Flirting With Danger

‘And I suppose you’ve jogged twelve miles, done a hundred press-ups and eaten a perfectly low-fat, highfibre breakfast—after you’d showered and shaved, of course.’

‘Something like that.’ A grin appeared briefly—so briefly that it was only when it had gone again that she realised how dramatically it had transformed his face, softening the hard lines and bringing a warm light to those aquamarine eyes. ‘Actually, I swam this morning, but the rest of your guess was pretty accurate.’

‘All right, so you’re perfect, but you’ll have to allow the rest of us mere mortals to be rather more humanly fallible. After all, I am usually up and on my way to work around this time, but circumstances are rather different these days—and this is my home.’

‘Your father’s home—in which you are currently hiding from a psychotic stalker who has threatened to harm you and anyone close to you,’ Evan returned bluntly, the cold incisiveness of his tone making the words seem all the more frightening. ‘Wouldn’t it make more sense to be up and dressed, ready for any eventuality, rather than flaunting yourself in—’

‘I am not “flaunting” myself!’

‘No?’

Once more that changeable gaze swept over her, drawing hot blood into her cheeks and into the exposed skin of her arms and legs as it passed downwards, almost as if she had been exposed to the burning rays of the sun.

She might have been piqued earlier by the lack of interest in the way he looked at her, but that was no longer true of the scrutiny to which he subjected her now. There was no warmth in it at all, but nevertheless it was as blatantly sexual as any lascivious ogling she had ever endured, making her draw the fragile protection of her thin robe more closely around her—though she was well aware of the fact that there was so little of it that it had hardly any effect on the amount of her body that was exposed to those probing eyes.

‘No?’ Evan repeated, one eyebrow drifting upwards in sardonic mockery of her attempts at concealment. ‘From where I’m standing, that scrap of material looks calculated to inflame any red-blooded man’s erotic fantasies—and, believe me, that’s just how Joe would see it.’

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