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maybe one she wished would attack?
    She kept that amusing thought to herself as she crossed her arms over her breasts and prayed he couldn’t see her hardened nipples beneath the thin camisole.
    He made her ache so badly. Just looking at him, seeing the danger and the steel hardness inside him, all she wanted to do was touch him and feel it for herself.
    With Brogan standing across from her, his six-foot-four frame wasn’t overly wide or muscle-bound. He had that natural muscled look, iron hard and powerful without being overblown.
    The dark shirt he wore was unbuttoned several inches past the collar. The long sleeves were rolled to his elbows, the hem tucked into jeans that fit his thighs perfectly. A leather belt cinched his tight hips, the fit of the shirt hinting at the powerful abs beneath.
    A male animal.
    That was the thought that drifted through her mind every time she saw him.
    “I tried to catch up with you while you were on break at the bar earlier,” he stated, his voice quiet, the early morning silence of the land around them lending itself to discreet whispers rather than a normal tone of voice that would carry through the night.
    “Why?” Tucking the damp strands of hair falling over her face behind her ear, Eve stared up at him curiously. “Did you need something?”
    “A dance.” His lips quirked into a smile as he lifted the cigar and drew in the fragrant smoke before exhaling, all the while watching her between narrowed, red-gold lashes.
    “Oh, I can’t dance with customers.” She stood abruptly. “It’s getting late now; I have to go.”
    She turned to rush back into her room, then froze, completely still, like prey suddenly aware of the predator lounging lazily just behind it.
    His fingers were curved around her lower arm, not really gripping or holding her in place, but the knowledge that he could was clear.
    Eve turned her head, glanced at the hand on her arm, then lifted her gaze to his.
    He was once again amused. His lips were tilted to the side just a bit. That knowing look on his face had her wondering exactly what it was he knew, and was amused by.
    “Why do you keep running from me, Eve?” He moved closer, his head bent, his lips settling at her ear as he asked the question. “Every time I think I can get close enough to touch, you jump and run like a scared little rabbit.”
    Her skin was tingling where he was touching her. Sensitivity radiated from his touch, spreading through her body and making her nipples, her clit, throb in protest. Why should he be touching her arm, when the rest of her body hurt to be touched?
    “Maybe I have the same instincts for when danger is near,” she suggested with attempted lightness. “I don’t have time for dangerous men.”
    He chuckled at that, and the sound sent a rush of sensation washing down her spine.
    She couldn’t calm her breathing. It was deep and heavy, rougher than before as her breasts lifted and fell with a quicker rhythm. And no doubt from his position he could see her nipples pressing—
    His hand caressed up her arm, the calloused palm and fingertips making direct contact and stimulating already too-sensitive nerve endings.
    “I have to go,” she whispered breathlessly.
    Something warm and incredibly soft rasped against the top of her shoulder then.
    Eve trembled at the realization that it was his beard. He was stroking the skin of her upper shoulder with nothing but the closely cropped growth of his facial hair.
    The sensation was incredible. It was lashing heat and a cold storm. It was laying a banquet in front of a starving woman and daring her to eat.
    Eventually, she was going to take a bite.
    His lips brushed against her shoulder then as he curved his arm around her waist, holding her close to him, warming her back as his lips against the bare skin of her shoulder sent flames chasing over her body.
    Nothing should feel this good. Nothing should destroy her defenses and her self-control this quickly.
    “Why are you