Close Contact. Lori Foster

that shower should come first?” It wasn’t deliberate, but his knuckles grazed her.

      “First?” she croaked.

      He glanced up and got caught in her dark-eyed gaze. “Before we grab something to eat.”

      “Oh. Eat. Right.”

      What had she thought? That he meant sex? Hell of an idea, but the timing was all wrong.

      And why was she thinking that anyway? He could understand how he got distracted, but she was terrified, and that should damn well keep her focused.

      It was enough that he had to fight himself; he couldn’t fight her, too.

      Tamping down natural urges, Miles worked the snug shorts over her hips.

      Her fingers dug into his muscles as he bent to help her step out—and then she stood there in her panties.

      The lady had a killer body, no doubt about it.

      But he’d known other sexy women. There was just something special about Maxi.

      Maybe the fact that she’d walked away from him so easily.

      With that reminder in mind, Miles straightened back to his feet. “Stay put while I look around. I don’t see or hear anyone, but I want to make sure whoever dumped the oil isn’t still here.”

      “No one is.” She clutched at his arm. “Every inch of this old house creaks if someone moves, even in the basement.”

      Miles gently pried her hands away. “I’m going to look anyway.” He wouldn’t take chances, and it’d give him a minute to get his urges under control. “Don’t move.”

      She swallowed hard and nodded, already glancing back at the front door.

      Would she do as he asked, or would he find her in the SUV, in her panties, ready to go?

      Staying alert to any other booby traps, Miles went into the kitchen. That room was the biggest time warp, with a white cast-iron sink top, a stove that had to be antique and a small refrigerator...on legs. He’d never seen anything like it.

      An old ruffled curtain hung under the sink instead of a door, and the yellow linoleum floor was a bit bright, especially since it ran into yellow tile that came halfway up the wall.

      Directly to the left was an equally dated bathroom. A row of open shelving divided the kitchen from the dining room, which opened into a small living room. The front door, locked, led to a trellis-enclosed covered porch.

      He briefly went through each room, not surprised to find them very tidy, but shocked all the same that Maxi Nevar now called this place home. Nothing he knew about her fit in the setting. Then again, seeing her with chipped nails, rubber ducky boots and tangled hair didn’t fit either.

      As he passed back through, he saw a book and wineglass on the end table next to the puffy floral couch. The glass was empty, the book closed.

      Well, hell.

      He returned to where he’d left her, standing there wearing an oversize flannel shirt, pink panties and a load of uncertainty. More than anything, he wanted to draw her close, hug her, reassure her.

      Then do nasty, hot, sweaty things with her.

      He shook his head and, indicting the door next to the stairs, asked, “Basement?”

      “Yes. But it should be locked.”

      He tried it. “You’re right.” There was even a dead bolt on it.

      “Cat food is stored down there, but otherwise, I don’t use the basement.”

      “I can see that.” She had it locked up tight. Later, he’d explore down there. “I’ll look upstairs now.”

      “Sure, why not.” She turned to go.

      Much as he’d enjoy trailing behind her, getting a great view of her ass on the stairs, he had to put safety first. “You wait here.”

      “I hired you for a reason. I go where you go.”

      He saw she was serious, and probably with good reason, so he nodded. “Stay behind me, then.”

      “Not a problem.”

      He had to duck to get under the lowered ceiling at the base of the narrow stairs. He suspected someone had converted the attic to living space years ago. “Are these the stairs where your grandmother fell?”

      “Yes.”

      She said nothing else, so he didn’t press her. God knew she’d been through enough for one day.

      The stairs turned a sharp corner and then opened into a small study with a desk, chair and file cabinet. The only window in that room was a skylight overhead.

      From there he went into a more updated bathroom, which meant it wasn’t more than a few decades old, yet no one would call it modern either. Her bedroom was next, a rectangular room barely big enough for a bed and nightstand. The lure would be the double doors that opened to a balcony above the porch below.

      “Where do you keep your clothes?”

      “In here.” She slid back a pocket door to show a big walk-in closet nearly the same size as the bedroom.

      “I take it you put this in?”

      “First thing.”

      She’d spared no expense. Bright lights showed off detailed shelving, multiple wardrobes and niches for things like shoes and scarves, with a dressing table in the middle. She’d filled every inch except for a mirrored door in the back of the room that, Miles discovered, opened into yet another room.

      Ducking down again, he stepped through to a clichéd attic space. Bare rafters loomed overhead, plywood flooring squeaked under his weight and air whistled through a single skinny window in the center of the back wall. Boxes, trunks and random pieces of old furniture cast long shadows over the cluttered floor. A single bare bulb swung from the ceiling, but when he pulled the long string, it didn’t work.

      Miles didn’t say it, but given everything that had happened, it was creepy as hell.

      Soon as they were back in the main room, he asked, “Why do you sleep up here?”

      “The bedroom downstairs was my grandmother’s. It didn’t feel right, taking it over.”

      But she wanted him to sleep there?

      “Don’t worry,” she said, maybe reading his thoughts. “Everything has been packed away and the bedding is freshly washed.”

      Great. It was still Granny’s. “Should I look under the bed?”

      Her smile didn’t hide her exhaustion. “If you want, but I’ve got so many storage bins under there, nothing more than a mouse could fit, and mice aren’t brave enough to come around with so many cats.”

      Unable to help himself, he touched her cheek. Her eyes were heavy and smudged with fatigue. “You need a nap.”

      “I need a shower.” Glancing over her shoulder at her own butt, she wiggled. “That oil soaked through.”

      A dozen inappropriate comments came to mind, but Miles banked them all. “I can either go down and get food started—” although how he’d find his way around that kitchen, he didn’t know “—or I can wait right here while you get cleaned up.”

      “You won’t mind giving me ten minutes?”

      “You’re the boss.” As soon as he said it, he regretted it. He’d meant it to be teasing, but damn it, she looked wounded.

      Maxi being Maxi, she rallied and said, “Don’t you forget it.” She gestured to the bed. “Get comfortable if you want. I’ll hurry.”

      Settle on her bed? Breathe her scent in the pillows? Not a good idea. “You can take your time.”

      “If