, I’d be pushing up daisies.”

Her momentary relief that he wasn’t the type of man to go around murdering innocent agents for doing their job was immediately replaced by a keen sense of curiosity. “You’ve been shot?”

“Mmm.” He nodded slowly.

“Where?” The question was out of her mouth before she realized how inappropriate it might be.

What if he’d been shot somewhere embarrassing? Like his ass? Or his balls? Or his?—

Her thoughts screeched to a halt when he stood and sauntered casually over to the sofa. He sat down beside her. Not at the other end of the sofa. Nope. He chose the cushion right next to her.

She’d barely recovered her breath from his proximity when he lifted his T-shirt, and she forgot how to breathe entirely.

He was… beautiful .

Her brothers were overgrown and bulky. Her last boyfriend had been a carbon copy of that, strapping in a brutish sort of way. But beautiful? No. That wasn’t a word she’d have used to describe any of the men in her life.

It was the only word to describe Britt.

His skin was the color of light caramel. His hips were lean, and his stomach was corrugated. Flat brown nipples sat upon square pectoral muscles. And as if this particular sundae needed a cherry, he had a light smattering of crinkly black hair that ran up the centerline of his body until it fanned out in perfect symmetry across his wide chest.

He was Michelangelo’s David made flesh. A finely-crafted marble statue sprung to life. Art.

He was the kind of gorgeous mere mortals like her could only admire from afar. Except, funny thing was, he kept using every excuse to get close to her.

She followed his hand as he pointed to a wound on his flank. It was the shape of a cigarette burn, only about three times bigger. It crinkled slightly with each of his breaths.

“So you weren’t able to melt this one,” she murmured.

“Huh?”

“Nothing.” She shook her head. “Just a random thought I had earlier.”

Before she thought of how inappropriate it was to touch him without his consent, she reached forward and slowly ran her fingertips over the remnants of the injury. He hissed as his stomach muscles accordioned. She yanked back her hand as if she’d been burned.

And maybe she had.

His flesh was flaming hot to the touch.

“Sorry,” she whispered, her gaze shooting up to find his eyes fixed on her face. His expression was…

Ruthless maybe? Barbaric?

Both came close. Neither was exactly right.

She shivered. “I’m sorry,” she said again, her voice not sounding like hers. It was lower. Shakier. “I shouldn’t have done that. Does it still hurt?”

“No.”

One word, gritted through his teeth.

She frowned. “Then why did you?—”

She stopped when he dropped his shirt. She couldn’t decide if she was sorry or relieved she could no longer see all that glorious, golden flesh.

For long moments, the room was quiet. The only noises to break the silence were the gentle crackle of the fireplace, the soft snores coming from the bedroom next door, and the ragged sound of her own breathing as she searched his face.

“When you touch me, Julia, I feel like I’m falling,” he finally confessed, his voice little more than a low, gravelly whisper.

Julia…

She would never get tired of hearing him say her name.

Her whole life, people had pronounced it jew-lee-uh . But his drawl turned it into the much softer-sounding jewel-yuh .

“Is that a good or bad feeling?” she asked breathlessly.

“Good. Too good. I don’t want you to stop. I want you to keep going until you’ve touched every part of me, and I’ve fallen through the center of the earth.”

His voice had thickened. Her blood thickened in direct response, and she couldn’t stop the small, triumphant smile that pulled at the corners of her mouth.

It was a heady thing to be wanted by a man like him.

She had a wildly inappropriate impulse. An impulse she should definitely ignore. But it was like her hand had a mind of its own when it splayed over his chest, right above his heart.

Warm…

He was so unbelievably warm.

Hard…

His muscles felt as unforgiving as titanium beneath her fingers.

He placed his hand over hers. She thought he did it to pull her away. But a split-second later, she knew the opposite was true.

He pressed her palm harder into his flesh. Hard enough that she could feel the lub-dub of his heart as it kicked up a notch. If she were the romantic kind, the reckless kind, she’d say the organ was begging to be claimed.

