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.”“I see.Well.” She cleared her throat, sipped her tea, decided he didn’t know the first thing about what she wanted.She was aware of his eyes on her, aware of his…self-control.If she so much as breathed the idea, he’d take her to bed.“Six months on Labreque Island hasn’t reverted you back to caveman status.Okay.That’s good.”His eyes flashed, sexy, knowing.“That’s not what I said.I said I could control myself.I didn’t say my months of isolation haven’t had an effect.”“You mean you do feel—”He cut her off.“‘Caveman status’ covers it.”This wasn’t going well at all.She felt exposed, as if he could see right through her dress, and she wondered if “caveman” conjured the same images in his mind as it did in hers.With a shaky hand, she tucked a few stray hairs behind her ear.“Now that we have that straight—”He laughed.“We don’t have anything straight, but go ahead.”“We have to find out more about the fire at Sam’s.How it happened, if it was arson, why Matt was there—and Emile.Where he was.”Straker shook his head.“We don’t have to do anything.”“That’s true.You can go back to Maine.”“You try a body’s patience, St.Joe.”His voice was low, serious, not as irritated as she could have expected.She drank more tea, closing her eyes briefly as she tried to let the chamomile calm and soothe her.“You’ve done enough.Tonight…fetching me at the fire.Thank you.”“I wish I had a tape recorder.Riley St.Joe thanking me.”She leveled her gaze at him.“Are you always this aggravating?”“You’ve known me since you were a tot.You tell me.”“You were beyond aggravating at sixteen.”“That’s when you gave me the scar above my eye.You were pretty much a pain in the ass yourself.Nose in a book, and when it wasn’t, you had to go around telling people how many individual hairs there were on a sea otter.”“A hundred thousand.I also hiked and kayaked.”“You were and still are a show-off.”“At least I wasn’t mean, and I didn’t go around trying to humiliate twelve-year-old girls.”“You were impossible to humiliate.You had too high an opinion of yourself.” He got to his feet, enjoying himself.“If I’d noticed even the smallest chink in your armor, I’d have left you alone.Instead you opened up my skull for me.”She smiled, remembering her shock at the blood, his barely controlled rage.He hadn’t thrown a rock back at her.“It’s a good thing I didn’t live in Maine year-round.We’d have killed each other.”“Nah.We’d just have ended up in bed together a lot sooner.”“Straker!”“Not when you were twelve.I’d have waited a few years.”“That’s it.I’m locking my door tonight.”She jumped up, set her mug in the sink, tried to push back a mix of images that had nothing, nothing, to do with the reality of the man standing in her kitchen.He’d stirred her up, and she needed to settle down and recognize that she and John Straker had always been a volatile combination.“Front door or bedroom door?” he asked, languid, deliberately sexy.“Both.I swear, Straker, if I could do it, I’d handcuff you to your futon.”It was a mistake.His grin was slow and easy, and he slouched against the doorjamb, one knee bent, his eyes half-closed.“I think I have a set of cuffs down in the car if you want to give it a try.”“No wonder my mother worries.”“She’s a smart woman, Mara St.Joe.” He sauntered back into the living room, where he sat on the futon couch and stretched out his legs, relaxed.His mind was still working, however, she knew.“Take a nice hot shower and go to bed, Riley.Anyone calls or pounds on your door, I’ll get rid of them.”“The police…”“They didn’t see you at Sam’s,” he said, “but they’ll probably want to talk to you.”She nodded, the enormity of what had happened tonight sinking in
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