THREE

Bread lined the counter of Lyra’s perfect, beautiful kitchen. Fresh white bread, banana nut bread, and her father’s favorite cinnamon rolls. A fresh cup of coffee sat at her elbow, and a recipe book spread out on the table in front of her as she attempted to find the directions for the étouffée she wanted to try.

The cookbook was no more than several hundred pages, some handwritten, some typewritten, and others printed from the computer and bound haphazardly over the years. Her mother had started it, and now Lyra added her own recipes to it as well as using those already present.

The soft tunes of a new country band were playing on the stereo in the living room, and her foot was swaying in a cheerful rhythm along with the music.

“Do you actually like that music?”

A shocked squeak of fear erupted from her throat as she jumped from her chair, sending it flying against the wall as she nearly threw the coffee cup across the room.

And there he stood.

Her nemesis.

The man had to have been placed here just to torment and torture her. There was no other answer for it.

“What did you do?” She turned and jerked the chair from where it had fallen against the wall, snapping it back in place before turning and propping her hands on her hips.

He was here. And acting just a little bit too awkward to suit her. He had to have messed up something again.

He stood just inside the doorway, freshly showered and looking too damned roughly male for any woman’s peace of mind. If he were conventionally good-looking, she could have ignored him. But he wasn’t. His face was roughly hewn, with sharp angles, high cheekbones, and sensual, eatable lips.

A man shouldn’t have eatable lips. It was too distracting to those women who didn’t have a hope in hell of getting a taste.

“I didn’t do anything.” He ran his hand along the back of his neck, turning to look outside the door as though in confusion before returning his gaze to her. “I came to apologize.”

He didn’t look apologetic.

He looked like he wanted something.

He rubbed at his neck again, his hand moving beneath the fall of overly long, light-brown hair, the cut defining and emphasizing the harsh planes and angles of his face.

Of course he wanted something. All men did. And she doubted very seriously it had anything to do with her body. Which was really just too bad. She could think of a lot of things that tough male body of his would be good for.

Unfortunately, men like him—tough, buff, and bad—generally never looked her way.

“To apologize?” She caught the half-hidden, longing look he cast to the counter and the cooling bread there.

“Yes. To apologize.” He nodded ever so slightly, his expression just a shade more calculating than she would have liked.

She firmed her lips, very damned well aware that he was not there to apologize. He was wasting her time, as well as his, by lying to her.

He wanted her bread. She could see it in his eyes.

“Fine.” She shrugged dismissively. What else could she do? “Stay the hell away from my plants, and I’ll forgive you. You can go now.”

He shifted, drawing attention to his wide chest and the crisp white shirt he wore. He had changed clothes in addition to showering. He wore form-hugging jeans with the white shirt tucked in neatly. A leather belt circled his lean hips, and the ever-present boots were on his feet, though these looked a little better than the previous pair.

His gaze drifted to the bread once again.

It figured. And the hungry, desperate gleam in his eyes was just about her undoing. Just about. She was not going to let him sweet-talk her out of it, she assured herself.

She stared back at him coolly as her hand clenched on the back of the chair. He was not going to eat her bread. That bread was gold where her father and brothers were concerned, and she desperately needed the points it would earn her. It was the only way she was going to get her pretty wooden shed built, and she knew it.

He glanced back at her, this time not even bothering to hide the cool calculation in his gaze.

“We could make a deal, you and I,” he finally suggested, his voice firm, almost bargaining.

Uh-huh. She just bet they could.

“Really?” She let go of the chair and leaned against the counter as she watched him with a skeptical look. “How so?”

Oh boy, she just couldn’t wait to hear this one. It was going to have to be good. She knew men, and she knew he had obviously been preparing the coming speech carefully.

But she was intrigued. Few men bothered to be straightforward or even partially honest when they wanted something. At least he wasn’t pulling out the charm and pretending to be overcome with attraction for her to get what he wanted.

“However you wish,” he finally stated firmly. “Tell me what I would have to do to get a loaf of that bread and a cup of coffee.”

