She laughed out loud. “No, you delightful dirty boy. There’s no more time for any of that. You shouldn’t have fallen asleep.” She moved languidly toward the bed, the soft t-shirt clinging to her in wonderful ways. Bending forward, she grabbed his head in two surprisingly strong hands, pulling it down so that she could kiss the top of his head. It also meant he was looking down her shirt, with a great view of perfection, marred only by the odd, ugly necklace she wore.

“What the hell is that thing?” he asked.

“You seemed very familiar with them just a little while ago,” she said, amused.

“No, I mean that necklace. It looks like a smashed bullet… only on steroids.”

“Oh, my good luck charm. It’s an expended thirty millimeter cannon round. From a US Warthog in the Middle East. They’re just lying around in some places.”

He wanted to ask more questions, but he didn’t. Little hints, matched with her exotic looks, had led him to the conclusion that her family was from the Middle East. But he was oddly reluctant to pry.

“Must be cold here, compared to where you’re from?” was the closest question he’d asked so far.

She arched one perfect brow. “If you only knew. Now out with you, Mack Sutton. So I can recover from your depraved attentions.”

Sure—he was the depraved one. Right. Not that he was complaining. He stood up and started to pull on his clothes as he was able to find them. Ignoring him, she peeled off her shirt and stood in her full glory, then moved to some shopping bags on her beat-up dresser. She turned to find him frozen in place at her beauty, smiling a little as she pulled wispy bits of lace and silk from one of the bags. “Don’t have a coronary on me, Mack. I’m not done with you yet.”

Kick-started by her words, he continued pulling up his jeans, his mind focused on the not done with you yet. He didn’t want her to be done with him… ever.

He was pulling on his shoes, tying each as he did so, when he glanced at her again. He blinked. She was already dressed, a gray dress of soft knit, stretchy fabric draping her figure from shoulders to knees. She was watching him… like a cat. She was so different from when he’d first met her. Not that she’d been shy, but she was just so much more aggressive than he’d thought.

“Come on. I’ll walk you out.”

“You’re seriously worried about your roommates?” he asked, mildly insulted.

She pouted and grabbed his hands, ending his thoughts. “Can’t a girl show her man to the door?”

“Ah, sure,” he said, unable to remember what he had said to make her pout so damned attractively.