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would look like filled with desire.
    "Christ," he grated softly to himself. "I must be going out of my mind to even consider the possibility that she's an innocent bystander caught up in all this."
    But she had felt startlingly good against him when he'd captured her and kissed her in the hall. Gentle and soft and warm. He couldn't recall being so aware of the gentleness and softness of a woman before.
    Certainly not during a kiss meant to threaten and control.
    She was dangerous, a creature of magic and power because she gave out signals of sweet, womanly softness when he knew her to be a hard, accomplished smuggler.
    At least, Jarrett corrected himself with a frown, all the evidence indicated she was a smuggler. But there was just a chance she wasn't guilty. He'd been watching her since yesterday, and for some reason he couldn't quite bring himself to believe she was a hardened thief. Dammit, he wanted her to prove herself innocent. He wanted her to be merely an unsuspecting pawn of the Clydemores. He wanted the honesty in those aqua eyes to prove genuine and he wanted the softness in Hannah Prescott to include more than just her body.
    If she was an innocent victim she was going to need him to protect her from the Clydemores. And the notion of Hannah needing him was very satisfying, Jarrett decided.
    Very early the next morning Hannah sat in the hotel coffee shop, gloomily stirring her coffee and trying to convince herself that the strange man who had paid her such a frightening visit in the middle of the night was only a bad dream. Unfortunately there were all those bits of broken souvenirs still lying on her floor this morning to argue otherwise.
    There was no denying the fact that the small golden statue had been in her bag, and Hannah honestly could not remember having purchased the souvenir statue that had concealed it. Could Jarrett Blade possibily be right about the Clydemores? They had spent a great deal of time with her since Tahiti and they were world travelers. They knew their way around airports, Customs, and foreign hotels. Could they possibly be genuine smugglers? Had she been used by them to take the risks of getting that golden goddess through U.S. Customs?
    "Good morning, Hannah."
    With a wary expression Hannah lifted her eyes to find Jarrett standing at her table, about to seat himself.
    Jarrett Blade embodied a good lesson on the subject of wishful thinking: he proved out the old admonition about being careful what one wished for because one might get it. She appeared to be stuck with him.
    "I don't suppose there's any point in my saying you're not particularly welcome to sit down and join me?"
    she said.
    "None at all. I heard you leave the room a few minutes ago. You should have waited for me." Jarrett slid easily into the seat across from her. In the bright morning light that illuminated the terrace cafe he looked every bit as hard and dangerous as he had at midnight. His somber brown hair was ruthlessly combed into place and the cotton slacks and shirt he wore looked as if they had just come back from the cleaners.
    ''You like to control everything in your life, don't you, Mr. Blade?" Hannah was as surprised as he was to hear the comment come from her lips.
    "What makes you say that?" he asked casually as a waitress poured coffee.
    Hannah lifted one shoulder uncomfortably, wishing she'd kept her mouth shut. The shoulder was bare, as were her legs. The flower-spattered island dress she was wearing left a lot of her bare this morning.
    "Your hair's too short, as if you're afraid it might get out of line if you let it grow longer. Your clothes look as if they were just pressed, even though you're in Hawaii where that sort of thing isn't important. Even your shoes are shined. You look as if you're here on business."
    "I am." He sipped his coffee and eyed her watchfully. "You're my business."
    "Look, Mr. Blade, I've done a lot of thinking since last night," Hannah said earnestly, "and I have the impression