She stared back at him in shock.

She wasn’t used to such straightforward, fully mercenary tactics from anyone. Let alone a man.

She watched him thoughtfully.

He wanted the bread; she wanted a shed. Okay, maybe they could trade. Not what she had expected, but she was willing to roll with the opportunity being presented.

“Can you use a hammer any better than you can a Weed Eater?”

She needed that shed.

His lips thinned. He glanced at the bread again with a faint expression of regret.

“I could lie to you and say yes.” He tilted his head and offered her a tentative smile. “I’m very tempted to do so.”

Great. He couldn’t use a hammer, either.

She stared back at the muscular condition of his finely honed body. A man didn’t look like that as a result of the gym. It was natural muscle and grace, not the heavy, packed-on appearance guys got from the gym. But if he couldn’t cut his own lawn or swing a hammer, how the hell did he manage it?

She shook her head. Obviously nature really, really liked him, because Tarek Jordan was so not an outdoor sort of person.

“Let me guess. You’re really good on the computer?” She sighed at the thought. Why did she attract the techies instead of the real men?

“Well, I am actually.” He offered her a hopeful smile. “Does yours need work?”

At least he was honest—in some things. She guessed that deserved some compensation, though she fully admitted she was just too nice sometimes.

“Look, promise to keep your machines away from my property line, and I’ll give you some coffee and a slice of bread,” she offered.

“Just a slice?” His expression fell, rather like a child whose favorite treat had been jerked from his hands.

Men.

She looked over at the counter. Hell, she had baked too much anyway.

“Fine. A loaf.”

“Of each kind?” Hope sprang in those golden eyes, and for a moment it made her wonder . . . No, of course he had eaten fresh-baked bread. Hadn’t everyone? But there was a curious glimmer of vulnerability there. One she hadn’t expected.

She glanced at the counter again. She had four loaves of each kind and plenty of the cinnamon rolls. It wasn’t like she didn’t have enough.

“Come on in.” She turned to get an extra coffee cup when she stopped and stared at him in surprise.

He was taking his boots off? He did it naturally, toeing at the heels until the leather slid from his feet, and then pulling them off to sit them neatly at the door.

His socks were white. A pure, pretty white against the dark maroon of her ceramic tiles as he walked to the table.

He waited expectantly.

What the hell was he? An alien? No man she knew had white socks. And they sure as hell didn’t care if they took their shoes off at the door, no matter how grimy or muddy they often were. Her brothers were the worst.

She poured the coffee and set it in front of him before turning to get the sugar and creamer from the counter. As she turned back, she frowned as she watched him take a long sip of the dark liquid.

Ecstasy transformed his face.

The expression on his face made her thighs clench as her sex spasmed in interest. Which only pissed her off. She was not going to get any more turned on by this man than she already was. She was doing perfectly fine without a man in her life right now. She did not, repeat, did not need the complication.

But if that was how the man looked when he had sex, then her virginity could be in serious danger. Strangely predatory, savage, filled with pleasure, his face carried a primal, intense look of satisfaction and growing hunger.

For a moment, her chest tightened in surprising disappointment. She wanted him to look at her like that, not at her bread.

Just her luck. Someone else to harass her for her bread instead of for her body. Not that she wanted him to harass her for her body, but it would be nice if someone would.

Taking out a bread knife, she sliced into a loaf of the banana nut bread and then into the white bread. The white bread was still warm enough to melt the fresh, creamy butter she spread atop it.

Fine. Maybe she could bribe him into hiring someone to cut and trim his lawn so he would leave hers alone. Stranger things had happened.

• • •

The coffee was rich, dark, and exquisite. The bread fairly melted in his mouth. But that wasn’t what was keeping his dick painfully engorged as he savored the treats. It was the smell of this woman, hot and sweet and aroused.

That arousal was killing him. It wasn’t intense and overwhelming, but curious and warm. Almost tentative. He savored the smell of it more than he savored the bread and coffee he was trying to stay focused on.

