Still the One. Debra Cowan

on her body, stroking, teasing, pleasing.

      She wrapped her arms around her middle and forced herself to watch Rafe, to pay closer attention to the pictures on the walls, to the light switches, the blades of the ceiling fan, just as he did.

      When he walked through the living room toward the kitchen, he halted abruptly. Pressing the earpiece close to his ear, he listened intently. He prowled the perimeter of her kitchen, returned to the living room. She moved to the sofa, feeling along the cushions, inside the lampshade, her gaze going questioningly to his. He nodded, those lean fingers edging around the casing of the wall phone as he glanced at the bug detector he held.

      He reached up to slide a hand along the blades of the ceiling fan, and his T-shirt rode up to expose sleek brown skin. When he stretched, muscle flexed across his flat belly, drawing her eye to the waistband of his snug jeans.

      She straightened, pulling her gaze away to scan the room, telling herself to keep searching for audio or video equipment, though she hardly knew what to look for. Rafe moved to the wall, studied the air-conditioner return where the wall met the ceiling. He ran a finger along each pleated opening of the vent, then moved away, seemingly satisfied.

      Once again his gaze traveled the room, pausing on the sofa.

      He went from relaxed alertness to rigid readiness. Her gaze followed his as he looked down at the tool he carried and she saw a green LED flash. Rafe slipped the bug detector into the back pocket of his jeans. With a few silent strides, he passed in front of her and stopped at the sofa, close enough that she could feel the warmth from his body.

      Dread pinched at her.

      He turned, wrapping his fingers around her elbow. The heat that shot up her arm barely registered as he drew her gaze to the sofa.

      He pointed, and she stared for a moment without realizing what she looked at. Then…instead of the dark plaid-covered sofa button she expected to see, she saw a flat black button. Not a button, a bug. A listening device.

      She turned, shock rippling through her. “Can they hear—”

      He hauled her to him, his mouth crashing down on hers.

      Kit stiffened, her eyes going wide. Hot, hard lips moved over hers as a shock wave jolted her body. Then she sagged against him. Just a little.

      Half-formed thoughts tumbled around in her head. She might’ve imagined it, but for an instant she thought his lips softened, coaxing the strength out of her the way they used to. He lifted his head, his dark gaze smoldering on her lips then lifting to her eyes.

      She blinked, swaying. A breathy sound escaped her, and a flush darkened Rafe’s skin.

      He leaned toward her, and she couldn’t form one rational thought. Just… Oh, yes.

      Then his breath burned her ear, sent a shiver down her spine. “Don’t talk.”

      Talk? She couldn’t breathe. Her hands curled into fists, nails biting into her palms.

      He skimmed his lips up her temple, back down to her ear. She began to tremble. And reason kicked in. She pushed at his chest; his hands tightened on her upper arms.

      Again he whispered, barely audible, “That’s a bug. Play along.”

      Aloud, he said, “Ten years and you can still do this to me.”

      His voice spilled over her like heated oil, torching a desire she’d buried too long. She knew it wasn’t real, knew he didn’t mean anything by it. Still her fingers curled into his T-shirt; she needed something to steady her legs.

      His lips skimmed hers again. His hands smoothed down her back, flexed at her waist. Kit fought the urge to push away. She understood that he was playing for their unseen audience, but she shuddered anyway.

      His lips came back to her ear, heat inching under her skin. “I found the camera, too. On the wall, four o’clock.”

      Why was he talking about the time? Oh, he meant somewhere on the wall. A deep breath sawing out of her, she turned her head to the right.

      Long fingers captured her jaw, gently forced her head to his. Black eyes seared hers, and he whispered against her lips, “Sorry, my four o’clock.”

      She nodded dumbly, her body pulsing almost painfully.

      His hands curved over her hips, and his voice rumbled out. “I am so ready for you.”

      It was all an act for whoever was watching and listening, but it didn’t feel like acting to Kit. Still, she struggled to catch up, to be as cool as he was.

      His eyes might be distant, but there was a flush beneath his skin. His breathing was slightly uneven.

      He curled one knuckle under her chin, tilting her face toward his. “It’s been a long time,” he groaned. “Too long.”

      To whoever watched, it probably appeared that they were kissing again. Kit lifted her head, her lips brushing his. Needles of heat slid under her skin. She forced herself to follow his gaze to the left, searching for the camera.

      Rafe kissed her cheek, her temple. Her heart ached with a strange combination of sadness and anger as she struggled to pretend, the way he was.

      This close there was no way he could miss the way her nipples had hardened and heat—of embarrassment, of arousal—flushed her body.

      He breathed in her ear again. “The camera’s in the light knob.”

      Her hands flexed involuntarily, bunching his shirt as her gaze shifted to the round knob on the wall that controlled the overhead light and ceiling fan. She tried to focus on what he said, but all she could think was she wanted him to kiss her again. For real, this time.

      No, no, she desperately corrected. Where was her pride?

      What pride? her conscience taunted. To even be here with him, she had to pretend she had none.

      She could feel the power of his thighs bracketing hers, the flat, hard muscle of his belly, the lingering taste of his mint gum on her lips.

      Tears stung her eyes, and Kit stiffened her spine. He felt it, trailed those wicked fingers up her back. His touch only fanned a languorous heat, and her irritation spiked. She didn’t like how he sent her pulse skyrocketing, didn’t like the way she ached to arch into him, wrap her body around his.

      Resentment flared. Did he know how he was affecting her? Was he enjoying it? His voice was cool; his eyes weren’t. In a perverse need to find out if she could still affect him the way he did her, Kit slid her hands up his chest, around his neck and pressed full against him. She took a reckless satisfaction in seeing his eyes widen, feeling the sudden flex of his body against hers.

      Going up on tiptoe, she whispered in his ear, “Now what?”

      The satisfaction she felt was quickly squashed when he hauled her to him, one thigh insinuated between hers and pressing against the damp heat between her legs. Her hands clamped on to his shoulders for the sole purpose of support.

      His gaze lasered into hers. He kissed her again, his mouth covering hers with ruthless purpose. Controlled deliberation. A warning to back off. Now.

      It triggered something wild and angry inside her. Reacting on pure instinct, she slid one hand into his thick dark hair, curled the other around his strong, warm nape.

      For a moment, he stiffened. Then his restraint snapped. His hands tunneled into her hair, gripping her head as he deepened the kiss, his tongue sweeping into her mouth, claiming every part of her. She couldn’t think, didn’t want to.

      It had been so long. He felt so good. Hard, hot male against her, his kiss seducing the strength from her legs. Her hands splayed across his back, pressing closer.

      He pulled away, his breathing ragged, the muscles in his neck taut and straining. Surprise flickered in his eyes, then disappeared. “Get your things,” he rasped. “Let’s finish this at my place.”

      She nodded,