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were better.
    He was irritated she’d got the better of him. And damned furious that he couldn’t get the sensation of her hair against his skin out of his mind.
    It was soft. Stunningly soft for such thick, abundant curls. Those curls had twisted around his fingers and sprung into his palm like a whisper of raw silk. He’d wanted to drop his head and bury his face in them, breathe in the scent of them. And that was a distraction that was more than unwelcome; it was completely unacceptable. He’d had to draw on years of professional experience to quell those feelings, and let her know exactly who was in charge here.
    Kier pulled on a black T-shirt, tucking it into his jeans, watching as Jenny obediently worked her way through her breakfast.
    Obediently . That wasn’t a word he thought he was going to be applying to Jenny all that often. The game she was playing was complex, but the woman she was impersonating had him tied up in knots.
    With an effort, he pulled himself back to the job at hand. This morning hadn’t gone exactly according to plan. Maybe it was the lack of sleep.
    Jenny had slipped into sleep almost immediately, hardly moving the night through, but he had been strangely aware of the sound of her breathing, of the scent of her that rose up to envelop him every time he turned and the duvet shifted. He’d found himself holding his breath to listen to her sigh in her sleep, leaning over her to watch her face, so beguilingly sweet in repose.
    He’d been a hair’s breadth from bedding down on the floor, but sleeping this way, close to her, invading her space, leaving her no room, was part of the plan. It was supposed to unnerve her, put her on edge.
    It was a pity that she was sleeping like a baby, and he was the one on edge.
    He gave his head a rough shake and ruthlessly pulled his mind back on track. Well, this morning’s little interrogation was a nonevent, thanks to half a pint of breakfast milk. He really should get to the questioning. A few hours of the kind of mental attack she’d been immersed in for the last few days would surely make her putty in his hands. He really should take advantage of this last encounter, pile on the pressure while she was still nervous, while she could still remember the feel of his hands in her hair.
    He frowned. What is the matter with you, McAllister? Focus .
    He should act now and start to ask some of those damn questions. And he would. Soon. But now it was time to report. So. Make the report, let her sweat, and then get down to business.
    Right.
    Jenny looked up as McAllister came back into the room. He didn’t look at her as he left the cottage, locking the door audibly behind him. In the pool of calm left by his departure, Jenny hesitated, at a loss. She didn’t know what to do now, what was expected of her. He hadn’t told her what to do.
    The enormity of that thought hit her. Only a day in his company and already she was starting to become dependent on him. Already she was measuring her actions and reactions against his expectations, as well as she could judge them. Which was ridiculous, worse than ridiculous. How could she think she could anticipate his expectations when she knew nothing about him? Nothing.
    She closed her eyes, squeezing them tight.
    She didn’t want to know him, didn’t want to be influenced by him. Didn’t want her emotions to get the better of her, to break the flow of logic and lose her self in the chaos.
    Just for something to do, Jenny began to clear the table.
    Even that had her mind screaming at her. This McAllister character was bent on proving his own masters’ paranoid beliefs, confirming that she really was some kind of trained … what? Assassin? Spy? She paused on her way to the sink, her hands full of dishes. It was ludicrous. Absolutely ludicrous.
    She dumped the dishes in the sink and started to wash up.
    Here she was in the middle of nowhere, completely under the power of this character , and she was doing his washing up?