Bulletproof Seal. Carol Ericson

hall and ducked into the second bedroom. He pulled out the sofa bed, darted to his bedroom, snagged a pillow from his bed and tossed it onto the sofa bed. Despite his best efforts at a quick assembly, Rikki hovered at the door of the office as he dragged a blanket across the bed.

      “Just making up the sofa bed. Did you find the toothbrush and toothpaste okay?”

      “Yep.” She ran her tongue along her teeth.

      “Okay, then. Tomorrow.” His gaze darted to Rikki still propping up the doorjamb. She didn’t expect him to squeeze past her, did she? He couldn’t handle that.

      A few seconds later that seemed like minutes, Rikki pushed herself off the door. “Nice apartment. I had memorized your address from...before. I was hoping you still lived here.”

      He spread his arms. “Still here. Sleep tight.”

      He practically ran from the room, slamming the door behind him. Sleep tight? What did that even mean, anyway?

      He brushed his own teeth and studied his reflection in the mirror. He needed a shave—and an attitude adjustment. Rikki didn’t want him anymore. She’d made that clear before. And after he’d gone on a mission to assassinate her? Yeah, pretty much killed any thread of a chance he had left with her. Now if he could only send that message to his body.

      He yanked the covers back from his bed and pulled off his T-shirt. He unzipped the fly on his shorts and hooked his thumbs in the band of his briefs as he started to take them down with his shorts. He usually slept naked, but maybe leaving on his underwear would protect him from lustful thoughts about Rikki.

      He crawled between the sheets, rolled on his side, then the other side, and then flopped onto his back, one arm flung across his face. Briefs, no briefs, fully clothed, suit of armor—didn’t matter. Rikki Taylor was in his blood, and now she was back in his life.

      About an hour later on the edge of another feverish dream, Quinn bolted upright in bed, his heart racing. He paused and heard the noise that had awakened him.

      Someone pounded on the door again.

      Quinn rolled out of bed and grabbed the gun on his nightstand. He crept toward the front door and paused, holding his breath.

      The pounding resumed, following by a groan and a shout. “Quinn? Quinn, you there?”

      Quinn drew his brows over his nose and released the locks. He eased open the door, and a man fell across the threshold, bruised and bloody.

      “Quinn, you gotta help me. They’re gonna kill me.”