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because she felt the danger radiating from the naked man. And because it wasn’t an altogether unpleasant feeling.
    “Have fun. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t,” Shep told her, before laughing at his own stupid joke on his way out of the tent.
    As soon as Shep was gone, the man started tugging on his chain.
    This man—whoever he was—was as much a prisoner as she was.
    She spoke first, when it became obvious he was just as happy to pretend she didn’t exist. “I’m Marlena.”
    “Good for you,” he muttered without so much as looking at her. “I’m Chance.”
    His voice vibrated through her like a rough touch. She wondered what his hands would feel like on her body.
    What was happening to her? “They’re keeping me prisoner too. Why are they keeping you here? Maybe if we work together—”
    “You’re not going to try that scared shit on me, are you? Because if it didn’t work on a half-wit like Shep, no way in hell it’s working on me.”
    The problem was, it was working on her.
    31

    Most times, it was all an act. This was not one of them. No, she wanted to rip off all her clothes, and it had nothing to do with the jungle heat. She wanted to give herself to him.
    He wanted her too—as detached as he tried to act, there was no hiding the arousal that grew, jutting up impressively toward his abs.
    There was nothing he could do to hide it.
    She dragged her eyes up to his face. “You don’t believe I’m here against my will?”
    Finally, Chance glanced at her, raking her over with a gaze so hot she felt blood rush to her cheeks. “I’ve got problems of my own. I’m not really in rescue-the-damsel-in-distress mode. I’m calling bullshit on your being helpless anyway.”
    He seemed not to care that he was completely naked and exposed as he yanked on his chain, unaware that his body, despite the bruising, looked impossibly perfect.
    A body made so by hard work—real work, not simply hours spent in a gym.
    But who was he?
    She’d never wanted someone so much in her life. It was like pheromones gone wild. “Maybe I can help?”
    He shook his head. “Unless you’ve got a blowtorch on you, forget it.”
    Her body felt like it radiated that kind of heat, especially as she watched his hands continue to work. Large, strong hands. Capable.
    The things those hands could do to her …
    Dammit. She forced herself to look away from him. She was supposed to make men feel like this—wild and out of control.
    Focus, Marlena. Ask questions. Get intel. Do your goddamned job.
    She shifted, the wet heat between her legs suddenly unbearable.
    She was swiftly losing any semblance of control. What was worse, she didn’t care.
    CHANCE WAS CHANGING. GROWING STRONGER. AND WHILE
    he’d always been in damned good shape, what was happening to him was something altogether different and well beyond the quick healing he was used to.
    He couldn’t worry about it now, would simply use it to his advantage. Had to get the hell out of this camp and back to civilization and so he’d played along with the doctors, pretending he was down and out, all the while his senses of smell and hearing surprising the shit out of him.
    If he concentrated, he could hear people talking anywhere in the camp—
    and although conversations jumbled together, he could still make out a few things.
    Like who Logan was. About Global Weapons Corporation.
    The fact that these men were out looking for the monster that had killed his team.
    And while that alone should’ve made Chance feel like he’d been saved by the good guys, a large part of him was really uneasy with the entire situation.
    32

    The chains didn’t help make him any more comfortable.
    “Hey, maybe we could put our heads together and come up with a plan.”
    Marlena was still talking. Jesus, the gorgeous talking woman was a huge freakin’
    distraction.
    He’d known they were bringing her in too—he’d caught the scent of her.
    Caught the scent. What the hell? Was he part fucking