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between him and Marissa. If she wiggled the wrong way, he was in big trouble.
    She eased away from him. "Thank you."
    "For what?"
    "For this." She slid her arms from around his waist and cupped his face. "I appreciate you breaking your rules to comfort me."
    Dane cleared his throat. "Uh, well, I enjoyed it." Heat singed his face. "I mean—that is—you're welcome."
    She laughed. Dane's gaze was drawn to the fullness of her lips. They were dangerous, those lips. Even more so when curved into a smile. He was so tempted by that luscious mouth. Just a taste. What would one tiny taste hurt? He leaned forward, knowing his gaze reflected his intentions, enjoying the surprised anticipation in Marissa's eyes.
    The purse barked.
    Dane blinked. Marissa's face was turned toward him, her eyes wide, her mouth forming a cute little "o." He hastily stepped out of the embrace.
    "Your purse is yapping." The handbag wriggled and writhed next to Marissa's hip.
    "Oh, dear!" She unzipped the purse and removed a tiny, brown-and-black ball of hair. The pink bow on its head vibrated as it yipped at Dane.
    "Isn't she precious? Do you want to pet her?"
    "No."
    "Why not?"
    "I'm not a big fan of animals. They stink and drool and mess up your stuff."
    "I love animals. I was never allowed to have one, you know." She showed him the gold tag dangling from a faux diamond collar. "I can't make out her name."
    He looked at the noisy hairball. "Who the hell paints a dog's toenails?"
    "I think that shade of pink is very charming."
    "I take it she's the reason you weren't in your room?" Dane couldn't keep the disapproval out of his voice.
    "I heard her barking when I came out to see what was going on. It seemed like everyone else was gone. I-I should've waited for you, Dane. I'm sorry."
    He really wished she'd stop apologizing when she was wrong. Her sincere remorse made it difficult for him to maintain his righteous anger. Lorraine would not have apologized to a pharaoh of Egypt. He'd learned that arguing with his ex-wife was like trying to change the color of the sun.
    Marissa cooed to the puppy and let its slimy little tongue lick her face. He couldn't believe she'd left the relative safety of her room to rescue a powder puff with an attitude. He should—should spank her, but damned if he didn't admire her spunk. "Princess, you need to learn to rely on me. I'm your bodyguard, remember?"
    "Yes, I remember." Her eyelashes fluttered down. "You're taking the job rather seriously, aren't you? I didn't expect quite so much...body."
    Her teasing had a weird affect on him. He cursed the threatening hard-on. Maybe it was being too near her half-naked body or the fact they'd gotten out of the hotel without becoming barbecue. Or maybe the desire ripping through him was the result of not being with a woman in quite a long time.
    But he wanted Marissa Vanderson.
    More than he'd ever wanted any woman.
    "Oh, Romea, Romea, wherefor art thou?" cried a shaky female voice. "Poor, poor precious puppy. I loved you so."
     A woman trudged down the row of parked cars, her hand held dramatically against her brow. She wore a pink chiffon nightgown and slippers with puffy balls of pink fuzz. Her face was heavily made up and she looked about hundred years old. Dane thought she resembled Gloria Swanson in Sunset Lane.
    Wrapped up in her display of emotion, the woman didn't see them. She paused, and to Dane's surprise, splayed herself on the Mercedes' trunk. "Romea!" she cried in a theatrical voice.
    The mutt barked and tried to leap off Marissa's lap.
    The woman's head slowly rose. "Is that you, sweetie? Or do I hear you talking to me from heaven?"
    "Oh brother," muttered Dane. Then he called out, "Hey, lady, is this your dog?"
    She dragged herself off the trunk and peered around the car. "Romea?"
    "Yip! Yip! Yip!"
    "Romea!"
    The woman nearly tripped on her chiffon in an effort to reunite with Romea. "My teeny tiny precious doggy-poo!" she cried, lifting the ball of fluff and clasping it