Good thing she was the realistic, pragmatic sort instead.

“You don’t have any idea what you do to me, do you?” he said, softly tracing her fingers.

She did know. Because everything he felt, she felt too.

She didn’t confess as much. Instead, she whispered, “Tell me,” as her pulse pounded out of control.

What the hell do you think you’re doing? the little voice demanded.

Throwing caution to the wind , she silently answered .

She tried to be so in control of every aspect of her life. So smart in every decision she made. But now, with this man, she wanted to be careless. She wanted to be wild. She wanted to act on impulse and damn the consequences.

He wanted a Miss Right Now? Well, she could be that woman. She could pretend, just for tonight, that right now was enough.

He swallowed hard, closing his eyes like he was trying to find the words. When he finally spoke, she listened closely, memorizing each word because each word was more enchanting than the last. She might live her whole life and never hear another man speak to her like he spoke to her.

“It’s impossible to describe the chaos you create inside me.” His voice was raw and unsteady. “Each of your touches is like a lightning strike. They leave me destroyed. And yet…I want to beg you for more.”

She swallowed convulsively. Her breaths came sharp and fast.

“It’s like…fire and ice, all at once,” he continued, the blue of his eyes piercing deep inside her. Into places she should protect from him. Into places she imprudently left wide open so they could welcome him in. “Every part of me aches for you, and when you touch me…it’s like nothing else exists. It’s like…” He let out a breathless laugh, shaking his head. “God, it’s like drowning, but I don’t want to come up for air.”

His words set something free inside her. Freed her from the fear of what giving in to her basest instincts might do. Freed her from the pressure of always doing the right thing, the smart thing. Freed her from caring about what tomorrow might hold because the only thing that mattered was the here and now.

“Kiss me, Britt. Kiss me like you kissed me this morning.”

His pupils dilated until they nearly eclipsed the blue of his irises. “I thought we agreed this morning would be the only time?—”

“I don’t care about that,” she interrupted. “Someone smart once said we only regret the decisions we don’t make and the chances we don’t take. I don’t want to regret not exploring whatever this thing is between us. Even if it’s only for one night.”

His hand stilled atop hers. For a moment, she thought he might not agree to her bargain. For a moment, she thought she might’ve taken a shot…and missed entirely.

Then, it was like her words had set something free inside him, too. Because the muscles in his jaw hardened. His gaze turned decidedly predatory. And there was no mistaking the determination in his tone when he warned, “Make sure you understand what you’re saying, what you’re agreeing to. This…” He lifted his hand away from hers so he could place his wide palm above her left breast. After finding the place where her pajama top parted, he ran a callused thumb along the ridge of her collarbone. So gently. So studiously. As if he’d never touched a woman before.

Which she knew was a lie.

The way Britt kissed, the way he knew how to use his hands and his body to give pleasure, told her there were myriads of women left in his wake. Satisfied women.

She might've been jealous of them if she’d had time to think about them. But she didn’t. Because he lifted his hand from her chest to her face.

Cupping her jaw, he dragged the pad of his thumb over her bottom lip. When her tongue darted out to follow the caress, his eyes sharpened until she was reminded of a jungle cat spotting its prey.

His voice was lower, rougher when he finished. “This is all it’ll ever be. This physical… thing between us. It’ll never be more. It’ll never be what you’re looking for.”

“Then, let it be this.” She leaned forward until her lips were a whisper away from his.

The inches between them felt like kindling. And the spark that would set that kindling ablaze would be one of them moving.

She waited for him to be the one. Waited with bated breath and her blood rushing in her ears. Waited until she couldn’t wait anymore.

When she brushed her mouth across his, every thought in her head dissolved into a heated blur, leaving only the sensation of his hot breath mingling with her own and the sweet, agonizing thrill of finally allowing herself to be consumed by the fire that had raged between them since the first moment they met.