The Stars Of Mithra. Nora Roberts

      As if he hadn’t kissed her as if he could swallow her whole. As if he hadn’t touched her, moved his hands over her, as though he had a right to, as though it were the most natural thing in the world for him to turn her body into a quivering mass of needs.

      Now her own mood shifted from timid to annoyed as she wrenched open the refrigerator for milk. How the hell was she supposed to know how to behave? She had no idea if she’d ever been kissed that way before, ever felt this way, wanted this way. Just because she was lost, was she supposed to meekly go in whichever direction Cade Parris pointed her?

      And if he pointed her toward the bed, was she supposed to hop in?

      Oh, no, she didn’t think so. She was a grown woman, capable of making her own decisions. She wasn’t stupid and she wasn’t helpless. She’d managed to hire herself a detective, hadn’t she?

      Damn it.

      Just because she had no precedents for her own behavior, that didn’t mean she couldn’t start setting some here and now.

      She would not be a doormat.

      She would not be a fool.

      She would not be a victim.

      She slapped the milk carton down on the counter, scowled out the window. It was Cade’s bad luck that she happened to spot him sleeping in the hammock just as her temper peaked.

      He wouldn’t have dozed so peacefully if he could have seen the way her eyes kindled, the way her lips peeled back in a snarl.

      Fueled for battle, Bailey slammed out of the house and marched across the lawn.

      She gave the hammock one hard shove.

      “Who the hell do you think you are?”

      “What?” He shot rudely awake, gripping the sides of the hammock for balance, his brain musty with sleep. “What? Don’t you remember?”

      “Don’t get smart with me.” She gave the hammock another shove as he struggled to sit up. “I make my own decisions, I run my own life—such as it is. I hired you to help me find out who I am and what happened to me. I’m not paying you to sulk because I won’t hop into bed with you when you have an itch.”

      “Okay.” He rubbed his eyes, finally managed to focus on the stunning and furious face bent over him. “What the hell are you talking about? I’m not sulking, I—”

      “Don’t tell me you’re not sulking,” she shot back. “Sleeping out in the backyard like a hobo.”

      “It’s my yard.” It irritated him to have to point it out. It irritated him more to be dragged out of sleep into an argument before his mind could engage.

      “Taking me dancing,” she continued, stalking away and back. “Trying to seduce me on the dance floor, then having a snit because—”

      “A snit.” That stung. “Listen, sweetheart, I’ve never had a snit in my life.”

      “I say you did, and don’t call me sweetheart in that tone of voice.”

      “Now you don’t like my tone.” His eyes narrowed dangerously, to sharp green slits that threatened retaliation. “Well, let’s try a brand-new tone and see how you—” He ended with an oath when she jerked the hammock and flipped him out on his face.

      Her first reaction was shock, then an immediate urge to apologize. But as the air turned blue around her, she snapped herself back, jerked her chin up in the air and marched off.

      He’d hit the ground with a thud, and he was sure he’d heard his own bones rattle. But he was on his feet again quickly enough, limping a little, but fast enough to snag her before she reached the door.

      He yanked her around to face him. “What bug got up your—”

      “You deserved it.” The blood was roaring in her head, her heart was pounding, but she wasn’t going to back down.

      “What the hell for?”

      “For…whatever.”

      “Well, that sure covers it.”

      “Just get out of my way. I’m going for a walk.”

      “No,” he said precisely, “you’re not.”

      “You can’t tell me what to do.”

      He estimated he was close to twice her weight and had a good eight inches in height on her. His lips curved grimly. “Yes, I can. You’re hysterical.”

      That snapped it. “I certainly am not hysterical. If I were hysterical, I’d scratch that nasty smile off your face, and poke those smug eyes out, and—”

      To simplify matters, he simply picked her up and carried her inside. She wiggled, sputtered, kicked a little, but he managed to drop her into a kitchen chair. Putting his hands on her shoulders, his face close to hers, he gave one pithy order.

      “Stay.”

      If he didn’t have coffee, immediately, he was going to die. Or kill someone.

      “You’re fired.”

      “Fine, great, whoopee.” He let her fume while he poured coffee and downed it like water. “God, what a way to start the day.” He grabbed a bottle of aspirin, fought with the childproof cap while the headache that was brewing insidiously burst into full-blown misery.

      “I’m not going to tolerate having a woman yell at me before my eyes are open. Whatever’s got you going, sweetheart, you just hold on to it until I—” He cursed again, slamming the stubborn cap on the edge of the counter, where it held firm.

      His head was throbbing, his knee wept where it had hit the ground, and he could easily have chewed through the plastic to get to the aspirin.

      Swearing ripely, he grabbed a butcher knife out of the wooden block on the counter and hacked at the bottle until he’d decapitated it. His face tight with fury, he turned with the bottle in one hand, the knife in the other. His teeth were clenched.

      “Now you listen…” he began.

      Bailey’s eyes rolled back in her head, and she slid from the chair onto the floor in a dead faint before he could move.

      “Sweet God.” The knife clattered on the floor, and aspirin rolled everywhere as the mangled bottle hit the tiles. He gathered her up, and for lack of anything better, laid her on the kitchen table while he dampened a cloth. “Come on, Bailey, come around, sweetheart.”

      He bathed her face, chafed her wrists and cursed himself. How could he have shouted at her that way, manhandled her like that, when she was so fragile? Maybe he’d go out and kick some puppies, stomp on some kittens, for his next act.

      When she moaned and shifted, he pressed her limp hand to his lips. “That’s the way. All the way back.” Her eyes fluttered open while he stroked her hair. “It’s okay, Bailey. Take it easy.”

      “He’s going to kill me.” Her eyes were open, but blind. She clutched at Cade’s shirt as terror strangled her breath. “He’s going to kill me.”

      “No one’s going to hurt you. I’m right here.”

      “He’s going to kill me. He’s got a knife. If he finds me, he’ll kill me.”

      He wanted to gather her up, soothe it all away, but she’d trusted him to help. He kept his voice very calm, uncurled her fingers from his shirt and held them. “Who’s got the knife, Bailey? Who’s going to kill you?”

      “He…he…” She could see it, almost see it, the hand hacking down, the knife flashing again and again. “There’s blood everywhere. Blood everywhere. I have to get away from the blood. The knife. The lightning. I have to run.”

      He held her still, kept his voice calm. “Where are you? Tell me where you are.”

      “In