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the aloof attorney. Conversation over.
    Not if he could help it. “My aunt taught me to cook when I was ten. Aunt Myrtle. She was an odd bird, nice in a zany sort of way. Her weirdness drove my mom crazy. She finally went too far when I was sick one time. Myrtle took me to her house, tried to cure me. I don’t know what happened—just that she used some heavy woo-woo stuff. My mom took me home and never let her visit again.”
    Larsen’s eyes had lost that defensiveness and had taken on a gleam of interest. “Did she hurt you?”
    â€œNo. That’s the funny part. When she finished, I was fine.”
    â€œYou mean, she really healed you?”
    â€œI don’t know. My parents wouldn’t tell me what happened and I never saw Aunt Myrtle again. Last I heard she was still living in the Virginia mountains, only about an hour away from here. I should go see her one of these days.”
    When they’d finished eating, Larsen dabbed her mouth with the napkin, then stood. “Thank you. Dinner was excellent.”
    As she reached for her plate, he grabbed her wrist, blanketing his brain in a calming silence. “Nope. You’re company. No touching the dirty dishes.”
    She stared at him, but to his delight, a twinkle appeared in her eye. “You’re just afraid I’ll drop your plate like I kept dropping my fork.”
    Self-deprecating humor. Who would have thought? He grinned at her, coaxing the twinkle in her eye into a glimmer of a smile. “Let’s just say, I’m being cautiously hospitable.”
    A full-fledged smile illuminated her face, transforming the Ice Queen into a true angel, making him ache to pull her close and kiss her.
    For a heart-stopping moment her eyes warmed until her expression seemed to be the visual equivalent of his thoughts.
    She wanted the kiss as much as he did.
    Then golden lashes swept down to hide her emotions. “Do you mind if I watch some television?”
    Jack took a deep breath and released her wrist, uncorking the noise in his head. “Help yourself. The remote’s on the coffee table.” What just happened? She wanted him. She wanted him. Hot damn. He seriously doubted the formidable Larsen Vale ever gave in to such base desires, but a guy could dream.
    He carried the dishes to the sink. The soundtrack from a Friends rerun and the sweet sound of Larsen’s laughter kept him company as he did the dishes. He could do this. Every night for the rest of his life. A woman’s company over dinner. Soft, feminine laughter filling his house. Larsen’s laughter. Hell, yeah.
    The sudden jolt of longing startled him. Longing for an honest-to-god life and future with the beautiful woman whose touch could keep the madness at bay.
    If he didn’t blow it with her first. And he would, if he pressed her too hard about this case. Yet if he didn’t…how many more would die?
    Â 
    Larsen rose as the final scene of the James Bond movie slid into the fifteenth car commercial of the evening. She’d paid little attention to the flick, too aware of the cop watching her from the sofa.
    â€œI need a bath,” she told him.
    He visibly started. “Can’t you wait until…tomorrow?”
    â€œNo, I feel gross. I’ll sleep better after a hot soak.” She still had flakes of dried blood on her shoulder and arm. “Can I borrow something to sleep in?”
    Jack’s eyelids sank over those blue eyes, sending tendrils of warmth snaking down her limbs. “Lady, you can have anything of mine you want. You sure you want clothes?”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œAre you certain you’re up for this?”
    â€œI feel fine.” And, amazingly, she did. Her brows pulled together. “My shoulder doesn’t even hurt anymore.”
    Jack set his Coke on the coffee table, his gaze skimming leisurely down her bare legs. “Don’t get dressed afterward.”
    She jerked her head