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deal out would be much worse.”
    The excitement in the air around them crackled as Ginger stopped dead in the act of walking towards the sliding glass doors that led out onto a large deck and turned to look back at him.
    Big mistake.
    He’d quietly put away the books that had surrounded him, and he was now staring directly at her, with every bit of concentration in his body focused on nothing but her. 
    Dear God, he meant that he would spank her!  She knew it as surely as she knew that parts of her clenched as she made that discovery, parts that were making themselves as known as they could - drying her throat, quickening her breathing and making her desperately wish she could squeeze her legs together, but she was not about to do that in front of him.
    Trying to lighten the mood, she laughed softly.  “Did I say traffic tickets?  I meant . . . uh . .  . laundry tickets.  That’s it.”  She chuckled uneasily when he tucked his chin to his chest and looked at her from under hooded brows.
    “Really?” he asked softly.  “Because lying to me would get you into even worse trouble.”
    “Because you’re a cop?” she asked, looking deliberately away from him before she drowned in those dark black pools of his.
    “No, because I won’t stand for being lied to, Miss Ginger.”
    That tone.  It went directly to her clit and smothered it in innuendo and sexual energy until it practically burst forth on its own, without ever being touched.
    Ginger tossed her hair in a nervous habit that was left over from when she had hair down to her mid back.  Now her glorious golden locks were cut in the same short pixie style she’d had as a kid, with a bit more attitude, and the move was definitely lost in translation.
    “What do you do for a living, Ginger?” he asked, and she had the thought that he wouldn’t be happy, somehow, if she decided not to answer him, but that was fanciful and frivolous.  She didn’t know this man well enough after only fifteen minutes or so to think that. 
    Or did she?
    His change of subject only diffused her nervousness to the slightest degree.  “I work for the same bank that Charlie does, only not in the same area.”
    “Charlene works with electronic transfers, right?  What do you do?”
    It was interesting to know that you were the object of someone’s attention, especially when that person looked - and acted - like he did.  She was on high alert, despite his mundane questions.
    “I process Visa debit card disputes.”
    “And do you like your job?”
    She was staring out the window, trying to get her scattered, almost frightening reactions to him under control or she would have noticed that he had gotten up and was crossing the room towards her.
    “I do.  It’s a dead end because my manager isn’t going anywhere fast, but I like the . . . well, the rhythm of it, I guess.  I do it well enough that I get a raise every year, and I’m pretty much left to my own devices to get my work done.”
    “I’m glad.  It helps to like what you do.”
    How had he snuck up on her like that - so silently?  He moved like a cat!  Still, when she turned to find him standing behind her, it was at a more respectful distance than she would have guessed by her rioting nerves.
    Until he took those last three steps towards her.  Why she didn’t back away from him she’d never know.  Because she didn’t want to, she guessed.  She wanted to step closer to him, but didn’t at the same time, so he had taken the choice away from her.
    He’d be doing plenty that in her future ; simply removing the choice, but she didn’t know that then.
    Nothing he did was alarming, in and of itself.  Everything was calm and controlled, just like he was.  First his hands claimed her waist, gently but firmly, as if she had tried to get away, he might well not have allowed her to go.  Then, with his eyes locked to hers, he brought them gently, inexorably together for the first time, breast to chest, package