Fever by Joan Swan Page B

position. Her hands darted out and grabbed his. “Let me see your hands.”
    He tugged back in automatic reaction, but she held firm. His smile vanished. “Why? Let go.”
    “Let me see them, and I’ll let go.”
    Exasperated, he turned his hands over and indulged her inspection. To humor her, not to feel her skin against his. Not to experience the gentle heat of her strong fingers. The pad of her index finger skimmed his palm, sending an erotic signal directly to his groin.
    “Okay, enough.” Teague pulled out of her grasp. “See, no magic bullet. Just normal human parts. Now lie down so I can finish.”
    “But—”
    “No more buts, Hannah. Lie down.”
    She stared at him with lingering questions in her eyes, but he was done. She was getting too curious and way too comfortable and, dammit, so was he. He needed to put a stop to all this small talk. And then get the hell away from her before he did something really stupid. Like told her the truth. Or found something else completely inappropriate to do with his mouth, like taste every inch of that glorious body.
    She obviously sensed he was serious, because she obeyed.
    Teague cleaned the wound with another dose of hydrogen peroxide, plastered it with Neosporin and bandaged her up tighter than he probably needed to. “There. It’s about time to pick up Taz.”
    Hannah sat up and pulled her shirt over that tight belly. But this time she didn’t look at him. She didn’t touch him. And she sure as hell didn’t speak to him.
    And that, he knew, was the way it should be. The only way it could be.
    Just as he reached down and offered Hannah a hand getting to her feet, headlights swept over the truck’s rear entrance, darting beneath the partially open door like knives.
    Teague shoved the supply bags to one side of the truck and turned to watch. Waited for them to either go off or retreat. But they remained on and focused on the truck.
    Apprehension crept under Teague’s skin. He shifted toward Hannah, put his arm around her shoulders and drew her close. Outside, a car door closed. Footsteps neared the lift gate.
    His heart kicked into high gear. He pressed his mouth to Hannah’s silky-soft, floral-scented hair and murmured, “Do the smart thing here.”

S EVEN
    A cid swirled in Teague’s stomach. This was it. Faced with the very confrontation he’d planned to avoid at all costs. And the question remained, did he have what it took to use the Glock if push came to shove?
    “Follow my lead.” He took a breath and forced out the remaining words. “Or I’ll shoot him.”
    Several raps on the metal door made Hannah jump. Teague tightened his arm around her.
    “Hello?” a voice called. “Police. Anybody in there?”
    “Yes, sir.” Teague lifted the rear door, then shaded his eyes against the headlights. The cop was young, early twenties with a face so clean-cut fresh he’d have been on the dessert menu in prison. No partner sat in the passenger’s seat of the unit, no additional unit hovered as backup. “Evening, officer.”
    The cop’s hand hovered over the butt of his weapon. “Can I see your hands, please?”
    Teague removed his arm from Hannah and held his hands out, palms up. Hannah lifted hers as well.
    “Okay,” he said, hand easing away from his gun. “Just leave them where I can see them, please.”
    “Yes, sir.” Teague relaxed his arms, but turned his hands so the clovers on his knuckles wouldn’t show.
    “What are you two doing here tonight?”
    “We’re moving this weekend.” Teague softened his voice into an eager-to-please tone. “Just stocking up on some supplies. Am I parked in a bad spot or something?”
    “No.” The cop’s serious eyes assessed Hannah, who had her head turned to avoid the light, which, luckily, also hid the healing bruises on her other cheek. “We had a report of a possible abuse situation. I’m just checking the area. Are you all right, ma’am?”
    Hannah lifted her hand to shield her eyes from the