She should be dancing. He wanted her. Even lo— Damn. She couldn't even think it. Couldn't breathe as she sat in the circle of his arms. Still, she felt so much for this man. And it scared her. Max was supposed to have been safe, first as the moody professor, even later as the driven operative—both men who wouldn't make demands on her emotions.

The words were right there in her head, waiting to be spoken. Waiting for her to throw away control and give over her life and herself to a chance with this incredible man who mesmerized her even as he confused the hell out of her.

"Max." She pushed the word out. "I—" He shook his head, cupped a hand behind her neck, urged her forward and just kissed her.

Man, did he have a way of just kissing her.

Her insides melted. She hooked her arms around his neck and lost herself in the moment. Tried to ignore the insistent voice telling her she wasn't being fair. She was using sex to avoid talking. She knew it, but couldn't make herself stop. How strange that Max could voice his feelings while she hid behind desire.

A desire sparking through her with all the heat of an afterburner. Desire and emotions, too, whether she wanted them or not. But what did she feel for this wild, unpredictable man who'd so captured her attention, from the minute he'd sauntered into her life?

She didn't want to think. Just wanted to feel. So much easier than sorting through emotions and the risk of opening her heart.

Being vulnerable.

She wanted control back. Somewhere. Somehow. Of something in her life. Instincts. She could trust those.

Go with it.

Darcy surrendered to the moment, the sensual caress of Max's lips on her skin. Hers on his. He whipped the sheet free and pitched it aside. She trailed her fingers down his chest, along his scarred shoulder. Felt his strength. Reveled in rocking his control.

Her hands glided around to his back, his skin so hot under her hands as if he'd soaked up all the sun's rays. That heat seeped right back into her until it pulsed through her veins, chasing away the chill of childhood memories.

And how she welcomed losing herself in Max. She slid from his lap and dropped to her knees.

His hands fell to her shoulders. "Darcy—"

She took him in her mouth and whatever he'd started to say choked off in a groan. She let those instincts guide her into new, uncharted territory she very much wanted to explore. She lost herself in the moment, in the unbridled pleasure of giving pleasure until Max gripped her arms and hauled her up.

"Enough," he growled, hooking an arm behind her legs and tossing her on the bed.

Max blanketed her with his body, elbows keeping the bulk of his weight off her, simultaneously sheltering while exciting. She savored the steely strength of him stretched out over her, yet wrestled with the need to flip him on his back. Be the one over him. But as she'd found only moments before, even in taking control she surrendered.

His pleasure was hers.

She couldn't conquer or control. If only she could find an equality, a way to hold on to herself and have him at the same time.

Then Max rolled to his side, pulling her onto hers.

Confusion niggled, threatening to slow her momentum. "Max, help out the rookie here."

"A rookie? Not for long." Max cradled her thigh in a firm but gentle hand and urged her leg over his hip, bringing her closer as side by side they faced each other. No one above or under.

How did this man seem to recognize the wants she hadn't even given voice to? Damn but that scared her.

Excited her.

Her leg locked around him as she guided him into her body. Wanted to let him into her heart. What would it be like to spend years, a lifetime even, being challenged by this man who saw beyond boundaries? Made his own rales, yet respected hers, at least here.

It could be... everything.

Slowly he filled her, stretched her tender body and stared into her eyes while giving her time to adjust. He communicated so much through his eyes. Why hadn't she ever realized that before? He didn't use words. He sensed.

Sensed her fears. Sensed her needs.

Now.

And somehow he heard her. His hand rasped lower to cup her bottom, guiding her forward. Meeting her. Moving inside her, deeper, until she forgot about logic and concerns and just felt. Felt and moved, heat tightening, building low and intense. Enough, and at the same time there could never be enough to make her stop wanting more. More of him.

His hand slid between them, palmed her breast before sliding down, touching, finding, bringing...

Completion.

Max sat with his back against the headboard and watched the glowing numbers on the bedside clock blink away the night—2:00 a.m.

Darcy lay on her stomach sleeping, her face turned away from him as if she wasn't ready to see the morning or him yet.

True enough.

The hurricane shutters might be blocking out parking lot lights, but it couldn't stop morning from arriving, anyway, in another few hours. He knew Darcy well enough to understand she would likely start running. Soon. She would rebuild her boundaries before facing him again. If she came back.

He needed more time and they didn't have any, not with a case to close. But he sure as hell wasn't letting her climb back in another plane until they had the people responsible for her emergency landing in custody.

So he watched the clock and counted down the minutes until he would have to leave her.

Darcy stirred, burying her nose in the pillow before turning to look at him with blurry eyes.

I'm the guy who loves you, damn it.

His words from earlier hovered between them.

Yeah, he'd meant it. He just hadn't meant to say it. Not yet when he wasn't even comfortable with the idea himself. How could he expect her to be? But the words were out there waiting to be dealt with.

He picked a strand of hair from her lips and tucked it behind her ear. "I meant what I said."

A tight smile flickered across her face and he recognized Darcy-the-buddy trying to slide between them and a real discussion.

