Private Affair(20)

“Do you always travel with first-aid equipment?” she asked.

“It’s standard operating procedure for Rockfort Security.”

“You get hurt a lot?”

He avoided a direct answer by saying, “It’s best to be prepared.”

Balling up the shirt, he tossed it toward the trash can.

He was half undressed and standing very close to her, and she had to remind herself why they had come into the bathroom. He’d been injured because someone had been sneaking around outside her house.

Reaching past her, he lowered the shade, brushing his arm against hers. She could smell the male scent of his body and see his well-muscled chest and arms in close detail—a lot closer than she’d like. She hadn’t counted on any kind of intimacy with Max, and she felt a little shiver travel over her skin at the sudden contact. Trying to stay on task, she opened the box and examined the contents, finding what she needed—antiseptic and sterile pads.

But being so close to half-naked Max was making her breathing unsteady and her heart flutter inside her chest like a bird trying to get out of a cage. Fighting the unwanted sensations, she desperately searched for a way to cool herself down. When her gaze landed on a puckered indentation to the left of his navel, she focused on it.

“What happened to you?” she asked. “I mean…before,” she clarified, pointing toward the old injury.

“I was shot.”

Maybe it was none of her business, but she wanted to know. “When?”

“In a drug raid eighteen months ago. That’s why I left the Baltimore Police force, if you want to know. They were going to keep me on desk duty for months, which was a stupid move on their part. A waste of manpower.”

“Because you thought you were fit for the street.”

“I know I was. I worked hard getting myself back in shape.”

“So you quit?” she guessed.

“And got partial disability, which meant I had some time to figure out my next move. Then I met the other two Rockfort guys, and we decided we made a good team.”

Her curiosity piqued, she asked, “How did you meet the other two Rockfort men?”

He laughed. “In jail.”

Her head jerked up. “Did I hear that right?”

“We all happened to be in a Miami nightclub when the place was raided. We ended up keeping order in a holding cell with a lot of tough hombres. And in the morning, we went out for breakfast—and decided to stick together.”

She tipped her head to the side, studying his open expression, which could be as fake as a three-dollar bill. “You’re not making that up?”

“Why do you think so?”

“I got a taste of your storytelling ability at the reunion   meeting.”

He laughed. “Yeah, well, this story’s true. Besides, who would make up a story about getting busted?”

“I guess that’s right.”

The conversation had helped to take her focus off the sexual awareness, but she’d better remember why Max was standing half naked in front of her. “We should wash the cuts first.”

He answered with a little nod, and she wondered if he was reacting to her the way she was reacting to him.

She knew he was attracted to her. That was something a woman could tell. But she also knew he wasn’t going to do anything about it unless she invited the attention. And she wasn’t going to do that. Fooling around with him would interfere with their investigation, and that was as good a reason as any to douse her overheated imaginings with a bucket full of cold reality.

Struggling to change the direction of her thoughts, she turned temporarily away from Max’s masculine temptation. At the sink, she turned on the water, letting it warm up while she stepped around him and into the hall, where she opened the linen closet and retrieved one of the clean washcloths she’d brought to the house.

When she came back, she saw him leaning toward the mirror, inspecting his face, his dark eyes narrowing as they took in the damage.

He straightened as she reached to turn the water lower and wet the washcloth.

“I guess I was lucky.”

“You mean because it missed your eye.”

“Yes. Whoever was out there wanted to stick it to me.” He laughed. “Literally.”

“Or me,” she countered.

“I hope you wouldn’t be sneaking around after dark if you heard someone outside. That would put you in the ‘too stupid to live’ category.”

“Oh, thanks.”

“But you didn’t do it.”

“What category does it put you in?”

“Doing my job,” he snapped.

“So you’re saying the attack really was aimed at you?” she said as she squeezed most of the water out of the cloth.