“I don’t mean to be.”

Damn, he’d gotten good at not giving anything away. Apparently the long years of fighting fires and then investigating them had taught him a lot about control. He seemed so rough and ready standing there, so absolutely unflappable, body relaxed, eyes watchful, with a confusing mix of temper and passion humming just beneath the surface. She felt almost helplessly sucked in by that—utterly, morbidly, erotically sucked in.

She wondered if he ever felt as out of place as she did right now, then remembered that if he did, he had his girlfriend to go to. Cindy.

Had they had sex on his desk that day after she’d left?

“Is Camille in her office?” he asked.

“Yes.” That brought her back. “But she’s feeling fragile. Be gentle, okay?”

“And here I was hoping to use my torture rack.”

His eyes had cooled, his smile gone. She’d insulted him. “This has been hard for her, that’s all.”

He slapped his clipboard against his thigh again. His only sign of agitation. “Do you remember me as being particularly insensitive or cruel?”

“No, of course not.”

“So have I changed that much?”

Now that was a tough one. It would have been impossible for her to describe what seeing him did to her. His eyes were the same, and so, she suspected, were his heart and soul. Such incredible memories were stirred up by just his face, and yet new things were stirred up too. He’d put on height over the years, as well as lost those inches. Summer was five ten, but she had to tip her head back a little to see into his eyes. That gave her an entirely inappropriate shiver of appreciation, as did the sheer physical presence of him. “Some things have definitely changed,” she murmured.

“Right. The outer package.” And that clearly vexed rather than flattered. “That’s fairly obvious, Red. And it’s the second time you’ve mentioned it. I guess that’s what’s important to you.”

“That was never important to me.” But she flushed at his long stare, and she had to admit as she remembered the dazzling but empty-hearted Danny, that once upon a time, Joe had had every reason to believe that appearances were what was important to her.

How the hell had she gotten off on the wrong foot with absolutely everyone? “All I meant,” she said, “was that if anything’s different—on the inside—it’s how carefully controlled you are. That’s very different, Joe.”

“Maybe I only show my feelings to the people I’m close to.”

Touché. “Because what right do I have to know anything about you at all, is that it?”

He said nothing.

Another new trait.