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in a compromising position. You must admit it isn’t exactly a situation that would make a woman feel safe.”
    Kadan studied her face—the flawless complexion, the full mouth, and the long, lush lashes—but it was her eyes that intrigued him most. There was no question that she was enhanced—he could feel the powerful psychic energy she gave off—but there was something more as well, something he’d not seen in other GhostWalkers before, and whatever the talent, it showed in her eyes. He had to resist reaching out to touch her soft expanse of skin. Twice now, her small white teeth had tugged thoughtfully at her lower lip, a habit he found sexy as hell. She wasn’t reading him, and that so rarely happened to her, he could tell she that she found the experience unsettling.
    She had a little too much confidence in herself, which meant she had to have some defense training. Deliberately he allowed his gaze to drift over her body and then back up to her face. She controlled the blush, and that meant she had amazing discipline and command of her body. He sent up a silent prayer that he had the same discipline and command of his body. He needed to get his mind off all that skin, her sweet curves and that damned pouty lower lip.
    “What is it you want, Mr. . . .”
    “Kadan,” he interrupted. He kept his voice soft, but he poured steel into it. She was looking at him with those enormous blue-violet eyes, and the strange little shimmer unsettled his belly and tightened his groin. He damn well wasn’t going to be the one out of control.
    “I don’t know you well enough to call you by your first name.” She said it primly as she moved to her left, toward the natural rock staircase that led away from the basin.
    Kadan kept pace, matching her shorter strides perfectly, as if they were slow dancing together. He crowded her personal space just a little, testing to see how she would react.
    She stopped abruptly, but didn’t move out of his strike range. “Are you purposely trying to intimidate me?”
    He let a brief smile curve his mouth, giving her a short glimpse of bare teeth. “You should be intimidated. What the hell were you thinking, going to sleep out in the open without a stitch on and no weapon close to you?” He kept his voice controlled, but there was a whip in his tone, and she flinched under it.
    “I’m well aware it wasn’t smart. I’ve been out here for some time and got careless.”
    There was something in her tone that irritated him—no remorse, not an apology, just an acceptance of stupidity. Stupidity got a person killed. One moment of inattention could kill an entire team. He crowded her a little more, wanting her scared, because in spite of that flinch, there was no fear in her eyes.
    Tansy let him come near her, not once looking at the knife in the scabbard on his belt. There was no safety thong tying down the hilt, she’d already ascertained that, and the moment he got close enough, she struck, spinning, hand going for the weapon in a blur of speed and moving away just as fast. Except . . . she didn’t go anywhere. His hand clamped down on hers, capturing her fist around the hilt, his strength enormous, refusing to allow her to draw the weapon and pinning her in place. He held her rigid against his body, one arm locked around her throat, the other keeping her fist tight around the knife.
    “What do we do now?” he asked, his voice low. Her scent filled his mind and body. Cinnamon. She smelled all woman and cinnamon—a lure that refused to let him go—and his body responded. Hell, he was past caring that she knew, not the way her soft body was molded against his.
    She swallowed. He felt the movement against his forearm, but there was no panic, no struggle. She even relaxed into him, her free hand coming up to hook into the crook of his elbow, one finger pressed lightly against his pressure point, and that told him a lot about her.
    “Now you let go of me.”
    Tansy should have been