Quinn's Woman. Susan Mallery

to pay for it, but most wives will do all that and go get a job. Marriage is a great deal for men, but what do women get out of it?”

      “Safety. Security.”

      “Right. Tell that to the women at the local shelter. The ones who have been beat up by their loving husbands.”

      “You’ve obviously thought this through,” he said.

      “It didn’t take long.”

      She finished her granola bar and opened his second one.

      “So you keep your men on a short leash?”

      She leaned toward him. “I keep them in a cage.”

      She’d thought he might be offended by her opinions and bluntness, but instead he laughed. Her forearm brushed his chest, and she felt the rumble of his amusement.

      His dark gaze locked with hers. “Do you have them all running scared or are a few of them brave enough to stand up to you?”

      “Most are too busy heading for the hills. They want soft, gentle, trusting women.”

      “You can be soft.”

      “Right. That’s me. A delicate flower.”

      “You’re still a woman, D.J. Combat boots and a few fancy moves don’t change that.”

      She thought of herself as competent and independent. Not soft. Soft implied weak. “My moves aren’t fancy and I have more than a few of them.”

      “Tough talk for a girl.”

      She held up the piece of the granola bar. “Do you want to eat this, or do you want to keep flapping your lips?”

      He obligingly opened his mouth. She moved closer. This time, though, as he took the food, his lip came in contact with her fingertips.

      There was a flash of heat where their skin touched, along with a flicker of tightness in her stomach. D.J. nearly jumped in surprise. What on earth was that? She didn’t react to men. Not now, not ever. She liked some, disliked others and rarely trusted any of them.

      Unsettled, but determined not to show it, she continued to feed him the granola bar but was careful to make sure there wasn’t anymore contact. As she finished her second bar, she tried to analyze what was going on. Okay, Quinn wasn’t like most men she met. He was unfazed by her or by being tied up. He was an excellent fighter, probably in Special Forces and most likely stationed overseas. He was—

      Tall, dark and good-looking. Of course.

      Relief coursed through her as she realized what was going on. Quinn Reynolds reminded her of the Haynes brothers. All four of them shared the same general physique, dark coloring and facial structure. She’d known Travis Haynes, the sheriff, and Kyle Haynes, one of the deputies, since she’d first moved to Glenwood. Over the past few years, she’d met the other brothers.

      They were all good guys, and some of the very few men she trusted. Quinn looked enough like them to put her off balance.

      Having solved the problem, D.J. relaxed. She fed Quinn his chocolate bar, ate her own, then used her penknife to cut the apple in two, then divide it into slices.

      “I don’t think your partner is coming back,” he said conversationally.

      D.J. glanced at her watch, then nodded in agreement. “Ronnie wasn’t really good in the woods,” she admitted. “I’m guessing he’s lost. Or captured by an enemy.”

      “Are you sure you didn’t leave him tied up somewhere?”

      She grinned. “He and I were partners. I would never actually hurt him. I settled on threatening him.”

      “Was he scared?”

      “Terrified. Barely eighteen and a new recruit. But he knew how to follow orders. We captured four prisoners in our first couple of hours. Three of them were army officers.”

      “How?”

      She explained about distracting them while Ronnie sneaked up from behind. When she’d finished, Quinn shook his head.

      “Do you always do whatever it takes to win?”

      “I do whatever it takes to be in control. There’s a difference.”

      He glanced down at her hand. “So I didn’t kick you in the wrist before. You were faking it.”

      “Of course.”

      “I can respect that.”

      While they were discussing recent history…“How did you throw me without hurting me?” she asked. “I barely felt anything.”

      “I have great hands.”

      She rolled her eyes. “I’m serious.”

      “I am, too. Besides, I don’t beat up on women.”

      With his abilities, he could beat up on anyone he wanted.

      “Being female can give you an advantage,” he said. “Men aren’t always expecting women to be tough. Do you ever get into trouble using your femininity in a situation? Ever take on more than you bargained for?”

      “I don’t go in blind, so no. I’m prepared for every eventuality.”

      “Do you ever get personally involved?”

      “Not even close.”

      He considered her answer. “You could do undercover work.”

      “Maybe.” But it wasn’t her style. “That would require a level of vulnerability I don’t allow.”

      “Sometimes it comes with the territory. Aren’t you the one willing to do whatever it takes to win?”

      “No. To be in control.” She studied him. “What about you? Do you ever go undercover?”

      “Sometimes. Mostly I just creep around in the dark, waiting to pull people out of places they’re not supposed to be.”

      Probably a simplistic version of his work, but one that made her want to ask a lot more questions. Doubtful that he would answer them, she checked her watch. It was after eleven.

      “Are you going to get in trouble for staying out all night?” he asked.

      “Are you?”

      “I hope so.” He shifted so that he was stretched out on the tarp. “If you’re going to make me stay out in the rain, the least you can do is cuddle close so we can stay warm.”

      “I don’t think so.”

      “That’s the woman in you talking.”

      She started to protest, then realized he was right. The temperature was cool enough to make her shiver. Neither of them would get any sleep unless they could warm up. But stretching out next to a strange man wasn’t her idea of a good time.

      “Shy?” he asked cheerfully.

      She ignored him and slid closer. While she’d “slept” with a few men, she’d never been one for spending the night. She certainly never allowed herself to fall asleep after. Of course, in this case Quinn wasn’t a lover—he was her prisoner. That changed the dynamics.

      He was big and tall and as she moved next to him, she could feel his heat.

      “I could use a pillow,” he said.

      “Fine.”

      She grabbed the pack and shoved it under his head. He smiled at her.

      “Thanks.”

      “You’re welcome. Now go to sleep.” She reached to turn off the lantern, but before she could, he spoke again.

      “I can’t. My arms hurt.”

      She glared at him. With them both lying down, his face was fairly close to hers.