Gunfire cracked around them. “Just warning shots,” he yelled. “How do you know?” “We’re not dead.

I’m quite capable of taking responsibility for my own death.

Look.” He stepped closer, his voice lowered to a gruff murmur, and lifted her chin with his finger, forcing her to meet his gaze – which just made her want to stretch up and kiss him.

It’s your hero complex, isn’t it? You should see someone about that.” “Right after I get my head examined.

How good would Flynn be in bed – a real bed, with crisp, clean sheets? She’d seen and handled enough of his body to create a solid mental picture of him naked. Very solid. Honed, strong, with a dusting of blond hair on his tanned chest and maybe a few tattoos. Long muscular legs, a sculpted butt, a narrow waist sliding into a broad back that would undulate under her fingers as he moved against her.

Read it to me.” “Seriously?” he said quietly. “You want me to read you poetry? Like saving your life ten times wasn’t enough?

It was too late for the truth – and too soon.