Close Contact. Lori Foster

her an incredulous glance before getting his attention back on the road. “That’s the pot calling the kettle black.”

      The accusatory tone only irked her more. “The pot is paying the kettle’s salary!”

      He snorted. “Do you really think you were in any shape to make decisions this morning?”

      “No, but you could have just said that you wanted someone else to bring my car to me.”

      He rolled one big shoulder. “At the time, I didn’t even know if Leese would be free. Since he is, it works out.”

      Maxi closed her mouth before she made an even bigger fool of herself. She’d blame the overreaction on the strain, but she knew that wasn’t it.

      She wanted Miles, and so far, he wasn’t all that receptive to the idea.

      Giving up for the moment, she noted the size of the security store where he pulled up and parked. “This place is immense.”

      “They’re top-of-the-line and should have everything we need.” After he stepped out, he walked around to open her door.

      Always the gentleman. Maxi left the SUV but didn’t go far. She put a hand on his chest—and even that, such a small touch, did crazy things to her. There was no give to his rock-hard body; how could she not react?

      Reining in her haywire hormones, she said, “Promise me, Miles. I’m not an idiot. You don’t have to do things for my own good. Just tell me the plan, and I can be reasonable.”

      He looked first at her hand on him, then into her eyes. He was so close, she breathed in the scents of soap and warm male skin.

      A sultry expression narrowed his gaze. Voice low and rough, almost hypnotic, he said, “Since I don’t know you well enough to make that judgment, I can only promise to try.”