She knew the door was locked and both she and Mick had their service revolvers on the nightstands on either side of the bed. If somebody came through the door they’d be faced with the business end of two guns and the additional support of the three agents in the next cottage.
Then there was the issue of the physical contact with Mick throughout the afternoon and evening. It had been difficult. Each touch of his hand had evoked memories of what they’d shared that single night six months before.
She didn’t want to think about that night, when for a brief moment in his arms she’d finally felt at home, that she was where she belonged. It had been a feeling meant to fool her, to beckon her to let down her guard. And that would be a huge mistake.
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