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her stunned, purely female reaction to seeing his male torso with its broad shoulders, well-developed muscles, flat stomach and dusting of black hair over his chest.
    He gave her a slow smile. “Mind holding that to my cut?”
    She leaned in and pressed the washcloth to the cut. It was an awkward position, and she didn’t know where to put her other hand, so she rested it on his shoulder. His skin was hot. His arm came around her legs and she met his eyes.
    “Just keeping you from wobbling,” he said. But his eyes said something else entirely.
    “You can still look at me like that after I stabbed you?”
    His expression grew serious. “You said you thought it was him . And I got the impression you were referring to a specific him as opposed to whoever was outside.” He paused. “So, who did you think I was?”
    She swallowed. John was running his hand up and down her jeans behind her knees, and she liked it too much to stop him. He was soothing her, making her feel safe…and turning her on. Somehow her hand had moved from his right shoulder to the curve of his neck.
    “Um, no one,” she said. “Just…whoever. So maybe it was an animal, then? A deer? I see them outside my window all year long.”
    He looked her in the eye. “Someone has been mutilating squirrels and leaving them lined up under your porch. Like offerings. Or threats. I find that very disturbing.”
    She’d seen the squirrels too, and yes, she’d found them disturbing. But she’d been fighting her fears for so long she wasn’t sure anymore which were rational and which weren’t. “Couldn’t an animal have done that?”
    “Animals don’t line them up. And it looks like someone used a knife on the squirrels, not teeth. Do you have any idea who would do something like that?”
    She shivered. “I don’t know. Maybe a student with a sick sense of humor?”
    “Twisted people mutilate small animals. Anyone who would do this as a prank needs psychological help.”
    She tried to concentrate on holding the washcloth to his wound, but between the mutilated squirrels and the man she was pressed against, she wasn’t sure which end was up.
    “I’d like to go back out and take a better look,” he said. “In the morning.”
    She swallowed at the implications of his words. “There was a pinging noise…when you went out.”
    “The chain on your ceiling fan. There was a stiff breeze out there.”
    She let out a breath. “Well, that’s a relief.”
    She lifted the washcloth from his wound and was shocked by how much blood it had soaked up. And fresh blood continued to ooze from the entry site. “Good Lord. I should take you to the emergency room.”
    “Nah. Got any peroxide? And a bandage of some kind? Even a big Band-Aid would probably work.”
    She blotted the cut and leaned closer to judge how deep it was. “I think it could use a couple of stitches.”
    “Let’s clean it up and then we’ll see.”
    “Here, put your hand over this.” She eased away from his body and pulled out peroxide, gauze pads, tape and a box of butterfly bandages. She tried to kneel in front of him, but he had to move his legs apart so she’d fit. Oh God. This was more temptation than she could manage.
    “I better do this quickly,” she murmured.
    “Take your time.” She didn’t have to look at him to know he was smiling.
    She leaned in and rested her forearms high on his thighs, pulled his hand away and poured a thin stream of peroxide over the cut. John hissed at the sting. She blotted it and fit the butterfly over the cut, which stopped most of the bleeding. At some point while she was fixing up his cut, John’s hand had gone to her shoulder, and was now squeezing it. She looked up, concerned that she’d hurt him.
    “Are you in pain?” she asked.
    His voice sounded strained. “Yeah, but not in the way you think.”
    It took her a few seconds to figure out what he meant.“Oh,” she said stupidly, scrambling to get up off her knees. The hand that had