Imposter by Karen Fenech Page A

and fashion thing perfected to an art.  Yeah, she was pretty, and he couldn’t deny that beauty  jump started his heart and his libido every time he saw her, but seeing her in his kitchen a few moments ago had nearly induced a coronary.
Here she was, straight from bed - his bed - her long, dark hair wild around her face and spilling to her shoulders.  Her eyes heavy-lidded from sleep.  And her scent - there was a scent coming off her that didn’t come from a cosmetics bottle.  It was pure woman and unique to her.    The wild hair, pouty lips . . . and that scent.  He wanted nothing more than to take her back to his bed and make love with her until they both were too exhausted to move.  And then, he wanted to make love with her all over again. 
Of course that was out of the question.  Of all the women in the world, why did he have to want this one?  He’d known attractive women before.  Truth be told, women who were more beautiful than Eve.  But, they hadn’t made him want the way she did. 
He felt a measure of disgust with himself for having any thoughts about her that weren’t professional.  She was suspected of treason.  She had created a weapon to kill innocent people for her own profit.  If she hadn’t been found out, and by people who put their lives on the line every day to save lives - including her own - her plot would have been successful.
That thought grated.  Her betrayal of her own people grated.  His gaze lifted to hers involuntarily, however and his body reacted again.
“I cooked,” Burke said.  “You clean up.”
He pushed his chair back from the table, got to his feet and left the cabin.

Chapter Eight  
Eve watched him go.  Clearly, he was angry.  But about what?  She felt her own temper spark.  She’d had every intention of cleaning up after the meal.  But if he thought he could take advantage of their situation and issue an order for kitchen duty, he could think again.
She finished the meal, which was excellent, washed her own plate and mug and set them on the drainer.  She needed her insulin, a shower and then she’d feel better.
A few moments later, Eve stepped under the hot spray. Leaning against the shower stall, she stood unmoving, letting the water sluice down her skin and ease the tension from her body. She tried to clear her mind of the last forty eight hours.  Was that all it had been?  Since Richard’s death.  Since she’d learned she was suspected of terrorism.  Since two attempts had been made on her own life.  So much had happened and in such a short time.  She prayed that the next forty eight hours would see this mess resolved and her life restored.       
When she entered the living and dining room area, she saw that Burke hadn’t come back inside.  She was alone.
She rubbed her temples where a headache was building.  Burke wanted her to sit idle and let the CIA find out who was behind the attempts on her life.  She could not believe that her assassin was Allie.  Who then?  It went against her nature to sit back and wait for Burke’s associates to find the one trying to kill her.  But just what was she going to do and from here? 
Burke’s laptop was on the coffee table.  Normally, she’d ask his permission to use his computer, but she ignored what she would normally do - this was hardly a normal situation - and  went to the couch. 
The blanket, pillow, and sheet he’d used were heaped against one arm of the sofa. Eve sat on the center cushion and booted up the laptop.  It was likely that Burke had the system password protected, but she had to try to get in.
She needed a list of the conference attendees.  It was a logical place to start to try to find the person who’d switched her insulin.  Burke may have all of that on his system.   She and Richard had registered for the conference weeks ago and it was likely that Burke would have a record of that.  He would have compiled  a list of the chemists attending all of the