“So what do you do on the computer?” She was cleaning the loaf pans she had used to bake the bread, carefully washing and drying them at the sink.

He glanced at the slender line of her back, the taut curves of her rear, and shifted restlessly in his chair. His hard-on was killing him.

He hadn’t meant to give her the impression he worked mainly on the computer, but he guessed it was better than telling the truth.

“Mostly investigations and research.” He shrugged, telling as much of the truth as possible. He hated the thought of lying to her. Which was strange. He was living a lie, and he knew it. He had been since his creation. So why should it bother him now?

“Criminal or financial?” She picked up the coffeepot and walked to the table, filling his cup with the last of the heated liquid.

He frowned at the question as he watched the way the soft, midnight silk of her hair fell forward, tempting his fingers. It looked soft, warm. Like everything he had believed a woman should be.

She wasn’t hard, trained to kill, or living her own nightmares, as many of the Feline Breed women were. She was feisty and independent but also soft, exquisite.

“More along the lines of missing persons,” he finally answered. “A little bit of everything, though.”

He nearly choked on that one. He was, quite simply, a bounty hunter and an assassin. His present assignment was the search for one of the escaped Trainers who had murdered countless Feline Breeds while they were held in captivity.

The assignment was starting to take second place to the woman in front of him, though.

Damn that coffee was good, but if she didn’t get the scent of that soft, heated warmth simmering in her pussy across the room and away from him, then they were going to have problems.

He could feel the growing sexual need tightening his abdomen and pounding in his brain. He wanted to shake his head, push the scent away from him in an attempt to make sense of it. He had never known a reaction so intense, so immediate to any woman.

From his first glimpse of her outraged expression when he committed the supreme sin of riding his Harley over her lawn, she had captivated him.

She wasn’t frightened of him or intimidated by him. She didn’t watch him like a piece of meat or an animal that could attack at any moment. She watched him with equal parts frustration, innocence, and hunger.

And if he didn’t get the hell away from her, he was going to commit another sin. He was going to show her just how damned bad he did want that curvy little body of hers.

“I guess I should be going.” He rose to his feet quickly, finishing off his coffee before taking the cup and his empty saucer to the sink where she was working.

She stared up at him in astonishment as he rinsed them quickly before sitting them in the warm, sudsy water in front of her.

He stared down at her, caught for a moment in the depths of her incredible sapphire eyes. They gleamed. Little pinpoints of brilliant light seemed to fill the dark color, like stars on a blue velvet background. Incredible.

“Thank you.” He finally forced the words past his lips. “For the coffee and the bread.”

She swallowed tightly. The scent of her wrapped around him—a nervous, uncertain smell of arousal that had his chest filling with a sudden, animalistic growl.

He throttled the sound firmly, clenching his teeth as he backed away from her.

“You’re welcome.” She cleared her throat after the words came out with a husky, sexy tone of nervousness.

Dammit, he didn’t have time for such complications. He had a job to do. One that didn’t include a woman he knew would run screaming from him if she had any idea of who and what he was.

She had wrapped the loaves and set them out on the counter by the door for him. He jerked his boots on quickly and picked up the bread, opening the door before turning back to her.

“If you need any help.” He shrugged fatalistically. “If there’s anything I can do for you . . .” He let the words trail off.

What could he do for her besides complicate her life and make her regret ever meeting him? There was little.

“Just stay away from my yard with your gadgets.” Her eyes glowed with humor. “At least until you learn how to use them.”

The woman evidently had no respect for a man’s pride. A grin tilted his lips.

“I promise.”

He turned and left the house, regretfully, hating it. There was a warmth within the walls of her home that didn’t exist within his own, and it left him feeling unaccountably saddened to leave. What was it about her, about her house, that his suddenly seemed so lacking?

He shook his head, pushed his free hand into his jeans pocket, and made his way across her neatly trimmed backyard to his own less-than-pristine lawn. And his less-than-content life.