I moved the take-out boxes aside, folding each and laying it on the table.

“So, you, uh…” He rubbed his chin. “You think…”

“What do you want me to say, Quinn? That I’m impressed? That it puts you a cut above guys like Jack? Like me?”

He grabbed the last box. “No. Absolutely not. I don’t kid myself that it’s some noble cause. I get paid for it…well, not always, but, yeah, you’re right. Vigilante for hire. Maybe it’s a fucked-up way of looking at the world if I think that makes me any better than the guys I off. I just…That’s what I do, and I wanted you to know…” He let the sentence trail off.

“Because…?”

He scooped up the forks and shrugged. “Maybe I just wanted you to know because I wanted you to know.”

I watched him as he dropped the forks into the garbage, his hand hovering there a moment even after the forks had thumped into the bottom, as if reluctant to turn toward me, dragging the distraction out as he tried to think of what to say next. His jaw tightened and relaxed, as if practicing a line.

My gaze slid down to his arm, muscles so tense I could see the tendons against the fabric of his shirt, and I had to fight the urge to slide over there, put my hand on the dip between his shoulder blades, rub away the tension. I resisted, but not because I was afraid where that would lead, because I was pretty sure where it would lead and, at that moment, I was almost as sure I’d let it. I held back because I couldn’t tell him it was all right, when I wasn’t sure that it was. But there was one thing I could say, and honestly, so I did.

“Thanks,” I said. “For telling me.”

A half-smile and a nod, then he moved back onto the bed. As he did, his hand brushed my foot, stopped, and squeezed in a slow rub.

“You might not want to do that,” I said. “I spent half the day in boots.”

A burst of laughter, not—I’m sure—because it was terribly funny, but just because it gave him something to laugh about. He took a better hold on my foot and kept rubbing.

When I arched my brows, he laughed again.

“Don’t worry. This isn’t step one to seduction. I meant what I said earlier. I won’t push.”

“No, you said you didn’t have any ulterior motives.”

“And I don’t. There’s nothing at all secret about my motives. I think I’ve made them perfectly clear.”

“Ulterior motive doesn’t mean ‘hidden agenda.’ It means planning to do more than you let on. In other words, bringing me here for more than dinner.”

“Damn.”