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  Leaning past her, he opened his glove box and pulled out a small towel, which he used to hold the gun. Then he did something to it, and a part of it clicked open.

  He was checking to see if it was loaded, she realized, and leaning in, she caught a flash of a bullet.

  Oh, God. She covered her mouth with a shaking hand.

  It was loaded.

  Their eyes met, Shayne’s grim and determined as he wrapped up the gun.

  “It was loaded,” she said very softly.

  “Yes.”

  “I could have shot off my own foot with it in my pocket like that.”

  “Yeah.”

  She swallowed hard. “I could have—”

  “But you didn’t.”

  Right. She’d focus on that. But she had to swallow again. “Do you think it’s the same gun that I saw someone use tonight? At Sky High?”

  He closed his eyes briefly and rubbed his forehead. “What does it say about the way the night has gone that I actually forgot about that part of the evening?”

  “That it’s been a long one?”

  He opened his eyes and shook his head. “If it’s the same gun, and it’s not yours—”

  “It’s not!”

  “Then someone wanted it to look like yours.”

  She just stared at him.

  Swearing softly, he shifted in his seat to more fully face her. He put his hands on her arms, and she could tell by the look on his face that she wasn’t going to like what he said next.

  “Dani, my brother is a cop, a detective, high up in the ranks—”

  “Shayne—”

  “No, listen to me. There’s something going on. What you saw tonight at Sky High, whatever happened in your apartment, and now this. It’s time for help.”

  Staring into his face, she saw the concern there. Not for himself, but for her. And somehow that reached her. “I really did try to convince myself I imagined it all.”

  “Well, you didn’t imagine the gun.”

  “No.”

  “Dani, we have to call the cops. It might as well be Patrick, who can—”

  “Yes.” Her hands went to his chest, because he was solid. He was a solid piece of ground beneath her as she balanced on a spinning, out-of-control world. “I . . .” She closed her eyes. “I need help. Your help.”

  Silently agreeing, he pulled out his cell phone and hit a number. “Patrick. Yeah, it’s Shayne. I have a problem.” He listened, then rolled his eyes. “No, I didn’t call you to take care of a speeding ticket—Look, it’s complicated. You available? Good.” His eyes cut to Dani. “I’m on the 134, between Victory and Zoo Drive, and there’s a gun—That’s right, a gun. It was found in the coat pocket of . . .”

  A crazy woman, Dani silently finished for him.

  But that’s not what he said. “A friend.”

  Dani let out the breath she’d been holding and resisted the urge to hug him. He wasn’t a friend friend. He wasn’t someone . . . someone she could call for help. And yet that’s exactly what she’d done, and he’d come through.

  “She’s never seen it before,” Shayne was saying. “And just a little while ago, she thought someone might be inside her place—Yes, we’ll wait here for you.” He gave his brother the address, then slipped the phone back into his pocket and looked at her.

  She tried to smile, but couldn’t, so she gave up. “Now we wait?”

  He nodded, still holding her gaze in that way he had that convinced her that not only could he read her mind, but he could see right through her.

  Inside her.

  To the real Dani Peterson, the one who felt more comfortable in pj’s than a fancy dress, the one who scooped elephant poop for a job and wouldn’t know a Prada item if it bit her on the ass.

  The most surprising part of that was he seemed to be okay with that woman, as okay as he’d been with the one who’d kissed him in a closet. That felt lovely, so lovely, which was bad because she couldn’t do this with him. Not without getting hurt. “I’m not a good waiter.”

  “It won’t be long.”

  She looked into his eyes, feeling her heart sigh just a little. He’d been so patient tonight. She’d bet he was a good waiter. The best of waiters . . . which brought her mind back to his kisses.

  “Dani.” His voice sounded soft, a little husky, as if he knew where her thoughts had gone.

  And she felt a catch in her chest. He’d been such an amazing kisser.

  His fingers were playing with her coat, and then one of her shoulders was bared as he nudged it, and in spite of herself, she leaned in. “Help me wait, Shayne.” Sliding her hands up his chest, into his hair, she entangled them in the wavy strands.

  His eyes darkened, and her body reacted to that and the unbelievable amounts of adrenaline in her system. “We could talk,” he said.

  “Talk.”

  “Uh-huh.” He let their noses gently bump. “Talk.”

  They were breathing each other’s air, just looking into each other’s eyes, and the moment seemed so startlingly intimate, she couldn’t move. “I don’t feel much like talking.” Oh, God. Had she just said that? Really?

  “No?” He tilted his head so that their noses were no longer bumping.

  Now their mouths were lined up perfectly.

  “No . . .”

  “Dani—”

  God, she really loved the way he said her name, all raspy and extremely male.

  “What else did you have in mind?”

  Honestly? There wasn’t a single thought in her head that wasn’t a dirty, wicked little fantasy. Certainly nothing she could mention. “I can think of several things.”

  He smiled, that killer smile that scraped at all her happy spots.

  “Shayne?”

  “Yeah?”

  “How is it that when I’m with you, I don’t feel like I’m losing my mind.”

  “I don’t know.” He ran a finger over her ear and made her shiver. “For me, it’s the opposite.”

  “So I . . . rattle you?” And was that good?

  Or bad?

  But the look in his eyes told her. It was good, very, very good, and it set off all sorts of alarms inside her. “We can’t really do this again,” she murmured.

  “No. Because there isn’t any mistletoe.”

  Be strong. Say it. Believe it. “Because we’re not going to date.”

  “Right. No dating.” He nudged the coat off her other shoulder as well. “Because . . . ?”

  “Because you’re not my type,” she said, reminding herself. So not her type.

  His soft laugh brushed the hair at her temple. “Liar.”

  Oh, God, she thought. Toss me a life vest, because I’m going down . . . He was warm, so deliciously, wonderfully warm, and exactly her type. So much so that her body leaned to his like a heat-seeking missile. And this time, when their mouths touched, it was more like a homecoming than she’d ever experienced, and she opened for him, opened and let out a sound that would have been horrifying for its dark neediness except for the fact that he matched the sound with one of his own.

  All by themselves, her hands slid beneath his shirt—to warm them up, she told herself as she ran her fingers over a set of abs that made her tremble, and though he sucked in a shocked breath at the iciness of her touch and let out a low “holy shit,” he seemed to like her hands on him. Pulling her coat off, he bent his head and took his mouth on a hungry tour over her bared throat, her shoulder.

  Her entire body quivered with anticipation.

  He had all the access he needed. Her T-shirt provided little coverage. It was wet, clinging, and he easily pushed it up as his hand skimmed her belly to cup her breast, holding it for his mouth. His tongue rasped over her nipple, and the only sound was her head thunking back against the passenger seat. And then her moan, along with another of those horrifyingly needy gasps for air, as if she’d just run a 5K.

  “Still not dating me?” he asked against her skin.

  Oh, he sounded smug, didn�€