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worse when he went all military on her, dropping his voice. “Scarlett. I absolutely cannot let you walk out of here.”

FOUR
    I f this was a romance novel, she wanted to turn the page.
    Go to the next chapter.
    Maybe throw the book against the wall.
    â€œScarlett—”
    â€œStay away from me, whoever you are!” Scarlett pressed her hands against the walnut door of Lucia’s bathroom, a room that just might be larger than her entire one-bedroom apartment back in Minnesota. Definitely nicer, with the oversize soaking tub, the blue-veined marble vanity, the mirrored wall that only accentuated her distress.
    She couldn’t look at the fool in the mirror one more moment. So she turned against the door, slid down to the cool tile floor and rested her head on her knees.
    â€œMy name really is Luke,” the voice said on the other side, softer now. She imagined him sitting on the floor also. His voice came right through the crack, right into her ear. “Luke Dekker.”
    A kind, even soft voice. Not at all like the voice that had slipped a knife of fear right through her, cold and steely and lethal just moments earlier. “You have toknow that I truly thought you were my contact, Scarlett, or I would have never gotten into the cab with you.”
    â€œI got in the cab with you.”
    Silence. “What I mean is, I’m sorry that I assumed you were…”
    â€œA secret agent?” For the first time, she let those words out, slippery as they were on her tongue. A secret agent. “You really believed I was your contact? That I could pull off this mission, whatever it is?”
    â€œProtecting Lucia, and…yes. Well, truthfully, I had a couple moments of hesitation, but you were so, well, cold on the taxi ride, with all your ‘I have to work solo’ comments, that, yes, okay? Yes. I thought you were her. I thought you were my contact. My partner on this op.”
    â€œDidn’t you get a picture?”
    â€œI did. But, well, it looked like you. Sort of. People change, especially for roles. She had your hair. And your bone structure. And it was a black and white—oh, for goodness’ sake, let’s all admit that I am an idiot.”
    Oh, sure, that made her feel all better. “Well, if it eases your pain at all, I thought you were the man my sister set me up with for the weekend.” Although, if interrogated, she might admit that she’d had her doubts, too.
    Simply put, Luke Dekker just didn’t seem like the kind of guy who would say yes to being set up with Bridgett Hanson’s kid sister. He seemed capable of landing his own dates, thank you. No, Luke Dekker had a sort of “Bond, James Bond” aura that should have tipped her off from the beginning.
    This isn’t my first time around the block. His words came at her now and she winced. To think she’d thought he’d been hitting on her.
    She just might stay in the bathroom forever. Die here. The bathtub might make a good coffin.
    â€œI suppose we should start over again,” he said through the door. “I didn’t mean to scare you back there. We can work this out.”
    She recognized the tone—the one he’d used at her villa door this evening, the one that contained such villainous charm, the one that had cajoled her into this desperate excursion.
    No. Call her a fool—twice even—but she knew when to cut and run from a temp job. She stood up and opened the door. “We’re not starting over. We’re ending this little game, Luke. Once again, take me home.”
    He had both hands bracketed on the frame of the door. She didn’t know what she’d been thinking—that he’d simply shrug and say, “Sure honey, let me rev up the boat”? Because after one look at his expression, she went to slam the door shut again.
    He caught it with his hand and used the other to push it back, to shove his way inside.
    â€œGet