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She shrugged. “I like the job.”

“Why?” He looked like the question had fallen out of his mouth before he could stop it.

“Giving poor kids from a rotten place a better shot at surviving is good work. Satisfying.”

He shot her a skeptical look over her insistence on sticking with her lame cover, so she switched subjects. “Why are you here, Ian McCloud?”

“Mom and apple pie?”

It was her turn to snort. The PHP guys really felt that way. But this man was in another class of warrior altogether. He was the real deal. “Try again,” she retorted.

“I like to kill shit and blow stuff up,” he threw out.

That sounded more accurate. “Be that as it may, why are you here ? It looked to me like you’re acting purely as an observer. What are your marching orders? No wait, let me guess. Don’t interfere. Just watch. Don’t let anyone know you’re here.”

He didn’t bother to deny the truth of her guess and merely challenged, “What are your orders?”

It was her turn to shrug. “Vaccinate as many kids as I can…and don’t die.” And find out who the PHP guys are here to meet and why.

Thinking back to where his rooftop observation post had been, she probed a little more. “Are you here to watch El Noor? You were pointed at the edge of his sector—why is the U.S. government interested in a small-time, local warlord like him?”

“Local today. International tomorrow.”

So. Military intelligence thought El Noor was looking to expand his operations, huh? Interesting. But not germane to her investigation of a bunch of American separatist nutballs. “Good luck with that, G.I. Joe.”

He grunted. “Good luck to you, too. You’re gonna need it, honey.”

She lunged across the low table and grabbed him by the throat with both hands before he even blinked. Fruit and plates went flying, clattering onto the tile floor. “Important safety tip, Tonto. Don’t call me honey.”

McCloud surged to his feet, meeting her threatening move with one of his own.

His hands, bladed like knives, struck the insides of her wrists sharply enough to send her hands flying away from his neck.

He grabbed fistfuls of her shirt and hauled her up against his big body, glaring down at her from a range of about twelve inches, one-hundred-percent a killer. And pissed.

Piper froze, appalled that she’d just assaulted a trained killer. It had been pure reflex. Her father always had called her honey, and just hearing the word made her react violently.

Very carefully, she used her palms to pet his chest soothingly. Nice tiger. Good kitty .

The warm bulge of his pecs registered under her fingertips and her breath hitched at the raw masculine appeal of the man. She lifted her hands away carefully and stepped back, breathing altogether too quickly for her peace of mind.

“Why didn’t you break my wrists for that?” she asked in a small voice.

He murmured, his voice low and charged, “You know I can break them, right?”

“Yes,” she replied warily.

“Then there’s no need to prove it, is there?”

A tiny, unwilling smile of flitted across her face while shock roiled through her gut that she’d escaped that giant mistake unscathed. Her father would never have let her off the hook like that. “You’re a cool customer.”

He shrugged, his mesmerizing stare never breaking contact with hers.

Okay, so maybe cool wasn’t the right adjective for him. Icy came closer. She took another step back, seeking escape from his overpowering magnetism. But he followed her, stalking her until she bumped into a wall at her back.

He planted his hand son the wall on either side of her head. Her hands itched to touch him again. To rub all over those glorious muscles. To grab his ass. Pull him closer for another round of?—

She swore mentally.

He leaned in closer, abruptly dead serious.

“Here’s the deal. I’m not going to turn you over to El Noor.

I think you’re working for an American agency of some kind.

Which puts us on the same side out here.

So give me a straight answer. What could possibly have persuaded a young, attractive woman like you to come play in Hell? ”

His husky voice slid across her skin like whisky, smooth but with a sexy bite. “Is that where we are? Hell?” She gazed around his place over his shoulder. “This isn’t so bad after all. I pictured a more brimstone-and-torment decor.”

He grunted with scant humor. “I give you two weeks in Khartoum to change your mind. This place’ll make a cynic out of even a Pollyanna like you.”

“I’m no Pollyanna.”

“I’d say you’re damned optimistic to think you can come here alone and walk out alive.”

She glared at him indignantly, and he smirked back. His head bent down until their lips were about three inches apart. Close enough to taste the sweetness of dates on his breath. To remember all the unrestrained lust from before. To crave more of it.

He muttered, “Why are you here, Piper?”

“I already told you. Why won’t you believe me?”

“Because I can smell a lie at twenty paces.”

“Oh yeah? What do I smell like?” she asked breathlessly. Her entire body felt electrified. Energized.

“Cinnamon,” he murmured. “And peaches. Spicy and warm. Like slow sex in the summertime.”

Oh. My. God.

“You can trust me,” he murmured, his words a caress against her lips. Another inch or two and they’d be kissing each other’s lights out. Sucking tonsils and tearing off clothes and going at each other like horny beasts. Again. It would be epic.

She struggled to recall what he’d just said. Oh, right. Trust. “It’s not about trust. It’s about what I am and am not allowed to talk about.”

His head lifted enough for his sharply intelligent gaze read her eyes astutely. “Allowed, huh?” he breathed. “’Nuff said.”

Dammit. She’d revealed more than she’d wanted to. Using the word, ‘allowed’ implied a boss. Classified information. An agency whose name could be reduced to several alphabet letters.

He stepped back abruptly, leaving her feeling cold and deprived. Goosebumps covered both of her forearms. Whoa, the effect that man had on her was unnerving.

He shrugged casually as if she hadn’t had the slightest effect on him. “Maybe you will make it a full month out here, then. Hard to tell. You were reasonably agile on that staircase where I tackled you.”

Memory of his hard body slamming into hers, pressing her against the ground flashed through her mind. Crap, this guy did weird things to her head. “Gee, thanks. Was that actually a compliment from you?”

“Nah. If I wanted to compliment you I’d tell you that, cleaned up, girlied up, and out of those combat boots, you might not look half-bad.”

She scooped up her sniper rig and slung the nylon strap over her shoulder. “Go to hell, McCloud.”

He chuckled and raised his water bottle to her in a mock toast. “Already there, darlin’.”

Eyes narrowed, she said tightly, “Thanks for the diversion, but it’s time for me to get back to work.”

“I’ll walk you back to your place.”

“I don’t need a chaperone.”

“Yeah,” he said flatly, “you do. Particularly since you’re wearing western garb.”

“I’ll put my hair up back under my hat and on one will know I’m a girl. I am wearing combat boots, after all.”

He snorted. “One look at that tush, and nobody will mistake you for a guy.”

She glared at him and he glared back.

She took satisfaction from the fact that he was first to speak. “This is a Muslim town, chica . An extremely conservative one. Unescorted women are asking for trouble. As much as I’d enjoy laughing at your funeral, my John Wayne genes won’t let me send you out there alone.”

“Neanderthal,” she muttered.

“Feminist bitch,” he muttered back.

Glaring at each other, he opened the door for her and she stepped past him onto the landing outside. Even brushing by him without touching him made her pulse accelerate alarmingly, damn him. Ian McCloud was trouble with a capital T.

He did walk her home, and she didn’t know how she felt about that. But she definitely felt something .