She slugged his shoulder lightly. "Your delivery could use a little work, then. That was a helluva romantic way to say it."

He gripped her chin in a grasp not as gentle as he'd planned and tipped her face up to his. "That's because love isn't always pretty. It can tear you up inside. I've been there. Done that. Got a few scars to show for the effort. Love is a damned scary proposition, Darcy."

She flipped to her back, her sad eyes staring up at him. "You want me to say it, too."

Did he? Hell, yes. And no. Part of him wanted a safer, easier life for her than whatever he could offer. "I don't think you're ready."

She grazed her fist over his shoulder again, her fingers unfurling to caress him. "I should slug you again for telling me how I feel. Except I'm too tired tonight... and you're right."

Her hand fell away. She sat up, elbows on her knees and shoved her hands through her tousled hair. "I'm such a mess, Max. I do want you. I want more of everything, not just—" she waved a hand over the tangled sheets "—this, but everything. Talking. Not talking. Being together. I want it all with you. But you're right. This is damned scary, and more than anything, I hate being out of control and afraid."

Max resisted the urge to drag her into his arms and insulate her. Letting anyone—him—get close seemed to top her list of fears. He couldn't fight that one for her.

She picked at the lightweight blue cover. "After they found me, I really thought I was handling it all. I mean, damn. It wasn't like anyone had assaulted me. I should be fine, right?"

He stayed diplomatically silent, trailing one finger down her delicate spine. So rigid even now.

"Three months later Alicia chewed out our dad, told him I needed help processing what had happened. She made him drag me to a counselor on base to talk through everything." She smiled over her shoulder. "Nobody says no to Alicia. Not even the General."

"She sounds like her sister." Max tapped her stubborn chin.

"I went for about six months, and it helped. I really thought everything was okay for years. I even stocked up on sunflower seeds in defiance of the terrorist who chowed down on the things while guarding me."

Max worked to hide the protective urge she wouldn't want or welcome. "Sounds to me like you did a damn fine job at coping."

Darcy's smile faded. "Then the world situation started heating up with Afghanistan and Sentavo, now Cantou. The memories all began crowding back in my brain again. The more my father put the stops on a combat assignment, the worse the helplessness became."

She shifted over onto Max's lap and straddled his legs. Her palms landed flat against his chest. Intensity hummed from her. "I want to fly, Max, and I'm not afraid of combat...well, not any more than a normal person should be. I hate it that all this is coming back up to screw with my mind."

Damn being distant. He hauled her against his chest. "Have you talked to anyone else about this?"

She tucked her head under his chin, the scent of her shampoo drifting up. "Not since the counselor. I didn't even tell the civilian investigators most of it. The people responsible died in the raid when I was found. I wasn't ready to think about the snakes, much less talk about them."

He tried to follow her convoluted retelling without slowing her momentum. "Snakes?"

"While I was in the bunker, I developed a level of tolerance for the bugs and even the rats after a couple of days, or just hid my fear better. So they pulled out the big guns in the pest department. That's how they punished me for trying to slip secrets to my father during the phone calls."

He could just see Darcy in battle mode, even at thirteen, staying calm, strategizing when she must have been scared as hell. He stroked his hands up and down her back.

She shuddered. "They held snakes to my face. Let spiders crawl on me. Honest to God, it was easier to fight off the attackers underwater than to deal with all those bugs these past weeks, and then there was that damned snake in my room."

His hands slowed along her back. Information shifted in his head like pieces of a puzzle looking for a clean fit. "Darcy, tell me again who knows about the snakes. The cops?"

"No. I didn't even want to say the word snake, much less chitchat about them. My dad cleared away any public records and most of the military ones, as well. I worked through it with the counselor and then put it to rest. Or so I thought."

He took her shoulders and eased back. "Your counselor would have made notes. Right?''

"Sure, sealed, though."

Ah, hell. Max hefted her off his lap and onto the other side of the bed. He rolled to his feet and scooped up his swim trunks.

"Max? What are you doing?"

He yanked them on while searching for his shirt. "Sealed military records. Records that someone with deep military intelligence connections would be able to link into for ways to get to you because of your connection to me. Someone with high-tech surveillance experience to work with the tap."

Her brow crinkled, her mind racing to catch up. "Military intelligence personnel dealing with surveillance equipment?" Her eyes widened with dawning horror. She shook her head. "Not Crusty. It isn't him."

"No. He was on the plane with you yesterday and could have died, too." He jammed his arms through his shirt and whipped it over his head. "Not Crusty. Kat."

"Kat? I'm not following here. I'm still stuck back on the idea that someone read my sealed records to torment me with my worst fears."

"The O'Club caterer."

She wrapped the sheet around herself and stood. "That sounds like a stretch to me."

Max grabbed his wallet and keys. "Lieutenant Colonel Kat Lowry, Army CID, posing as mother to Vinnie the civilian agent."

"Hell, how many of you are there on the island?"

"More than I wanted." Of course having Kat Lowry off the op wouldn't have stopped her. If his suspicions were on target, she'd been at this for years.