“Why their car? I want our truck.”

Her rasp wasn’t meant to be seductive. He knew that. It shouldn’t have done a thing to turn him on. But it sounded like a morning after rasp, all scratchy and grated, and it made him twitchy and turned-on.

What the hell was his problem? Awareness was key to their survival. Her survival.

Tonight, he was out of character, starting with missing the signs of impending assault, all the way up to here and now. He shouldn’t be running around with a hard-on. His concentration should’ve been laser-beam focused on their safety and the disk in his back pocket.

He cleared his throat and foraged a path through the woods. “I have to assume the cops are seconds away from the gas station. So, forget our pickup truck. It was rented with an alias anyway. No biggie.”

“Colby?”

“Yes, doll?”

He stepped through the thicket and pushed low-hanging branches away from her. She nestled against his chest.

“Thank you for saving me. Again.” She paused for a heartbeat. “Is it going to stop?”

The innocence in her words killed him. He growled with heated emotion. Anger. Lust. Possessiveness. “Hell, yes, it’s going to stop. So don’t worry about it. I’m going to fix all of it.”

Winters dropped his chin to her silky, tangled hair and breathed her in. Her hair pressed against his skin, tempting his control. Despite the day, she still smelled like butterscotch and vanilla. He heard a sigh that caught him off guard. It was his sigh. He rolled his eyes but sighed again, kissing her forehead and letting it linger.

She tightened her muscles in his arms and stiffened. “Please don’t do that.”

“What? Kiss you?” He knew he shouldn’t have. He stepped over more branches and pushed another thorny branch away from her. Why did he kiss her just now? She was scared, and he was on the job. If there was a better reminder of that than a shootout at a gas station, he didn’t know what it was.

“Yeah, just don’t.” Her body remained as still as a sniper blending into brush.

“I’m sorry about that. I don’t know what came over me.” That was the hundredth apology for the day. It had to be a record considering he apologized… never, whether he should have or not. Strange. Mia tested him in a way he didn’t know possible. Hell. Strange didn’t even begin to describe it.

“You should be sorry.” She looked tart. Her lips parsed together, and the bridge of her nose scrunched in a wrinkle.

That was one confusing look. This was why he shouldn’t mix it up with her. Why he didn’t mix it up with any woman who wanted more than an exchange of first names. Then again, he liked knowing that Mia was Mia Kensington. Whatever. His blood sugar must’ve been low or something. He continued to cover ground in search of the car.

“Wanna explain the attitude?” Was he auditioning for Dr. Phil’s job? Christ.