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Same one probably flitted across hers. But then she turned to smile at the elderly lady. Two minutes later she was sitting next to the woman and talking celebrities while Mike started constructing a bridge over an epic fantasy tome. Anna maintained a lively conversation—dredging up all the gossip she knew that was important to the sixty plus set—while she watched Mike contort all over the floor in the service of Henry’s construction project. The man was certainly nice to look at. Sure, he might appear better in tailored pants and a designer shirt, but she found she could admire his ass in faded jeans just as well. And the tee outlined his chest muscles beautifully.
    Eventually, the party shifted to watching a movie and everyone gathered around the latest Bourne installment. It was fun and comfortable for her as she settled on the couch beside Aunt Dee. And though her gaze frequently shifted to Mike, nothing unsettling occurred. He treated her with the same causal friendliness he had with his adult cousins or their twin boys. At least Rick engaged in a casual flirtation with her. Nothing salacious, just friendly with a hint of something more if she was interested.
    She wanted to be interested in Rick. That was her plan, after all. But now that she’d been so warmly welcomed into the fold, she found she liked the family atmosphere more than she wanted to get hot and heavy with a star athlete. Worse, all Rick’s flirtatious teasing paled in comparison to those two intensely personal exchanges with Mike. So she flirted impersonally with Rick and tried not to be hyper-aware of Mike. All lust, she told herself, should be directed at the super-spy on the flat screen.
    It almost worked too until she left the party and headed for bed. She was asleep within ten minutes of hitting the mattress.
    And then she dreamed…
    …
    She was running for her life in the chaotic marketplace of some middle eastern country. It didn’t really matter where except that as a blonde super-spy, she stood out clearly amid all the dark hair and darker complexioned natives. She also didn’t speak a word of their language, though their angry gestures as she tore through were clear enough.
    She was looking for a car--any car--so long as she could drive it hard, fast, and very far away. Maybe she could carjack someone. She felt around for her gun only to discover that she didn’t have one. Hell, she didn’t even have a purse, and for some reason, she wasn’t wearing any shoes.
    That was weird, but at least she wasn’t in four inch stilettos.
    She careened around a stall and spotted an alleyway. Making a swift decision, she sprinted to the dark brick hoping the bad guys would think she was embroiled in the maze of stalls. Better yet, the narrow path was clear of people and she could run faster, her feet making quiet splashes in the dark pools of rainwater.
    Rainwater? When had she gone from the Middle East to gaslit London? Good lord, she thought in irritation, the least her dream state could do was stay consistent.
    She thought the words, even tried to infuse the irreverence into her dream, but she failed utterly. She was trying to capture an emotional distance from her nightmare, but her heart was still pounding, her feet were burning from the cuts from the rough cobblestone alley, and--
    She was gripped high on her arm and whipped at super-sonic speed straight at a doorway. Where had that opening come from? She didn’t know but she was being flattened into its dark recesses, her back landing with a thud that rattled her teeth.
    “Shhhh,” said a low voice that was half whisper, half growl.
    “I didn’t say anything,” she groused back in a low whisper. Who the hell had grabbed her anyway? All she could see was a dark silhouette against the full moon, though she felt every inch of the man’s powerful body as he pressed it tight against her.
    Wait--hadn’t it been burning daylight in the marketplace?
    Then the silhouette turned to her, and