Must Love Hellhounds

Katherine had been in a long-term relationship-and she’d kept it hidden from her partner? But more than that, she hadn’t even revealed that she was concealing something. How would that affect a relationship? Would that be more difficult than revealing to the other person that there was something she just couldn’t share with him?

It probably depended on the other person.

“What has her emotional state been like?”

“It was a blow when Gavin left her. But this, she’ll look at as she would a job. She’ll keep her head. And she’ll be searching for a way out.”

Maggie closed her eyes. “Hopefully by tomorrow, we’ll give her one.”

Maggie’s multipurpose phone beeped at four a.m. She fumbled for it on the nightstand and squinted at the soft white glow. The text message had come from Savi: “Check your e-mail and finish sleeping on the plane.”

The plane? What plane?

She scrubbed at her face before engaging the encrypted mode on her phone and logging in. God, she hadn’t run on this kind of schedule in years. But back then, she also hadn’t opened her e-mail from bed, warm and comfortable, ensconced in blankets and with Blake’s back and shoulders against her own.

She had to resist the urge to press back tighter against him. Somehow, their position felt more intimate than spooning. And strangely familiar, like going through a door with an operative that she trusted by her side.

She read the message, then stumbled into the bathroom and blasted a hot, two-minute shower. Geoff was using her phone when she came out in her bra and panties, with Sir Pup-sporting only one head-peering over his shoulder.

Sir Pup turned to look at her. Blake’s hands went slack, the phone tilting in his grip.

She glanced at the screen as she walked by the bed, then did a double take. Blake was accessing his own mail, reading a message identical to the one Savi had sent to her… but he shouldn’t have been able to get that far. Using it for anything other than a phone call required Maggie’s password.

She lifted her arms and began coiling her hair into a roll at her nape. “Did Savi give you a password for my equipment?”

“You did, a few minutes ago,” he said. A slight frown had formed at the corners of his mouth, and his voice was still rough with sleep. “You look at your fingers when you use the keypad.”

That explained how he’d discovered the embezzlers at Ramsdell Pharmaceuticals. He’d just watched them input their fraudulent numbers, and they’d never known they were being watched.

But she had known what he could do and hadn’t guarded against it. If Blake hadn’t already been Ramsdell security, she could have just compromised Ames-Beaumont’s.

The potential mistake didn’t piss her off as much as knowing that she hadn’t even thought about guarding against it. Taking a risk with her eyes wide open was acceptable. Acting blindly and stupidly was not.

And why hadn’t she thought? Because she’d been cozy.

She jabbed in the pins that secured her hair, then stepped into her trousers and yanked them up. “Why didn’t you read my e-mail when I did, too?”

“That would be an invasion of privacy, Winters.” His brows lowered, darkening his expression. “I have limits. For instance, when you’re in there”-he tilted his head toward the bathroom-“I’ll not look without permission. But if you come out here dressed as you are now, I’ll take whatever eyeful I can.”

“But whose-” No, she didn’t need to ask.

Sir Pup had begun chuffing. His other two heads sprouted from his shoulders and joined in.

Blake weaved on the bed and pressed his hand to his forehead, swallowing hard. Obviously, looking through the three heads didn’t agree with him.

“If I may be so bold, Mr. Blake-you just got what you deserved.” Maggie pulled on her shirt. “You said you couldn’t see through animals.”

“I can’t. And don’t bloody call me Mr. Blake.” He stood abruptly and came toward her. “Are those why you were called ‘Bullet-Eating Brunhilda’?”

“No.” She didn’t look down at the scars scattered over her stomach as she buttoned her shirt. “It’s because I’m blond, and I’m tall, and men don’t use much imagination when they are nicknaming women. Your uncle, of course, is the exception-‘Winters’ is preferable to ‘the Ice Queen’ or ‘the Frost Giant.’”

“‘Winters’ has nothing to do with your hair, Maggie.” His gaze was steady on hers. “Will you turn around?”

Nothing he’d just said was what she’d expected. “Why?”

“Because there’s a mirror behind you. And because you’ve retreated behind that damnable butler’s tone, and so I’m not able to tell if you’re angry. I want to see your face, not mine.”

That was just too bad. “We have a plane to catch, sir.” She shouldered her weapon harness and deliberately swept her gaze down his bare chest, his ridged stomach. “You have five minutes to get ready. I suggest you get started.”

He stepped in closer. Maggie drew in a breath, waited for him to do more. To say something, to argue… to touch her.

God, she was looking at his hands again.