Page 44 of The Devoted Game

She had kissed him.

Oh, dear God.

He strode to the sliding door across the adjoining living room and stepped out onto the deck.

The way he moved held her captive until another realization poked its way through her bewilderment.

He had left her door unlocked. Open. Was he crazy?

No, he wasn’t crazy.She was.Bringing him here was crazy. Kissing him was just plain stupid. Shaking her head, she took the same path he had only with wholly different intentions. If they were going to be working together for an unspecified time, she had to get some kind of boundaries back into place. Somehow, her plan to get the wholemeeting-of-the-lips thing over with hadn’t exactly accomplished the goal she’d had in mind.

Her deck was awash in moonlight, which she appreciated. The lower the light, the less likely he could assess her every expression and gesture. Oh, but he would try.

She climbed into her favorite wicker rocker and curled her legs beneath her. Might as well get comfortable. Until Worth called, she had no choice about keeping him here. McBride’s lighter flashed, and the fiery glow from the lit cigarette glittered as he took a long, leisurely drag.

“Tell me about the nightmare.”

No way. “That’s personal, McBride.” Where was her cell phone? “I need my phone. Worth will call and—”

“Don’t move. I’ll get it.” He left his cigarette in the birdseed bowl she needed to refill and went inside.

She could’ve argued with him, but it wouldn’t have done any good. Frankly, she wasn’t sure it was possible to set any boundaries with him. The man didn’t play by the usual rules, and that left her grappling for balance and structure.

The breeze was chilly, or maybe it was only because her skin was still damp from sweating out her private demons. That McBride had been in her room, was in there now, touching her phone and anything else he damn well pleased, made her shiver.

Idiot. God, she had kissed him. She was a complete, utter idiot.

She had hoped to diminish that tension building between them with that hasty gesture. Unfortunately, her attempt appeared to have flopped big-time.

McBride returned, placed her cell as well as his own on the table.

He settled back into the chair and took a drag from his Marlboro. “Where were we? Oh yeah, you were going to tell me about the nightmare.”

Did he honestly think she would share something that private with him? He had to be out of his mind.

When he continued to sit there, waiting, she reiterated, “I’m not telling you anything, McBride.”

He smashed out his cigarette in the bowl. The birds were going to love that. “You share,” he said, settling his gaze on her once more, “your war story, I’ll share mine. I know all about nightmares, Grace.”

That gave her pause. She was tempted. Like every other new recruit, she had heard all the speculation about what happened to the great Hunter. No one knew for sure. When this assignment came up, she had read the report he had submitted on his final case, but it had been heavily redacted. Big black lines blocked out a good portion of the information. That told her there was far more to the story than the top brass wanted anyone to know.

“Sorry,” she tossed back. “No can do.”

He poured the wine, passed her a glass.

“Don’t think you’ll ply me with drink.” She laughed, the sound more brittle than she would have liked. Damned dream. She hated the way it left her feeling. Shaken and afraid. She hated being afraid.

“Let me take a shot at it,” he offered.

The hand holding the glass trembled. He couldn’t possibly know. No one did, except Worth and Pierce.

“Forget it.” She gulped the merlot, needing some form of relief that didn’t include ...him. She blocked the images trying to burst through the thin barrier she used to protect herself from the past. Under normal circumstances she was very good at that.

“This incident involved a man.”

That cruel voice ... the vile whispers in the dark she had tried so hard to forget ... still echoed in her head. “Give it up, McBride,” she tossed back, playing off his suggestion. She couldn’t let him hear the internal reaction in her tone, that would only egg him on.

“Took place at or during college.”