Intrusion by Cynthia Justlin Page A

at her, like—like he couldn’t think of anything better to do than tie her into knots.
    Her stomach fluttered. What had vulnerability ever done for her? She did not want to get tangled up with Cam. He would force her to reveal parts of herself she had no desire to unlock.
    She meant to step back, but the air between them suddenly sizzled, and when she caught the scent of Cam’s skin—a heady combination of sandalwood and warm male—she couldn’t resist leaning into him.
    He tensed and the fluorescent light cast a sallow hue on the scratches along his cheekbone, reminding her, once again, of all he’d risked. For her.
    “How did you find me?” She tipped her head to meet his eyes. “I mean, why come after me at all? You don’t need me. Not really.”
    He cupped her cheek in his palm. “Cell phone records and a little GPS know how are powerful things.”
    She stiffened. “You went through my cell phone—”
    “Invasion of privacy doesn’t apply to damsels in distress.” His thumb brushed her skin sending pulses of heat through her. “It’s one of those unspoken rules. Along with the one about not mixing business with pleasure.”
    “That’s a good one.” She sucked in a ragged breath.
    His lips curved into a grin. “Is it?”
    “Of course. You can’t remain objective when all you’re thinking about is…”
    Her fingers took on a life of their own and fisted into Cam’s t-shirt. Her gaze slid down to his mouth. One kiss. What could it hurt? No strings attached, no baring of souls. Nothing but a meeting of mouths to satisfy her curiosity. A scientific experiment of sorts. Would his hard, chiseled mouth soften against hers? Did he taste of the same danger and self-assurance he wore with such blatant abandon?
    She pressed into his touch. The space between them evaporated, their mouths met with the slightest bit of pressure—
    Cam stumbled backward, breaking the fleeting connection as his knee collapsed out from under him. He lunged for the counter, a vicious curse followed in the wake of the abrupt movement.
    She reached for him. “Let me—”
    “I got it.” He pulled himself up and turned his back on her, but the mirror gave away the heightened color in his cheeks.
    “Are you okay?”
    He brushed past her. “Hey listen, do you mind if I grab a shower first?”
    “Cam—”
    “Because if you do, I can wait.” He went to his bag, unzipped it, and started rummaging around inside.
    “Hold on just a minute—”
    His shoulders lifted in a shrug. “Yeah, okay, if you’d rather go first, then go ahead.”
    She clenched her teeth. “No, it’s not that—
    “So, you don’t want to go first?”
    “Damn it, why are you deliberately misunderstanding me.” She closed the distance between them and pressed a hand to his back, trying to get him to turn around. But he resisted. “I don’t care about going first. Your knee—”
    “Is perfect,” he hissed.
    “Would you just…look at me for a minute?”
    He spun to face her, a neatly folded pile of clothes in one fist and a small bag in the other. His steely eyes narrowed, daring her to press further.
    Go ahead. Ask.
    She opened her mouth, but the question wouldn’t come. If she insisted on probing his demons, he’d take it as an open invitation to delve into hers. Nothing good ever came of that kind of give and take.
    His lips twisted in a mirthless smile. Chicken.
    He pushed the items into her hands. “Go on. Get your shower.”
    She took them and retreated into the bathroom like the coward she was. As she closed the door behind her, she caught Cam’s soft hum.
    You’re as cold as ice.
    She flicked the light switch and dipped her head to ward off a smile. Light reflected off a small kink of chain, barely visible inside the bag. She slipped her finger beneath the metal and tugged.
    Dog tags.
    She weighed them in her palm then held them up to catch the light. Her fingers grazed over the metal stamping:
    SCOTT, CAMERON M
    526-55-8912
    A