Ice....

Bella stood behind the door in the pitch-darkness, a castiron skillet in her hands. The scratching sound she’d heard only a moment ago had stopped. Except for the pounding of her heart, now there was only silence.

Breath held, shivering in her thin cotton tank top and boxers, she waited.

The doorknob creaked, then turned.

Her hands tightened around the handle of the heavy frying pan; she sucked in a breath as the door slowly opened. When the dark shape stepped into the room, she raised the pan over her head.

“Bella?”

Miguel? Too late to stop her swing, she brought the pan down, though not as hard as she would have. It landed with a solid hit, and she heard a hard object scoot across the wood floor. An explicit string of swear words filled the quiet.

"Oh, my God, Miguel!” The frying pan slipped from her hands and clattered to the floor. “Are you all right?”

“Sure I am,” he muttered irritably. “You just cracked my skull in half, why wouldn’t I be? Even cheater ex husbands aren't treated like this!"

She was surprised about his speed, “How did you get here so fast? I just called you.” She reached out into the darkness, made contact with his head.

“Ow!” He jerked away. “What the hell did you hit me with, a slab of concrete?

“Frying pan.” She closed the door, then took his hand and carefully dragged him to the living room sofa. “I think I broke it.”

“My head or the frying pan?” he grumbled, but let himself be pulled down on the sofa beside her. “Where the hell is my gun?”

She flipped on the lamp beside the couch. Soft light spilled over them. “You brought a gun?”

“No, I was wondering where my gun at home is.” He dropped his head into his hands. “Of course I brought a gun. You said someone was breaking in.”

“I just didn’t realize you had one, that’s all.” She spotted the pistol on the floor by the coffee table and shivered at the sight of it. She hated guns. “Is it loaded?” He turned his head sideways, glanced at her with a look that told her it definitely was. She shivered again.

When his eyes closed in pain again, she reached for him. “Here, let me look at your head.”

“You’ve done enough for one night.” He jerked away when she touched his head.

She frowned at him. “Stop acting like a baby and come here.”

“Baby? Me? You’re the one who called me, remember?”

“I heard something.”

“And you were scared.”

“I wasn’t scared,” she lied. “I had the situation completely under control. I only called you in case I needed backup.”

“You were scared.” He brought his face close to hers and narrowed his eyes. “Admit it, Bella Trump.”

She sighed with exasperation. Admitting weakness to this man was like riding a motorcycle without a helmet. Sooner or later she was going to be sorry.

More than likely it was going to be sooner.

“All right, maybe I was scared, just a little bit,” she admitted. “It could have been a drunkard or something that missed the cabin Numbers"

“At least that would be someone you could identify with,” he said testily, then yelped when she yanked on his ears and pulled his head onto her lap. “Hey, that hurt.”

“Be still and keep quiet.”

He closed his eyes on a grimace, tolerating her ministrations. The light from the lamp hardened his features, sharpened his tightly held jaw and firm mouth. Bella drooled on his for moment and wondered how thier child would look like if they had one.

“How did you get here so fast, anyway? Oh, that’s right,” she said sweetly. “I forgot you're a rude, spoilt Mafia heir, you get everything you want easily and speed isn't your problem"

He gave a low growl as he started to sit, but she cupped his face in her hands and forced him to be still. A coarse, day’s growth of beard rasped against her palms and sent currents of electricity up her arms. She felt disgusted with herself. She’d wounded the man, now she wanted to jump his bones.

Maybe he was right. Maybe she did belong in a mental institution. Sighing heavily, she touched her fingers to his temple. “Now lie still and let me look.”

And she did, though not at his head. Her gaze dropped to his bare chest, and though it was hardly the time, it was impossible not to admire his physique, the strong masculine angles of solid muscle, sprinkled with dark, coarse hair. Her hands itched to slide over that broad expanse of sinew and feel the touch of his skin under her fingertips. Her attention dropped lower, to his flat, hard stomach, then lower still, to the unsnapped top of his jeans. Heat flooded through her, and she jerked her gaze away, thankful that Miguel’s eyes were still tightly closed.

The back of his head was nestled across her thighs, his cheek and ear pressed against her stomach. Soft ribbons of heat curled from her waist downward. She willed her hands not to tremble as she lightly skimmed her fingers through his thick hair and over his scalp.

He sucked in a breath when she touched a rising knot on top of his head. “Oops.”

He frowned. “What, oops?”

“Well, the good news is, there’s no blood. The bad news is, you’ll have a bump the size of a Volkswagen.”

“Gosh, I’m so glad you gave me the good news first,” he mumbled, but the edge of anger that had been in his voice a moment ago was gone now. She felt the tension in his shoulders ease as he relaxed his head on her legs.

Bella knew she should move away. They were both half-naked, lying on the couch with the darkness surrounding them. She in her tank top and boxers, Miguel wearing only a pair of jeans. Her fingers moved restlessly through his hair, though they both knew she’d already found the damage she’d inflicted.

And still she couldn’t stop herself.

Nor did he stop her.

Her fingernails lightly scraped over his scalp, and he relaxed under her touch. She was certain he could hear the heavy beat of her heart.

“Did you see anyone outside?” she asked quietly. “Or anything?”

He shook his head, inadvertently rubbing against her belly. She had to remind herself to breathe.

He still hadn’t opened his eyes, and she took advantage of the opportunity to explore his face. She discovered a small, jagged scar over his left eye and a long, razor-thin scar under his chin. A dark shadow of a beard covered his strong, square jaw. Transfixed, she stared at his mouth, and just the thought of running her fingers over those firm lips made her hand tingle.

This was dangerous — dangerous to be close to this man she couldn't figure out what his intention was, she knew. As dangerous as it was foolish. She should get up, or at least move away.

She didn’t.

“Something was out there.” She did her best to focus on what had frightened her, instead of the sensations washing through her body at the moment. “Or someone. I didn’t imagine it.”

“Well, whoever or whatever it was, is gone now. Unlike the bump on my head,” he reminded her.

“I’ll get some ice.”

She started to rise, but he reached up and circled her wrists with his hands.

“No.”