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fingers between his and pushed his fingers back, stretching the muscles. For a moment, she met his glance and he could see the hunger in her eyes. Then she released her grip and stepped back.
    He’d hate to see her get hurt. Abruptly he said, “You shouldn’t threaten men with a lighter when gasoline’s just been thrown around.”
    He finally remembered he’d been watching her in jaguar form and sitting in a tree. His cat snarled inside, nudging him to pay attention. His remark had been stupid.
    “I’m an independent woman. I take care of my own business.” Her green eyes reminded him of chipped emeralds as she responded to his warning.
    He could see that his advice didn’t sit well with her. She leaned across his chest, her hands pressing down on his shoulders, her thumbs rotating against twin spots, the pleasure making him groan. She was so close to him her breath brushed across his lips.
    “Little bitty fire like that wouldn’t be much protection if they hadn’t thrown around the gas, now would it?” She bared her teeth at him but talked soft, the way she had the night before when she’d healed his beast form. Her breasts touched his chest for a moment and she met his gaze, acknowledging the contact. She wasn’t shy and she wasn’t crazy— Well, maybe a little.
    “You’re thinking ass-backwards,” he growled.
    “You ever play chicken?” she asked. “We play chicken a lot around here.”
    He stared up at her. Maybe crazy. “You want to have dinner tonight?” He could do crazy. He wanted her for dinner. If not before. And six times between now and breakfast. Maybe more.
    She started to answer and then paused and glanced at the clock. “Shit.” She didn’t waste time on niceties. “I have an appointment in fifteen minutes. I don’t want to be late. You exceeded your forty-five minutes by an hour. You can buy me a steak when I’m finished and we’ll be even.”
    So they’d be even. He must have looked stupid. He felt stupid. She pointed at the door. “Grab your pants, Thomas, because I’ve got to run.” And she meant grab his pants. He was bare-chested, barefooted, wearing the borrowed sweats and carrying his own clothes when she hustled him out the door.
    He stepped to the parking lot, clicked the remote on the SUV and its lights flashed.
    “Nice ride,” she said, strapping on her helmet. He wasn’t ready to end the conversation yet, dammit.
    “We both live in the same direction. Come to my place. I’ll have a steak waiting.” She hesitated. He added more bait. “Thick steak, hunks of hot bread. Red wine.” She looked willing. “Nine?”
    She revved her motor and nodded. “Beer and closer to ten.” She was halfway out the parking lot when she called over her shoulder, “I like my steaks rare.”
     
    Jesus, Mary and Joseph. Miz wanted to climb his bones. She drove away, grinding against the Harley’s seat, heat from both her arousal and the motorcycle engine raising her core temperature to full boil.
    She was definitely thinking with her ass and not her head and she tried to slow down the surge of hormone-driven lust long enough to clear her brain. It wasn’t easy. The throb of the bike between her thighs only intensified the need coursing through every fiber of her body.
    So the clerk told him who I was. As stories went, his had a few snarls in it. She thought about the fly fisherman as she hunted for the right address.
    The house turned out to be an easy find in an upscale suburb. She parked her Harley next to the Volvo in the drive and got down to business. The daughter led her into a place filled with gloom.
    “He’ll love to see you.” The voice was artificially chipper, not really hopeful of anything more than a half hour of someone else worrying about Dad while she grabbed a moment alone.
    Miz touched her arm. “I’ll see what I can do.”
    Mr. Ogliah’s daughter brightened as she led the way to his room. It didn’t take long for Mr. Ogliah to take the edge off