Hardy lifted a brow, looking amused. "Are you trying out some new kind of sales tactic on me?"

"No. I'm wondering what your ulterior motive is."

"What's your best guess?"

I stared straight into those fathomless eyes. "I think you've got some leftover hang-up about my sister-in-law."

Hardy's smile fled. "You're way off on that one, honey. We never even slept together. I wish Liberty all the best, but I don't want her that way." He stepped closer, not touching me, but I felt like he was just about to . . . well, I didn't know what. I felt a nervous chill chase down my back. "So take another guess," he said. "You can't keep me out of here if you can't come up with a good reason for it."

I stepped back from him and took a shaky breath. "You're a hell-raiser," I said. "That's a pretty good reason."

The corner of his mouth twitched. "I got all that out of my system in my twenties."

"You look like you've still got some left in you."

"No, ma'am. I'm completely tame."

I had an inkling of what he must have been like as a naughty schoolboy, trying to convince his teacher of his innocence. And his sneaky charm was so irresistible that I had to turn away to hide a smile. "Sure you are," I said, leading him to the apartment.

Stopping at the door, I began to punch numbers into the combination touch pad. I was suffused with an intense awareness of Hardy, so big and solid beside me. There was that scent again, insanely distracting.

I punched the last button, barely aware of what I was doing. Although I had used the combination pad a thousand times while I'd stayed there with Gage and Liberty, I must have hit a wrong number. Instead of clicking open, the lock emitted a series of beeps.

"Sorry," I said breathlessly, trying to look anywhere but at him.

"I pushed the wrong buttons. When that happens, It takes a few seconds to clear and reset. You can change the combination to any number you — "

"Haven," he said quietly, and waited until I could bring myself to look up at him.

I gripped the door handle as if hanging on for dear life. I had to clear my throat before I could make a sound. "Wh-what?"

"Why do I make you so nervous?" His voice was soft, reaching inside me to a raw, tender place. A mocking smile touched his lips. "You afraid I'm going to make a move on you?"

I couldn't answer. I can't stand this, I thought desperately. Heat washed over me, color layering on color. My heart worked in painful beats. All I could do was stare at Hardy without blinking, my back pressing against the door while he bent over me. He moved closer, imparting the pressure of his body until I felt the touch of hard muscle in several places at once. I closed my eyes, mortified by the rapid gusts of my breathing.

"Then let's get it over with," Hardy murmured, "so you'll stop worrying."

His dark head bent. He eased his mouth over mine. I put my fists between us, my arms clasped over my chest in a tight blockade. I couldn't make myself push him away, but neither could I let him hold me full-on. His arms went around me, the embrace firm but gentle, as if he were being mindful not to crush me. Our breath mingled, heat surging in restless rhythms.

His mouth shifted, catching at my top lip, then the lower one, opening them. Every time I thought the kiss might stop, it went on longer, deeper, and the back of my throat tingled as if I were being fed something sweet. I felt the silken stroke of his tongue . . . a soft taste . . . another . . . I went weak against him, dissolving in sensation.

His tenderness disarmed me until I almost forgot about the knot of fear in my stomach. I stood there breathing him, feeling him . . . but he was all around me, he could overpower me so easily if he chose. I couldn't handle feeling that defenseless, no matter how gentle he was. Turning my mouth away from his, I broke the kiss with a whimper.

Hardy's lips grazed the top of my head, and he released me slowly. He looked down at me, blue heat in his eyes.

"Now show me the apartment," he whispered.

Purely by luck — I couldn't yet pull a coherent thought from my brain — I managed to dial the right combination and open the door.

Since I wasn't certain how far I could walk without staggering, I let Hardy do his own exploring. He wandered through the three-bedroom apartment, checking out the finishes, the appliances, the views from every room. In the main living area, a wall of nothing but windows revealed a spectacular view of Houston, the unzoned city sprawling outward in a mix of offices and strip malls and mansions and shacks, the cheap and the great mingling freely.

Watching Hardy's long, lean form silhouetted against those windows, I thought the apartment suited him. He wanted to show people he'd arrived. And you couldn't blame him for that. In Houston, if you wanted a place at the table, you had to have the clothes, the cars, the high-rise apartment, the mansion. The tall blond wife.

Needing to break the silence, I finally found my voice. "Liberty told me you used to work on a drilling rig." I leaned against the kitchen counter as I watched him. "What did you do?"

He glanced at me over his shoulder. "Welder."

No wonder, I thought, and I didn't realize I'd said it aloud until he replied.

"No wonder what?"

"Your . . . your shoulders and arms," I said, abashed.

"Oh." He turned to face me, his hands still tucked in his pockets. "Yeah, they usually get the bigger guys to do the onboard welding, the stuff they can't do in shore-based shops. So I had to carry a seventy-pound power-con all around the rig, up and down stairs and ladders . . . that whips you into shape real fast."