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once had her body respo nded as it had when Grant was lying on top of her. She could sense the suffocating feeling hovering just out of reach, but the panic she usually felt with so much crushing weight had never surfaced. Her body craved more of him. That, above all else, was the scariest thing about the man standing on the other side of that curtain, listening to her pee. How fucking embarrassing.
    “ You writing a book in there? I can always come back at lunch.” Thalia rolled her eyes. Holding back a groan, she pushed to her feet and retied her shorts. She had never wanted to hurt someone as much as she did at that very moment. Considering her past, and what drove her toward her future, that was saying a lot.
    She pushed back the flap , and any thought of hurting this man was shoved right back into the shithole behind her. Grant, six feet three inches of golden god, stood before her holding out two wooden poles shaped mercifully like a pair of crutches. She clung to the dirty, green tarp as her mind swirled with confusion.
    “These ought to help you some,” he said and held them out for her to take. “I can cut them down if they’re too long. You’re pretty tall though, so I think I got it close.”
    She felt her stomach tighten into an angry knot. Why would he do this for her? She had been nothing but a bitch to him. “What do you want from me?” The accusing words slipped past her lips before she could stop them. She had learned in her first week on the run that people didn’t do nice things for other people unless they wanted something. At least not for her. Not people like him.
    “Helping me, stitching me up, giving me clothes, and…and food. Now this?” Thalia could see his eyes cloud over as her voice got louder. She couldn’t help it. None of this made sense. “What is this supposed to get you? Who do you work for? Jauhar? Hamisi Morsai, the bastard who cut me up? What, he couldn’t beat what he wanted out of me so he sent you to…to what? I don’t know…somehow…”
    Grant’s thick fingers wrapped tight around the tops of her arms, the makeshift crutches thrown carelessly to the side. With little effort he lifted her to her toes and pulled her to his chest, his face a mere inch from hers. “I’m trying to be nice !” he growled, his expression fiercely twisted, his eyes blazing with the color of fire. “It’s something I apparently have little understanding of and I thought …I would try it …with you .” His eyes strayed to her lips, and for the second time in two days, God help her, she thought he was going to kiss her.
    Her whole body tensed in his hands, the strange, warm feeling that came with being so close to him washing over her skin. At that moment, to her absolute disbelief, she wanted him to kiss her. She wanted to kiss him back. Her eyes lingered on his lips, the masculine angles of his face. She wanted to trace the line of stubble on his jaw with the tips of her fingers, to taste the outline of his bottom lip with the tip of her tongue.
    Just as she’d decided not to deny him, he uncoiled his hands, dropping her to h er feet as he backed away. “I sure as hell hope you know how to swim, lady. Because if the police aren’t here to collect your crazy ass by the time I get done eating dinner, I’m loading you into my boat and dropping you off at the nearest channel marker. You can wait for them or swim the forty miles to shore. Either way, you’re leaving my island today.”
    Grant forced himself to ignore the stupefied look on her face as he turned and stomped back to his camp. Fuckin’ A if I’m putting up with that ungrateful woman one more day. It wasn’t the names she’d tossed out like familiar calling cards. Names he’d long ago committed to memory as human garbage distributors. Hamisi Morsai was mid-level fish chum working for the Don of the Mumbai underworld, Kahan Lalia. Don Lalia ran real estate scams and dealt in extortion and bribery. Kafeel Jauhar