Susan Kearney - Hidden Hearts

Her eyes flashed yellow darts of fire. “You’re a Neanderthal!”

“When I say cooperate, it’s not to hear myself talk.” He made his voice soothing to take away the sting of his words. Peering back down the empty hallway, he hoped she might accept his explanation now that he’d knocked away her complacence. He needed her wary—but not of him. “If someone starts shooting, I want you close enough so I can protect you with my body. Understand?”

Her eyes widened and she swallowed hard. Her fingers tightly clutched the strap of her bag, but for once, she didn’t argue.

They walked out of her apartment into the hot, humid air, and his every nerve cell fired on alert. The apartment faced a busy two-lane highway, but after exiting her place, they took a side egress that led to a smaller street and a subdivision of modest houses. He scanned ahead, from side to side, looking for the slightest movement, a shadow that didn’t belong, a glint of metal reflecting off a weapon.

“It looks good,” he murmured softly as they stepped onto a brick sidewalk outside her complex. “Just another two blocks—”

An ice-cream truck drove by, and Roarke stepped behind a giant magnolia and pulled her with him. Mixing with the scent of magnolia blossoms, he took in the scent of her vanilla shampoo and a floral deodorant. She smelled good. Too good. And he realized that if anyone was hunting them from downwind, they’d smell her in the dark at twenty yards.

He’d have to educate her. He reminded himself once again that she knew nothing about surveillance, terrorism and counterterrorism. She lived in a world where people locked their doors and believed they were safe from prying eyes. She lived in a world where people didn’t sleep with a gun under their pillow, another under the mattress and a knife on the nightstand. She lived in a world where she could go to sleep knowing she’d awaken safe in the morning.

Except someone believed she had something valuable in her possession. And they might be willing to kill to get it.

Danger came from an unexpected direction. Not a van of terrorists across the street, but an SUV driven by a harried-looking mother.

As the woman, her SUV filled with noisy kids and groceries, pulled up to the curb, she waved to Alexandra. And Alexandra’s face wore a too-wide smile.

It was the first time he’d seen her grin. A grin that lit up her sparkling topaz eyes and brightened her oval face. He automatically knew she was up to no good.

Damn it! She didn’t trust him, and she was about to engage her neighbor in a conversation. Didn’t she realize that whoever was after her would return? Ask questions? Just by talking to the woman, Alexandra could be putting her neighbor and her kids in danger.

Without hesitating, Roarke did the first thing he could think of to keep her from calling out a hello. He swung her around, took her into his arms and kissed her full on the mouth.

Her lips parted under his. In surprise?

He meant to pull away as soon as the neighbor drove on by. He meant to pull back and explain why he had to stop her from talking to her neighbor. He meant the kiss to distract her from verbally calling out attention to either of them. But his resolution flew by the wayside the moment his lips touched hers.

She was amazing.

Alexandra fitted against him as if she were made for him. Without awkwardness, without a jostling of hips, noses or elbows. She fitted exactly right. Seemingly of their own accord, his arms drew her closer.

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