“What about other predators?” She flushed. “I mean, I know moose aren’t technically predators, but—”

“But they’re more liable to charge a person than our lazy brown bears.”

She was holding his phone, and rather than taking it back, he closed his hand around hers to pull up a different set of photos.

“Oh, it’s Hagrid.” A second later, she realized he hadn’t released her hand. Their knees bumped.

She tipped her head to look up at him, and they were too close, their faces only a few inches apart. Her gaze dropped to his mouth. His lips were sculptured, not puffy like a girl, but not thin. Just…perfect.

He leaned forward and brushed his lips against hers.

She jerked back. “No.”

“No?” Heat simmered in his so-very-dark eyes.

Suddenly, she was far too conscious of how close he sat, how his shoulder brushed hers, the heat of his body. She pulled back. Dear God, she’d been staring at his mouth—of course, he’d thought she was flirting. “No.”

“Ah, I misunderstood. Please forgive me.” All the heat and sexuality disappeared, and he politely moved a few inches from her. His expression showed honest regret—without anger. He wasn’t blaming her for giving mixed signals or himself for misreading her.

Instead, he motioned to the phone she was still holding. To the shaggy bear on the display. “You said the bear reminded you of Hagrid. Is he a relative?”

“Uh, no.” She shook her head in mock horror. “You don’t read Harry Potter?”

“I fear he’s escaped my notice. Are those the books with a young wizard?”

“Movies, too, yes.” She frowned. “You’re not a flat-earther, right? Tell me you’ve seen Star Wars.”

“And Star Trek, as well.” When he grinned, she could see why numerous women had fallen for the man-ho. “So, who would you pick for your captain—Kirk, Picard, or Janeway?”

Now that was a question she could hash over forever. She drained her drink and set it down. “There’s absolutely no question; the best one is Picard.”

Their battles raged over starship captains, to white orcs that should have died the first time, to whether the Hulk could beat up Superman. She and her training officer, Gene, had enjoyed science fiction and fantasy discussions, but Cazador was even more fun. She pointed at him with a severe expression. “If Superman could—”

“Last call.”

The voice made her jump. She looked up. “What?”

The bartender stood by the fireplace. “It’s last call, people. Bar’s closing shortly.”

“Oh.” Time to leave.

“Thank you for letting us know.” Cazador turned to JJ, and his grin flashed. “Did you want another sweet iced tea?”

“Now that’s just mean.” She smiled at the bartender. “I’m through. Thank you.”

“It was a pleasure, ma’am.” The bartender hesitated, looked from her to Cazador, then left.