Page 37 of Four Cards Exposed

He huffed out a small sound but did as she asked, flexing his long fingers. “Not broken either.”

“Where did you really learn to fight?” she asked softly.

James’s jaw was clenched tight. “Let’s just say I got a lot of practice early on. I had the kind of childhood that most likely would have landed me in prison as an adult. I was lucky to escape.”

She waited for him to elaborate, to explain how he went from that to being an FBI agent, but he didn’t say anything else, and the pain in his blue eyes burned hotter than her curiosity.

“Is that why … why you like everything to be so neat?”

Susan gasped, wishing she could take the words back.

James gave a hoarse, mirthless laugh. “You’re right. I like neat. I like to control things in my environment as much as possible. Sometimes, I fail.” He paused, licked his chapped lips in a way that made her ache inside.

“Tell me about the things you can’t control,” she said, not taking her eyes off his, not even caring that it sounded like she was begging.

“I can’t … I can’t control the way I feel about you.”

He feels this too.

Susan’s heart soared. She leaned closer, felt the heat of his arm brush her breast—looked up into his deep blue eyes.

Her gaze moved lower, past his bruised cheekbone, to his strong, full lips. Those lips, so at odds with the rest of his straitlaced persona, were one of the first things she’d noticed about him.

Suddenly, she had to taste them.

He stood still as a granite statue as she leaned in. Closer still, close enough that she could feel the soft puff of air that told her that yes, he was breathing. She waited two heartbeats, giving him the chance to move away. He didn’t, so she crossed that final inch separating them from each other.

His lips were warm and solid. She tasted mint—tasted him. Her lips stroked his, her desire so strong, so profound, she thought she might self-combust.

He moved, then. His arms came around her. His lips parted. His tongue found hers, and in that instant she lost complete control of the kiss she’d initiated. Suddenly he was the aggressor, and he kissed her with a desperation that she’d never felt before. As if he wanted to get inside her.

Sí. Sí.

Susan gave as good as she got. She wanted—no, needed—this kiss to go on forever.

And then he was gone. A ragged groan escaped him. His hands circled her upper arms—she felt the tension in his touch, knew he was struggling between the desire to pull her closer or push her away. Something burned in his eyes.

Duty won, and he held her at arm’s length. As if needing that distance between them. As if he needed that chasm opening up between them.

“We can’t do this,” he whispered, his voice raw.

Why not?

“Why not?” She looked down at her fishnet tights, suddenly embarrassed. “I thought … I thought you saw me tonight.”

With a ragged groan, James stood up and moved away from the table—away from her. His eyes were full of pain.

His ribs? My words? Both?

“See you? I haven’t stopped seeing you since the first time I set eyes on you, Susan. I close my eyes and I can still see you, clear as anything, standing outside the sheriff’s office the day we met.”

Understanding filled her, as she recalled James had a photographic memory.

“I know you remember things.”

He shook his head slowly. “No. Not like this. Normally, I can recall things I see or read. But with you, I remember everything. I remember too much.”

I see you.