Code Name: Bikini. Christina Skye

comes.”

      We. Not you.

      That was nice.

      Gina’s eyes narrowed. Only maybe the man wasn’t heroic. Maybe he was a psychotic stalker who waited for opportunities to get women in deserted places and this was definitely deserted. After that he’d—

      She remembered how he’d caught her cake boxes and balanced both of them carefully.

      Nah. He was hero material, all right.

      “Actually, there is another way to handle this,” he said thoughtfully.

      “Anything. I’ve got a master class to give upstairs.” Desperation made her voice shrill.

      He crossed his arms. She felt his gaze brush her face, her chest.

      “Then take off the sweater.”

      She stared at him. This was heading right into psycho territory after all. He even had a faint smile playing around his lips. Better nip this line of thought in the bud.

      “Forget it. I can’t take the sweater off.”

      “Why? I’ll help you. The sleeve doesn’t look that tight.”

      “It’s not the sleeve.” Gina took an angry breath. “There’s not—I’m not—” She frowned at the wall. “I’m not wearing anything underneath the sweater. Is that clear enough for you?”

      His mouth twitched. “I can see how that would be a little problem.”

      If the man laughed, she was going to hit him in the face.

      But he tilted up her knitting needle, studied the sweater and rubbed his jaw. “When did you say your class was supposed to start?”

      “Five minutes ago.” Damn, damn, damn. She had to think. “My cell phone is in my purse. Call security and get them down here.”

      He fumbled for her phone. “I don’t think they’ll get here fast enough to be much help.”

      Gina blew a strand of hair off her forehead. “I can’t walk into my class naked. Well, half naked.”

      “Wear my jacket. You can find a cook’s uniform somewhere in the kitchen, can’t you? That should tide you over.”

      Why hadn’t she thought of that? It just might work.

      “That’s good. But my sweater will still be hanging here.” No way was she losing all that excellent cashmere. The yarn had been worth a week’s wages.

      “I’ll come back for it. I’ve got to track down a case of vintage champagne. After that I’ll drop off your sweater wherever your class is meeting.”

      She stared at him suspiciously. “Hold on. Why are you being so nice?”

      “Do I have to have a reason?”

      “Absolutely.” She shoved a strand of hair out of her eyes. “If I know anything, I know this. Nobody does nice for nothing.”

      “You’re wrong.”

      Gina felt the skim of his hand at her neck, the heat of his body against her thighs. She swallowed. “No way.”

      “I do,” he whispered.

      An odd little flutter dipped into her chest. Gina felt something earthier and more reckless than simple gratitude.

      She closed her eyes, hit with sudden images.

      Her.

      Him. Together in a hotel bed, doing things Gina hadn’t ever tried, putting herself into the hands of a stranger. Breaking all the rules.

      She closed her eyes, forcing away dark images that left her skin hot and aching.

      It had been too long, she thought. This was just reflex and cranky female hormones talking, nothing more.

      She cleared her throat. “It’s a deal. Turn off the light while I get out of this sweater.”

      The light vanished.

      Just like that? No protests or trickery?

      She wasn’t sure if she should be thrilled or insulted. Most men she knew would have tried to sneak at least one look. She shimmied out of her sweater, clutching the soft cashmere to her chest. “So—are you about ready? I just have to work free of this sleeve.”

      The sweater came off. Cool air skimmed her naked breasts. She sensed Trace’s presence nearby.

      Warm cloth settled around her shoulders.

      “How’s that?” His voice was low and rough.

      “F-fine.” No, it wasn’t fine. It was a very bad idea. Gina realized the uniform jacket was warm with the heat of his body, as intimate as the touch of his hands on her sensitive skin. The fabric also carried his scent, a mix of crisp outdoor air, citrus soap and sweat.

      Kill me now, she thought dimly, intensely aware of how close he was standing.

      Her nipples hardened as the cloth touched and skimmed, driving her crazy with the thought of his callused hands curved over all the same places.

      Hel-lo.

      The man is a stranger. Did you lose all functioning cells of your brain when the light went out?

      There was only one answer.

      Yes.

      She felt reckless and hot, her fingers digging into the long sleeves of his uniform jacket. Whatever she wanted, he would do it. Here and now. They were alone and she’d never see him again, so what would it matter to let go, just this once?

      “Are you ready to go? Your people will be waiting. Maybe you should call them.”

      Earth to Mars. The man was dead right. When had her brain blown every fuse? “I’m ready. You can turn on that light again. Then I’ll make my call.”

      She heard the rustle of cloth and saw his chest, rows of hard muscles outlined beneath a white T-shirt, caught in the glow of her knitting needle.

      The sight made her knees go soft. Okay, the man had a chest out of her deepest fantasies. So what? You didn’t go to bed with a man just because he had a fantastic chest and abs to die for.

      At least you shouldn’t, she thought wildly.

      “My first topic is bed.” Gina felt her face go hot. “I mean, bread. Then I’m doing puff pastry and custard-style desserts. Andreas will be able to get things started.”

      “Bread. I’ve always loved a hot loaf fresh from the oven. You must be a great teacher. And don’t worry about your sweater. I’ll bring it to you.” He took her arm, guiding her up a set of narrow metal steps.

      Sweater? What sweater?

      She was worrying about a lot more than some cashmere yarn. Right now her sanity seemed to be at risk.

      “I appreciate your help.” She tried to ignore the way his muscles bunched and flexed as he moved in front of her to open an interior door.

      But she couldn’t ignore the way her nipples felt, tight and hot, driving against the soft lining of his uniform. The friction was making her lose all focus as her body came alive.

      “By the way, was that Mongolian cashmere? Four-ply?”

      She simply stared at him.

      All this, and the man knew about yarn, too? Be still my beating heart, she thought dizzily.

      She managed to make her voice cool and casual. “You noticed that?”

      “My friend is a knitter. A fanatic, actually. When she finally scored a whole bag of cashmere on eBay, she went nuts. I heard about it for months.”

      “Your friend is a she?” Somehow the question just tumbled out. “Not that it’s any of my business,” she said stiffly.